There is a saying that works of art are never finished, only abandoned. This definitely seems to be true of academic works as well — or at least the ones I right. I don’t think I’ve ever ‘finished’ something such that I’ve read it over, thought it over, and said “there is nothing more to be done to this — it is finished.” Instead, I finish projects in one of two ways: first, the deadline hits and I have to send it off or, second, I wake up one morning and realize that I have just stopped caring about it and it is done.
I had this second feeling late this afternoon when I realized that I was just done with the piece I have been working on for the past couple of months. Just done. It could still be improved — it is a good and important piece and could always be improved — but I simply couldn’t bring myself to care about it anymore. The cupboard was bare. The well was dry. I was fed up and I wasn’t going to take it any more. I had reached some sort of point of emotional commitment where it still mattered to me, but I just didn’t have any more to give.
Of course… the piece isn’t done yet (!) but it will be soon. After I hit this point finishing it up become the process of smoothing out the language, making sure the bibliography is in place, and sending it off. I think writing often happens like this — we see that perfect version of our writing up in the sky, we raise what we’re working on as high as we can, and then we learn to settle with what we’ve produced because, after all, we’re not angels or gods. But I rarely hear people speak about their experience of writing. Or rather, I do hear about it, but there are actually very narrow genre standards for ‘writing about writing’. We tend to write about two sorts of things: beating writers block/anxiety, and having a joyous/creative experience when we write. Its much more rare to have people write about the ups and downs of writing as a craft, and particularly the act of learning to settle for what you have written. Perhaps this is because very few people would credit an author’s opinion if they were known for writing books with titles like “I’m not a great writer but I get stuff done” or “not the best, but at least it got in on time”.
Nevertheless for people who write a lot these sorts of experiences of the frustrations and small rewards of craft have got to be more common, eh? Have other people had one of these ‘stick a fork in it, it’s done’ moments?
As someone who writes for a living, I can only agree that deadlines are wonderful things. When delivering before deadline is one of the reasons that clients bring you business, finishing becomes a priority. That said, I wonder why my academic friends seem to me incredibly casual about meeting deadlines. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard editors complaining about manuscripts being repeatedly delayed.
But, on a less snarky note, I wonder Rex, if you have anyone to work with as you write? When I’m hitting a wall as I write, I start talking about it, first to my wife (a very smart woman who is always able to point to something I may have missed or say, “I don’t know what you are trying to say here). Then come other friends and acquaintances, even thinking out loud on the Internet. I can recall leaving graduate school with this crazy idea that academic writing is all about solitary genius, perfecting the great work before it is suddenly revealed to acclaim. From working in the ad industry, I have since learned that it makes sense to work in groups and be willing to brainstorm lame ideas and listen to what the others have to say about them. I may be stuck or not at the top of my game. Then someone else in the group says, “What about X?” and I’m off and running again.
I have to agree — since you only really write papers as part of your ongoing conversation with some community of readers, it really is important to make a community part of the writing process. This means getting feedback, or even just having someone listen to you as you try to explain to them what you are trying to do. How easy that is depends on where you are, who is around, how well your friends use the Internet, etc.
That said, I think that even work done in contact w/others reaches a point where you just stop caring enough to keep going. Partially I think this has to do about community too — people have _heard_ about it and read _drafts_ but they keep waiting for the real thing so that they can circulate/cite it. But mostly I think there is a point in which you say “this has to be out the door so I can move on or else I am going to start stripping the gears”
Could be it’s time to send it off and see what happens. If nothing else, that gets it off the top of your stack, making room for something else.
But, switching tacks again, another barrier may be the notion that each article has to be a finished work of art, complete within its own frame. When I go back and read Vic Turner, for example, I note how much his essays overlap. None simply repeats the other. Instead, you see the constantly wrestling with new chunks of data, starting with already developed ideas but pushing them in new directions and adding new ideas suggested by the new cases. The result is not a set of perfectly formed gems but, rather, an evolving body of work that grows richer with each iteration.