As a writer with a background and affinity for editing, I sometimes feel that the two skills of writing and editing are in conflict. They are two very different mindsets that must be managed by an internal mediator.
I need them both in order to do my best work, but they are always vying for the upper hand. The metaphorical rule of engagement is for the editor and the writer stay in two different rooms, with the doors closed. Occasionally I let them occupy the same space, but not too often.
The two selves occupy the same space when I am roughing out the plan for a finished piece of any length. For example, when I was building the story line and chapter outline for Courage Says “Keep On,” the editor-self offered good feedback on tasks such as identifying my audience and balancing the elements of the narrative. The writer-self then had a scaffold on which to hang that narrative with more consistency in content and style.
Beyond the initial planning stage, the two selves go to their separate rooms, then I decide which one is allowed out on any given workday. That’s the theory. In practice, there is plenty of room for trouble—specifically, the subject of this post: hyperfocusing.
My editor self is always eager to be involved when I am writing an opening paragraph. This usually results in an excessive amount of time spent on a couple of sentences, going over and over the words and structure to find the best and most perfect arrangement. If I am able to pull myself out of that vortex and write past a not-quite-right lead, actual productive writing might ensue. But I have to escort the editor away before I can continue writing. That means I must acknowledge that the horrible imperfection is just going to hang out there until I can fix it later.
Another thing that triggers hyperfocusing is my love of words. Finding the right one is like a treasure hunt…it has to be here somewhere! Let’s look it up in the dictionary—no, that’s not quite what I meant. Maybe this one…no, that’s too arcane, too much of a cliché, too fraught, whatever. When exploring definitions, nuances and etymology, there’s no end to the fun.
I have my parents to blame for that. They were both professional writers, so they both loved words, but that devotion played out in very different ways for each. Mom was more of a traditional journalist; a great interviewer and word-painter, putting her readers in the “you are there” moment. She worked as an editor also, but she didn’t take kindly to having her own work edited if she felt it diminished the effect she’d tried to create.
My father wrote for more specialized audiences, so his focus was usually on the clarity and accuracy that an editor brings—hence he was more often on the editor end of the mental continuum.
For myself, a good solid 4 1/2 works best, 1 being pure writer and 10 being pure editor. I’ve found ways to put up with the nagging sense of imperfection while getting the words down on the page, then going back later to clean up. Otherwise a sentence will take me a lifetime to write.
At the risk of invoking one too many metaphors, the shifting mechanism is important too. Hyperfocusing is bound to happen at some point, but with a patient and discerning hand on the camera lens, the shift occurs smoothly. I can always go back to the original point of focus—but sometimes looking away is the antidote for my misguided perfectionism.
