November 15th has come and gone – the day by which I was supposed to not only have contacted editors about working on my manuscript but also chosen and hired one. I have not. To all the above, I have not.
I did one “final” edit and found more errors that I wanted to correct myself. Some were actual errors like spelling errors, but others were changes I made to make the story clearer, some continuity changes, you know, stuff like that. One thing’s for sure, it’s hard to let it go.
It took me a year to write this story, as I recall, and about that same length of time after that to edit it. This story was so hard to write, so incredibly hard to write. I knew where I was going, I just didn’t know how I would get there, then I just started typing and it came to me.
That was over 20 years ago, and somehow I mustered up the courage back then to let it go, to send it out and hope for the best, yet ended up with the worst news…my story wasn’t getting published.
I didn’t try again after that. I moved on to write other things. But this story was like the one that got away without leaving me until it did. Around 2011 it got trapped on the hard drive of an old broken down desktop from the early aughts. It was just a year or so ago when I graduated from YouTube university to figure out how to retrieve it, and I did, and so now we’re here.
I think my biggest challenge in editing is trying to keep the integrity of the writer I was back then. One of the most annoying questions out there (at least to me) that people think is so profound and introspective is: What would you say to your younger self? Or your 15-year-old self, or your 21-year-old self. I could probably philosophize on the futility of that question on multiple levels, but for this sake of the current subject matter I will just say, who is my current 40-something self to tell my 20-something self anything about writing a story that came to me at that time?
I have to accept the fact that the story is what it is – even the parts I don’t remember the significance of. I wrote it that way, back then for a reason, so I just have to let it be.
I also need to let go of the idea that if I keep working on it, I can make it perfect. I have to remind myself that there is a duality to writing, even though I’m writing by myself. I actually say plurality even because there’s me, and in this case the editor, and then finally the reader. Only the reader knows the pictures they will paint in their head to words that I write. I have some control over that to some extent, but to some extent I also don’t. The point is, no matter how I change things and rearrange things, the reader is always going to see what they see, whatever their life’s experiences has taught them to pick up on. It’s lovely and wild how two people can read the same thing, and get a totally different meaning.
I’m a true believer that I piece of written work is never really finished until it’s read.
And so, that is my cue to let it go.
Editors, I’m coming for you this week.
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