It has always been my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mould, to try it by my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to suspend the action of the pen till I had given the last polish to my work.
~ Edward Gibbon, historian and author of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, born on this day in 1737
While I suspect the lack of word processors in the 18th century contributed to Gibbon’s restraint, I am nonetheless fascinated by the notion of perfecting a paragraph in one’s mind before committing it to paper (or, rather, to the screen). For me, much of the joy and fulfillment of writing is derived from formulating a clunky, heavy-handed passage in the white space before me and then scrambling, inserting, and eliminating words and sentences until perfection is seemingly achieved. According to novelist Walter Mosley (This Year You Write Your Novel), the process of rewriting is therefore endless because the work never attains perfection.
Unlike Gibbon, I am a dedicated and zealous reviser. Of the many stories, essays, poems, memoirs, and novel chapters in my “final version” files, none are ever truly finished. On the contrary, what I love most about writing is the opportunity, the necessity, to revise again and again, sometimes ad infinitum, for as long as the piece continues to enthrall and engage me with its promise. It is simply impossible for me to read a paragraph I’ve written and not find a phrase or word or comma to alter for its benefit. Indeed, the premise of a “last polish” has a compelling gleam to it, but I think the potential of a perfect draft is even brighter.
[…] Celebration of Technique,” “Last Writes,” “More is More,” “Not Quite Write,” and “Drafting Perfection” are a few of my personal favorites. However, it is the angst of writing about which I tend to […]
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