Why Not Put Off Till Tomorrow the Story You Could Submit Today?

“My life is a series of ranked priorities. At the top of the list is the thing I do not wish to do the very most, and beneath that is everything else. There is a vague order to everything else, but it scarcely matters. . . the rest of my life is little more than a series of stalling techniques to help me achieve my goal.” - Ann Patchett

I have finished a story. I mean it. It’s done. I’ve spent three years returning to it, revising it, pronouncing it finished once again. It is as good a story as I am capable of (though not as good as I wish it were). I am tempted to hang on to it for another three years, because then, the logic goes, I will be capable of better. But the truth is, I’m a little sick of this story, and my preoccupation with it is beginning to take on the dimensions of obsession.

It is beginning to dawn on me that the only way to be relieved of a piece of writing is to let it out into the world. Give it away to readers not related to me by blood or affection, even if that leaves only the underpaid interns excavating the slush pile.

Which is why I’ve never yet ever submitted a story for publication.

If sending it out means calling it done, that suggests it is time to move on to something new, and let it remain as it is. Which means that it will forever remain this imperfect thing, now out in the world, all its imperfection reflecting back on me. . .

I know now where this sort of thinking leads, and I know how arrogant it sounds. “Perfectionism” conjures up the control freak, the micromanager, Martha Stewart. A quality annoying in others, but satisfying in ourselves. But perfectionism has a darker side, and the pretty word overshadows the perverse mental processes behind it, and the intense fear of failure that motivates it.

The problem with avoiding failure is that inevitably you avoid success too.

I have decided to send my story to a contest, sponsored by a general interest woman’s magazine, and judged by a commercially successful author whom I respect. There is the promise of monetary reward in addition to publication, and, unlike a lot of underfunded lit mags, it won’t take a year to hear back from them.

The contest has a 3500 word limit, which means I have to cut about 750 words, about 20% of the story. I resisted at first: I didn’t want to cut a single, precious word. Perhaps I would just submit it as-is. That way, when I lose, I can tell myself that they disqualified me.

That’s the coward in me. So I ruthlessly managed to cut about 680 words, five beautiful paragraphs. I’m now within 70 words.

The thing I do not wish to do the very most is cut those last 70 words, because then I will have no more reasons not to submit the story. I have managed to avoid doing so for a week, despite telling myself every morning that I would tackle it after work.

This morning I sat down at my desk to begin. Always, I let myself surf and email for a little while (sometimes a long while) before easing into writing. It usually works - after some time I get bored, and it’s easier just to begin writing.

The book exchange site I’m a member of had sent notification that someone wanted my copy of Writers on Writing, Vol II: Collected Essays from the New York Times. When we moved into this place I went on a book purging frenzy, putting aside for trade all the books I had read and didn’t find to be worth keeping, or books I’d never read and didn’t imagine I’d ever want to. Writers on Writing fell into the latter category. It was given to me by a well-meaning loved one when I first started the MFA program; I never read it, because at the time I recognized hardly any of the writers listed. I only looked at it again this morning. I recognize a lot more of the names now. In flipping through it, I came across an essay by Ann Patchett called Why Not Put Off Until Tomorrow the Novel You Could Begin Today? She writes that “starting a novel isn’t so different from starting a marriage. The dreams you pin on these people are enormous.”

I have a great big dream pinned on every story I write. I long to be good at it. I read once that procrastination can serve an important psychological function of protecting the Self from what it fears the most. If I’m honest with myself, I’m putting off submitting this story not because I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of watching a dream die.

On the other hand, sometimes letting the dream go is the only path to happiness. That was certainly my experience with marriage. By the time that dream died, it was a mercy killing.

Patchett ends her essay with: “Despite the hand-wringing, housekeeping and the overdrive of unnecessary productivity, there will come a point very soon when I will begin, if for no other reason than the stress of not beginning will finally overwhelm me. That, and I’ll want to see how the whole thing ends.”

The stress of not finishing is beginning to overwhelm me. And I really do want to know what happens next.