Perfection is Overrated

I once read a piece by William Zinsser in which he said, “The secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that’s already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what -these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence. And they usually occur in proportion to education and rank.”

Raymond Carver was the master of seemingly effortless, clutter-free prose.  In my view, one of the top pens of the short story.  He had a way of cutting to the chase, unveiling a plot laced in conflict in the first few lines. For example, the beginning of “Gazebo” --             

“That morning she pours Teacher’s over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.”

Or from “Vitamins.”

“I had a job and Patti didn’t.”

But my favorite is “Where I’m Calling From.” It is probably one of his best known short stories. Every time I read it I think how much fun it must be to toss my copy of “Elements of Style” to the wind, allowing only the character’s voice to immerge instead of the critic within. 

“J.P. and I are on the front porch at Frank Martin’s drying–out facility. Like the rest of us at Frank Martin’s, J.P. is first and foremost a drunk. But he’s also a chimney sweep. It’s his first time here, and he’s scared. I’ve been here once before. What’s to say? I’m back. J.P.’s real name is Joe Penny, but he says I should call him J.P. He’s about thiry years old. Younger than I am. Not much younger, but a little. He’s telling me how he decided to go into his line of work, and he wants to use his hands when he talks. But his hands tremble. I mean, they won’t keep still. “This has never happened to me before, “ he says. He means the trembling. I tell him I sympathize. I tell him the shakes will idle down. And they will. But it takes time.”

I still get excited when I see a blank piece of paper or white-faced word document. There is so much potential staring back at me. Now if I could only get rid of the middle man – the critic and perfectionist that has decided to set up shop inside me. It makes me recall an old adage that Ansel Adams lived by – “perfect is the enemy of the good.” He believed that if he waited for everything to be “just so” he would probably never take a photograph. The pursuit of perfection is a mighty crippler indeed!

I will close with a reminder from “Art & Fear – Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking” by Bayles and Orland. 

“To require perfection is to invite paralysis. The pattern is predictable: as you see error in what you have done, you steer your work toward what you imagine you can do perfectly. You cling ever more tightly to what you already know you can do – away from risk and exploration, and possibly further from the work of your heart. You find reasons to procrastinate, since to not work is to not make mistakes. Believing that artwork should be perfect, you gradually become convinced that you cannot make such work. (You are correct.) Sooner or later, since you cannot do what you are trying to do, you quit. And in one of those perverse little ironies of life, only the pattern itself achieves perfection – a perfect death spiral. But what you fail to see is that the seed for your next art work lies embedded in the imperfections of your current piece.”

So, with that, I wish all of you a great weekend…full of beautiful imperfections.