Am I ever gonna be able to talk about writing a book without feeling like I'm playing the grand piano?

It's about being proud that I finished a novel, but vowing that the next one will be better, and honing my craft to make it so.

And that's where we split. I've loved every book I've ever written; I have never felt any desire or impulse or anything else that would make me look at Plainsong or And Then Put Out The Light and say, why yes, this is wonderful, but I can do better. Better than what? I'm a storyteller, it's what I do, it's what makes me sit down and write. Better than what? I genuinely don't get it. Am I supposed to be competing with myself? Telling myself this one's OK, but by God, the next one...

Never happen. I wouldn't write a word if I felt that way. I write because I'm a writer. I sit down and start telling the story because there's a story, it's in me, I'm telling it, the end, just like breathing. It's what I do.

I guess I'll never understand any other way.

edit: ALLYSON! Get your bad self into that chair and write something!

Am I supposed to be competing with myself? Telling myself this one's OK, but by God, the next one...

I'm not saying that you should be, just that it's the way I am. And I don't think I'm any less a writer because of it. To me, when I love something, I want to compete at it--with myself, with others, or both. It's how I'm wired.

Oh, there's no question of judgment there, Susan - I'm literally trying to figure out what you're saying, because the concept is so completely alien to me. It's whatever works for us, any one of us. For me, striving for some ideal of perfection that I was pretty sure was unattainable would shut me down as a writer entirely.

Whereas to me that's the whole beauty of it--that there's always something more to strive for.

Huh. I have a lot of respect for the work I've done, you know? I'm trying to imagine telling myself that the stories I've been telling are somehow insufficient. To me, that would be disrespecting myself, diminishing the work I've already done.

I think I'd burn my manuscripts and never write another word.

I'm curious now, about how other writers out there see the things they've already written, individual approaches. I know what mine is, I think (not sure) I know what Susan's is, I've had a glimpse of ita's.

Anyone? What are some other individual writer's roads out there?

I don't strive for a mythical ideal of perfection, but I'm more with Susan in wondering where I could do better, at least in terms of execution.

Haven't you ever finished a piece, Deb, and thought, "Huh. I could have streamlined that scene, or enriched that character?"

For me, there's a distinction between story and the actual execution of it, too. I know when I was acquiring, I read a lot of manuscripts that had enormous potential, story-wise, and were written horribly. And vice versa -- manuscripts where the author had an elegant command of language, but essentially didn't have a story to tell.

I like everything I've ever written to one degree or another, because my interest in the characters and the situation is what motivated me to write it in the first place. But there are a lot things that I look at now and think, Yeah, I could have been clearer. More concise, or more descriptive, or whatever. I think as writers we all hone our skills over time.

I'm with Deb, though, in not having an ideal of perfection. For me, the only ideal is writing things that I want to write, and enjoy writing, and being paid for them, which is part and parcel of having a readership who wants to read them. It's not unreachable, but it's tough.

Well, in my mind I'm not telling myself that what I've already done is insufficient, though I realize how it could sound like that. On one level it's just a basic philosophy of mine that there's always more to learn, always room for improvement. And on another level, it's about setting challenges for myself. E.g. with Lucy I was daring myself to actually finish a novel. With Anna, I looked at my writing and said, "Susan, you've proven you can finish a book, but if you really want to make a go of this, you need to get better at plotting. So don't shirk that really plotty sequel you have in mind for Anna's character--go for it, and do it right."

Haven't you ever finished a piece, Deb, and thought, "Huh. I could have streamlined that scene, or enriched that character?"

Yes, on a few occasions. But would I a) go back in time and do it? That would be no; the story is the story, and the woman who was writing the story at the time has presumably evolved a bit from the woman who wrote it at a different moment in time, or b) take that as a cue that I must do it "better" next time? Not enough no in the world, from the chair I write from.

Because unless I'm writing the same story over and over - which I wouldn't do, even if I knew how - the parameters are going to be radically different for each story.

There's a huge, huge difference, to me, between "Hmmm, that scene on page 47 of a book I wrote when I was 35 could have been tighter" and "Ack! Must improve! This isn't good enough!"

For me, that's disrespecting the work I've done. I've never done that; I've got a pretty damned good idea as to how good a writer I am, very few doubts about it. The work I've done that sucked, sucked. The work I've respected and loved enough to send out is what it is. I wouldn't rewrite that particular history. Not saying not to, just saying, I couldn't and wouldn't.

E.g. with Lucy I was daring myself to actually finish a novel. With Anna, I looked at my writing and said, "Susan, you've proven you can finish a book, but if you really want to make a go of this, you need to get better at plotting. So don't shirk from that really plotty sequel you have in mind for Anna's character--go for it, and do it right."

Now that makes sense. It isn't where I live, but it makes more sense than an invisible brass ring, which is what it was sort of sounding like.

That would be no; the story is the story, and the woman who was writing the story at the time has presumably evolved a bit from the woman who wrote it at a different moment in time

Could you write a letter to George Lucas?

I don't like making the same mistakes twice. That's as much as I consider when I go at something.