About a week ago, I finished my edits on a rough draft of my second book.
Then, I sent a handful of different chapters to a handful of different people for feedback. And printed the book for Stephanie to read through and mark up with a red pen.
Simultaneously, I am in the taper period of marathon training. I’m running the Big Sur Marathon on my 40th birthday in 10 days. If you are unfamiliar with the taper, it’s a three-week time frame when you run less and your body tries to tell you that you are injured and sick even though you are not.
The editing phase and the taper hitting at the same time is quite a vulnerable experience.
I’ve been working on this book for 16 months on and off. The publisher has seen a sample chapter, but otherwise, it’s just been me trying to figure out what to say and how to say it and how to say it better. And now others will tell me how to say it better.
It’s a strange transition from the silo of writing to the open field of edits. It’s vulnerable. It’s such a personal thing, writing, that it’s hard not to take other people’s feedback personally. I want the book to be as good as possible, to resonate as loudly as possible. But I also just want all of the time and effort I put into this draft to be good enough…and I know it won’t be.
It’s weird how often I fantasize about this rough draft reaching people’s hands and them just saying - “Amazing! No notes! This is perfect!” But that will never happen. There probably won’t be a single page without edits, without questions, without cuts and re-writes. Every page will require more work.
I’m not sure about other writers, but for me, this process of receiving feedback is 10 times more energy draining than writing.
And the waiting, much like the marathon taper, is an existential crisis. I convince myself my left knee is sprained, right calf strained, and my back is going to be a problem. I convince myself that the structure is all wrong, that my conclusions are nonsense, and my examples are all going to be re-written.
It’s so easy to forget that in all likelihood, the race will be joy and beauty. It’s easy to forget that this book might mean so much to someone…maybe even a lot of people.
What is it about waiting, about in between times that makes us so worried? So vulnerable?
I’m not sure. But I hand off the book and the red pens anyway. I get all the gear ready and toe the start line anyway. And joy will almost certainly shine through.
Thanks for reading.
Andy
And all of this in the post-Easter Sunday timeframe. Red pens and changed course maps don’t change the good work you have done! It’s not binary - either all good or all bad. 💙