The Mimosa Effect 2

Since many of us are in the midst of that oft-dreaded novel (or short story) editing phase, I thought I’d pass on a bit of advice from Neil Gaiman, culled from a couple of different blog posts back in ‘05.

 When asked, how do you make friends with your own writing, and overcome the urge to be a perfectionist?

“Well, it’s hard to be a fan of your own work (I’m not a fan of my writing). You’ll always see how far it was from what you had in mind when you sat down to write. (The only thing that seems to fix that is time. But time still won’t make you a fan of what you’ve written, and when it does — when you find yourself laughing at a joke you’ve forgotten that you wrote a long time ago — it normally just makes you worry that you used to have it but you probably don’t any more.)

If people you trust say they like it, they probably like it, but that doesn’t make you respect them any the more or like the story. (It’s one reason that editors buying stories is so important for beginning writers. Anyone can say they like it, but sending a cheque and then printing the story — that’s love.)

 Also, once it’s written, the writer is just one more person with an opinion about the work. It’s certainly an informed opinion, but that doesn’t make your opinion more right than anyone else’s, I’m afraid, whether they like it or they don’t.

 It’s best make art and not to worry. I’ll take the satisfaction of having built something that did what I hoped it would do over being in love with my own voice any day. It’s safer. Make good art that says sort of what you set out to say and then, when it’s good enough for jazz, go on to the next thing.“
(Jan. 16 ‘05, http://journal.neilgaiman.com)

When asked, how do you know when a book is done?

“How do you know when your book is done? Hmm. I forget who it was that said that art is never finished, only abandoned, and that’s true up to a point. I’m never satisfied, but normally there’s a point that feels like you’ve reached the end of a story, that the journey begun is now over, and another point, somewhat later, where you feel like something’s been fixed and changed and polished as much as it’s going to be fixed and changed and polished — not that nothing more can be done with it but that any more changes are going to make little difference to the end result and might just make it worse.

“It’s good enough for jazz,” I think. And besides, by that point I’m normally getting much more interested in the next project, which is another indication that the last one is probably done.

(Right now I’m at the point where I’m suddenly embarrassed that I sent the zeroth draft to anybody, wish that no-one had read it, and am really looking forward to trying to get the first draft done — my deadline is April the 1st, which seems very appropriate for this book. Mostly at this point it’s a matter of writing about six or seven more scenes, and making a few things clearer, polishing a couple of themes until they shine.)”
(March 9 ‘05, http://journal.neilgaiman.com)

Then again, some of us start getting interested in the next project when we’re still on the first chapter of the first project, and end up (like me) with three or four novels on the go instead of one. In which case the advice would probably be, rule #1 is to Finish the Damn Thing. And when that thing is done, Write Something Else. I think “finish the damn thing” should be my morning mantra every day.  Also, “One thing at a time, Kiki.” (Kiki being the ferret in Sluggy who’s always being distracted by shiny things).

Pick a story. Finish it. Move on. Maybe if I put it to music…