On Editing

It amazes me: the lack of clarity belonging to any given combination of words. Astounds me: the time it takes to edit and re-edit work that, when written, seemed perfectly acceptable. I write this knowing that I will rewrite it, remove at least 25% of it, swapping-out words that look odd or feel old. No, these words are not the words you will read. You, the reader, will never see the sloppy, unhappy, loose-fitting sentences I strung together on first draft. You will never read the one sentence paragraphs that transition not at all. Just think, what you are reading now might be poorly written but compared to the first draft it’s fine dining.

I hate editing; I love obsessing.

Obsessing is: I want this word, no this word is better, oh, let’s put this here, and that there. Editing is: checking, rechecking, looking for motivation, inconsistencies, grammatical errors (GRAMMAR!). Editing is the admission that I am not a great writer, maybe not a good writer, possibly a poor writer, probably not a writer at all so why continue with this useless dream, you stupid loser?

Then I remember, it’s not stupidity that causes me to write, it’s desperation, it’s need. It’s that fearful voice telling me I had better figure it out, I had better learn how to communicate well and soon, because, despite the fact that I have been a non-smoker for almost six weeks, my lungs still will eventually wear out, my breath will grow thin, and I could die having never said anything to anyone about who I am or how I see the world.

I write this knowing that the words I string together may or may not hold meaning for you. I can only hope that after obsessing and editing it is at least clearly written.