Good enough?

I stayed home from work today. I cleaned up around here for awhile. (It's an ongoing task since workers are still in and out on a daily basis.) I also wrote some. I edited several pages. When I got stuck on exactly what I wanted, I put down the green pen and moved on to the synopsis.

I find writing a synopsis helps when I'm not exactly sure where I want the story to go. Somehow, just writing all the main points makes it clearer. At 1000 words into what really amounts to a rough summary more than a synopsis, I took a break.

I was frustrated. It just never seems that it's quite good enough. I'm this way about alot of things. Fortunately, the more comfortable I become with a job, the more I'm able to determine what's important and what I can let go. In the bill-paying job, I tend to be very non-perfectionist. I'm better than good-enough, and that's all that's expected.

However, with writing for publication, I feel this intense need to be perfect, to have the perfect manuscript. My characters need to be perfectly motivated. The villain needs to be perfectly revealed at the perfect time with the perfect clues dropped along the way. The heroine and the hero need to kiss at the perfect time, and I need to lead up to that moment with the perfect nuances.

But it goes deeper. I need the perfect word. I've been known to read the thesaurus for a half hour, playing with meaning until the perfect word appears. I've been known to repeat a sentence out loud, playing with word order and choice until the perfect cadence is developed.

I won't throw out any more examples of my quirky tendancies lest you run screaming that I need psychiatric help.

You see, though, writing is new enough to me that I haven't figured out those places where imperfection can hide. I know they are there, but I think I have yet to discover them. That means that I currently erase 900 words for every 1000 I write. I have to sit back and let the ideas come in their own sweet time instead of plowing forward. I have to test out all sorts of ideas. I have to rewrite...alot.

I have to find a reasonable way to work throught the frustrations that accompany imperfection because it's all imperfect now. I have to go through this quest for perfection until I know what it looks like in my own writing. Then I can figure out where to back off and how I can give myself a break.

Why do I do this? Why have I always done it? Today, in my frustration with imperfection I decided to do a little self-discovery and find out.

I looked as far as my Meyers Brigg personality type: INTJ.
About 1/2 of 1% of the population. Lucky me. (sarcasm)

Here are some things you should know about the INTJ.

1. No idea is too far-fetched to be entertained. INTJs are natural brainstormers, always open to new concepts and, in fact, aggressively seeking them. (Well, this is both good and bad for a writer. Brainstorming is good, but you have to know when to stop. Hmm.)

2. Likes looking at information from a global viewpoint, spotting patterns and relationships, that lead to an understanding of the key issues. (This is great. I generally "feel" like I can get a global view of the story, but those pesky details....)

3. INTJs are perfectionists, with a seemingly endless capacity for improving upon anything that takes their interest. (Problem: How do I know when it's perfect or at least good enough?)

4. (but, wait, there's more...) What prevents them from becoming chronically bogged down in this pursuit of perfection is the pragmatism so characteristic of the type: INTJs apply, often ruthlessly, the criterion "Does it work?" (Bigger problem: How do I -- the creator of my story -- know if it works? And what works for one person, doesn't always work for another. So, who do I please? The best and most reasonable answer is myself. Yes, but who else? I can please myself in many ways. What one of those is going to please my readers, editors, publishers, etc.?)

So, having at least identified the problem, I now have to come up with solutions. (Even if you keep reading, you won't find those. I haven't discovered them yet.)

It really is okay, though. I'm one of those people who embrace the journey, even the unpleasant parts. It's all about learning, and even the things that go wrong show me what not to do next time.

Today, I read an article in the most recent edition of Writer's Digest. The article was an interview with Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander and most recently, Paint It Black. After reading the interview, I think I'll buy Paint it Black. It's not the type of book I usually read. It's more literary, and unless I'm in the mood for something like that, I tend to read escapism commercial fiction. However, Fitch said some things in her interview that nailed what I was thinking about today.

She said, "If you hold yourself to high standard, there's always the disappointment that the book on the page isn't the book in your mind. It helps you to have a fair scoop of realism. You have to let go of what you want to do and just say, This is what I'm able to do. Some people's aspirations are very high, and whatever they do they're deeply unsatisfied with. That's a terrible trap for artists and writers not to be able to enjoy something that's imperfect, because everything in the physical world is imperfect."

She also said, "In the arts, your weakness becomes your signature. The fact that your work is imperfect makes it interesting."

Yes, to the first quote. Maybe, to the second one. I'm still debating it.

Obviously, perfectionism is an issue for me, much the same as power is for Alyson. (I'm glad we aren't covering my achilles heel this week.) However, in such a competitive industry, it seems that getting it as right as possible is a benefit.

So, I really do want to know: Does the fact that your work is imperfect make it interesting? If so, maybe I should try to perfect imperfection.

That's all the deep, rambling stuff for now.

Macy

PS. Read the full interview conducted by Mary Curran-Hackett in the April edition of Writer's Digest, pages 54-57.