It was easy enough to write a sentence, but if you were going to create a work of art, the way Melville had, each sentence needed to fit perfectly with the one that preceded it, and the unwritten one that would follow. And each of those sentences needed to square with the ones on either side, so that three became five and five became seven, seven became nine, and whichever sentence he was writing became the slender fulcrum on which the whole precarious edifice depended. That sentence could contain anything, anything, and so it promised the kind of absolute freedom that, to Affenlights' mind, belonged to the artist and the artist alone. And yet that sentence was also beholden to the book's very first one, and its last unwritten one, and every sentence in between. (54)
I was recently asked, "What's the hardest part of writing for you?" There's only one answer: letting it go.
I officially finished Super Power of the Day: The Hero Chronicle Continues last week. After uploading the file to my printer, I spent several days spying on the traffic outside my door, anxiously awaiting the overnighted proof copy. At first I was annoyed that UPS defined "overnight" as 5+ days (August 8th to the evening of the 13th.) But I'd spent the time happily copy editing volume 3, so the delay hardly mattered.
Here's the problem: I decided to actually read the proof copy before approving it. So far, no mistakes. Oh, there's a hyphen that should be added on page 22, but the work is otherwise technically fine.
Still. No matter how many times I've copy edited and proofed the work, I find sentences that need "to square with the ones on either side" better. I can approve the work as is, guaranteeing availability next week when the local paper's coverage of my second book being published happens. Or I can make it right.
On one hand, I should just let it go and save the $40 it will cost to upload a revised file.
But I don't think I can. Let it go, that is.
Does that make me a true artist?
