Too Far from Finished?

Do you know the story of the guy who moved toward his destination by going halfway every time? He never arrived. That mathematical principle blew my mind the first time I heard it. It's like trying to guess what the universe is inside of. Sometimes writing feels that way, like always taking half measures, and never being done.

Except that, one day, you are done.

Of course, as any published author can tell you, there are different kinds of doneness. There's the ultimate kind, such as happens when the book has already been printed. That's pretty done.

Then there's the earlier kind of done, as in "I'm done with my first draft of Chapter 6," "Done with my end notes," "Done for the day."

One of my favorites is, "I'm done with my book proposal." (If you need help getting your book proposal done, then click here for details about my 5-week Proposal Intensive starting March 15)

If we were chefs, printing done would be roasted, notes done would be deboned, chapter draft done would be stuffed or layered in the roasting pan, and day done would be seasoned (or vegan alternatives to these steps). Proposal doneness is to have written the recipe.

Once you deliver your book there's the whole "revisit it again" phenomenon because now you have an editor involved, and then a copyeditor, and then a proofreader, and then you realize you yourself have made a mistake that must be fixed or you discover a new compelling factoid that has to go in the book. Handing our work over to someone else can feel torturous. Which explains why I sometimes get hired to edit and then I'm told not to edit. (That's good for a chuckle.)

In saying these things I certainly don't intend to malign anyone. I can relate! Still . . .

Some people like to drag these things out. They're never done. They're constantly tweaking and rethinking and second guessing and navel gazing to the point of absurdity. They can't decide which way is up or down, to turn right or go left, and whether or not to trust their own instincts. The very notion of being done is anathema to some people. It probably feels like a failure.

I like to believe in my own writing that good enough is good enough, that I can sign and seal my projects "done" rather quickly and hand them off to the next guy in the production chain. But the truth is I'm probably the most obstinate "tweaker" of them all. I just do my rounds of rewriting behind closed doors. Years ago I came to terms with the fact that to please myself I had to put in more effort than the average person. I wasn't going to be content with average results. Hence (I love that word) . . . hence, the ridiculous half measures to arrive where I was going.

Now, should we attribute half measures to desire for success or fear of failure? I couldn't guess. We each have to sense what motivates us from inside our own skins. All I know is that moving toward what we desire is the motor that powers most activity. But we're not running the motor. It runs itself. The amount of conscious thinking we engage in as humans is puny. The vast majority of thinking is subconscious. Emotions about feelings surface more easily than thoughts change emotions or feelings. The feeling is the trigger. So we have to do what we can to participate in our own lives and creative processes. It's often a game of catch up.

So, let's challenge our thoughts some today, because maybe they're misleading us:

Are you feeling too far from being done? Why? Was there a deadline? How long was it supposed to take?

Too far from finished? What have you done to move things along? What kind of help did you get? What resources did you apply to solving the "problem" of completion?

Too far to go? Do you know which directions to move in? Do you know the number of steps it takes? Can you name those steps? How will you know when you've arrived?

Reflect on where and how you can get clarity on these answers. Meditate with your project as an open question and see what kind of wisdom comes back to you. And don't let anything stop you from taking the project to completion.

Imagine your life afterwards. What's it like? Who are you?