Not as good as it could be

Writing a book is hard, but not for the reasons you think. Words come fairly easy for me, and the time to write, though sometimes scarce, is easy to create than you’d think.

What’s hard is recognizing the book will never be complete. There will always be more to say (especially when writing I biographical essay, as I am). And there will always be a better way to say what I choose to say. No matter what shape the book takes when finished, it could always be better.

But who’s the “perfect” for? Can the reader only gain something from your book if it’s perfect? Or is the perfect for you, because you’re afraid of what they’ll say if it isn’t as good as it could be?

If my book has a purpose and my prose carries a sentiment, it may just be good enough.

Perfect is for me, and it’s limiting.

Good enough is for my readers, and it creates possibility.

What if I wrote books?

It’s day 3 into book writing and I’m loving the process. I’m writing about 2 pages per day. I know eventually I’ll edit it down, but getting a streak going feels really nice. Like my months of planning are amounting to something real.

Then I thought: what if I was an author? I’ve spent the last 6 years trying to decide what I want to do with my life. What if I just wrote books? If I really do love writing this much, why not continue writing for the rest of my life?

But this is a book that’s never been written. I don’t know if I could come up with an idea as real as this.

For now, I’ll just keep writing.