I am at a point where Zen Imperfections needs one more clean-up, and it will then be ready to go out in search of a publisher. I can feel the rising fear.
Déjà vu. Memories of high school chess coming up. I would have much preferred the basketball team, even the football team, but I was never the athlete that I wanted to be. I had to settle for the chess team. I played the first board, which meant I was our best player. We played other schools, five boards. I always played against the other school’s best player. It was something, but no one was watching our games. There were no cheerleaders.
Sometime during senior year, the stress of chess became too much. I found myself lying awake or at night or half dreaming, in my mind a corner of a chess board — why not the whole board? – a position from a recent game, always a situation in which I was losing, although I won most of the games I played. In the dream, nothing happened. I was just frightened, frozen, unable to sleep.
The real-life situation was different. I was never frozen. Chess is all about thinking ahead, anticipating. If I do this, he’ll do that. If he does that, then and then and then. Imagining as many scenarios as possible. Usually, the best move or what I thought was the best move became clear, and I would make my move, and the game would go on. Sometimes, there were too many possibilities. The scenarios would spin out of control. I could feel my brain burning.
Years later, reading Bertrand Russell’s autobiography, I learned after Principia Mathematica, which he’d co-authored with Whitehead while still a young man, he wasn’t able to do “serious” philosophy. He’d burnt his brain out on Principia. I thought I understood the feeling. But I wasn’t about to burn out. When the stress of not knowing what move to make became intense, I’d just pull the trigger — make a move. Do something. I’d find out what was next.
These are the memories that come up as I think about finishing Zen Imperfections. Roshi Chris Panos has helped me see that I would like Zen Imperfections to reach the largest audience possible. But how to do that? As I’ve been working through my rewrite, moving some pieces from one chapter to another, hopefully improving the flow, I’ve also been adding exercises. I don’t have one for every chapter yet, but I could. I like the exercises. They are practices that I have used with my Zen students or practices that I went through as a Zen student. The story I’m telling in Zen Imperfections is, I hope, encouraging, but doing the exercises is transformational. They changed my life.
“If the goal is to reach the largest audience, where do the exercises go?” Chris asks. “How many readers will actually do the exercises?” Perhaps not so many. If the exercises are at the end of each chapter, do they disrupt the flow for the more casual readers, who are perhaps getting their first glimpse of Zen practice? Should the exercises go at the end of the book?
“Or maybe they don’t belong in the book at all,” I wonder.
I don’t know. Neither does Chris. That’s why Zen Imperfections now needs a publisher, someone who is an expert in “reaching the largest possible audience” to help figure the next move.
I feel relief. I don’t have to figure this out. And in the same moment, I can feel the fear arising as I face the challenge of making the current draft “publisher ready.” What’s the fear? I don’t have to think long and hard on this one. What if no publisher is interested at all?
My chess dreams are returning, the fear of losing. I can see my chess path. Just get it out and get it over with. I can face rejection. I’m having trouble doing the careful rewriting required to get it publisher-ready while that monkey voice in my head keeps asking, “What’s the point of so much work? It’s going to be rejected anyway.”
I’m hearing a Siren’s call, “Come to me, come to me. Don’t waste any time on the Imperfections. It probably won’t be published anyway. Come to me.” Writing Zen Imperfections has been a wonderful experience, and there is another Zen book which has been calling to me all the time I’ve been working on Imperfections. I have a lot of material already written for the next book, a series of reflections which take off from the famous koan about Bodhidharma and the emperor. I am eager to get to it. Why bother even getting the Imperfections in shape to share with a publisher? Why not get started on the next book? First drafts are so much more fun anyway.
One of my favorite Imperfection sections focuses on Ksanti Paramita, patience. As you might have guessed from the title, I have a lot more experience with imperfections than with perfections. (“Perfection” is the usual translation of paramita). Faced with readying Imperfections for a publisher, it is as if I have never heard of Ksanti. The opportunities to practice with the paramitas arise again and again in my life.
I can see the traps. I have been down this road before, although it also feels as if I am in some new, dangerous place. I can see the fear out there. I don’t want to go through the pain of rejection. Why do I need more pain in my life? Why put myself through this? Forget about finishing, stick Imperfections in a drawer, and go on to the next project.
I see another trap. Keep writing and rewriting Imperfections until it’s perfect.
I think that I’m not going to fall into either of these traps. I’ve done enough work on this book now not to quit on it. I won’t kill my baby. If other people don’t love it the way I do, so be it. And I know my baby will never be perfect. So, what’s the problem?
There’s still my chess trap. Just pull the trigger. I can do it quickly. One button in Word will accept all changes. Done. I see the trap. I start to look at rewriting as an obstacle to getting back to writing. Rewriting is hard. My attention wanes. I realize that I have “read” a paragraph, when I haven’t. I’ve skimmed it, or not read it at all. I’m just remembering what I intended when I wrote it. I’m rushing to get back to writing. I’m making rewriting a burden. I’m beating myself up and making myself miserable. How much energy should go into writing and how much into rewriting? What is a balanced writer’s life?
I laugh. I know what Bernie would say. Put 100% of your energy into writing. Put 100% of your energy into rewriting. When you write, write. When you rewrite, rewrite.
I see this and I smile. This is Zen practice. In rewriting, I need to read every word with full attention. In rewriting, I need to go slowly.
I see this, and rewriting changes. I can’t muscle through. I need to build my rewriting stamina, and that will take time. Despite my age, I’m a beginning writer. Rewriting requires my full attention. When my stamina wanes, I give myself a break, shift to another task, and come back fresh. Rewriting doesn’t go as quickly as I would like. I can still feel my hurry, but I’m slowing down.
I am giving the Zen Imperfections one more read through. It’s been in the drawer 6 weeks, a long enough time according to Stephen King for a fresh read. Patience doesn’t mean dawdling. It also doesn’t mean rushing. I will take my time, and I will keep moving. I will see what the pace is as I begin working. I am thinking one chapter a day, five days a week. I will try to come to each chapter fresh and refreshed. And then I’ll let my baby go out into the harsh cruel world.
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