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Iām working on a fable about a fish. Iāve probably rewritten it ten times by now. At first I felt frustrated by this endless cycle of iteration. But then I remembered: This is how it goes. This is the process.
The task is to keep iterating until that āfeelingā is reflected back to me in the work. Itās that pestering creature in my head that made me start writing in the first place, the indescribable essence that I must strive to describe.
I know it when I see it, because it activates something in me. Sometimes, itās just a single sentence. It flickers in my eye like a glimmer of sunlight peeking through the leaves.
Iāve seen enough of these glimmers now to know when I havenāt found it yet. Thatās how I know I have to keep going, that the search is not over, and that there is still method to the endless meddling madness. (Or so I tell myself.)
Thereās no way to be sure that one iteration will be better received than any of its predecessors. I cannot predict the outcome. I can only follow the feeling.
Sometimes the creative craft feels like wading into the water on a beach, searching for the perfect spot by feeling with my feet. I couldnāt tell even if I found itāthe sensation in my toes underwater is a muddy signal. The only thing I know is when Iāve gone too far out into the deep, or when Iāve fled too far backward into the shallow sands. All I can do is keep swimming to stay in that sweet spot, toeing the line between surveying the unknown and getting lost.
I donāt always trust my instinct, but each act of sharing my work helps me grow a little more trust in my own judgement. Piece by piece, I grow in confidence.
Yet I know Iāll never feel fully content. Iāll never look at a piece and think, āAh, this is perfect.ā And thatās okay, because there is no such thing as perfect.
There is no ārightā in creative work. There is only the work to get it right.
I chase and chase, until I cannot chase anymore. Then, it is ready. It is ready because it must be, because I force a deadline, because otherwise this would go on forever.
At some point, I must lift the pen and let it go. Life is short, and there are many more feelings to find.
Iāll leave you with some lovely art from Shogo Seike, a talented artist and painter from Tokyo. Each of their pieces tells a vivid story, makes me smile, and leaves me with a warm feeling. You can follow more of their work on Instagram.
š¦ The Feeling
I find myself needing the iteration, whether itās the music or the art or the writing I do here. Bit of a George Saunders disciple, who is aaaalllllll about the versioning and iteration. But at some point that time comes when you say, am I really making this any better? I think thatās the time to move on!