When Good Enough is Good Enough
By Sarah Callender | January 5, 2023 |
In August 2021, my husband and I hugged our son goodbye and left him at a small college in Ohio, 2033 miles away from our home in Seattle.
Minutes before the drop-off, my husband realized he had never shown our late blooming son how to shave with a good, old fashioned razor. And as we flew back to Seattle, I panic-realized that I had never taught him how to manage a high fever. How to wrap a scarf to prevent frostbite. How to buy used textbooks. How to shop for groceries. How to get the best price on groceries. How to cook the groceries in a dorm-size microwave. How to date. How to weather a broken heart.
I had dropped my boy in the middle of Ohio with nary a survival skill.
This coming August, my husband and I will be hugging our daughter goodbye and leaving her at The University of TBD. Depending on the generosity of financial aid packages, she will be at one of ten schools, all of them between 311 and 2831 miles from home.
Last week, at the school that’s 1945 miles away, thermometers recorded a high of two degrees. At the university that’s 2669 miles away, blizzards dumped six feet of snow and people froze in their cars. The city with the school that’s 2294 miles away has had a record number of homicides for the past two years.
I know I have not yet prepared her to dress for high-of-two-degrees weather. I haven’t told her about the importance of steering clear of people with homicidal tendencies, of wearing shower shoes, of eating and hydrating before going to parties. I don’t think she knows the difference between Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen. That with the proper doohickey, she can make ramen in a microwave. That she must never walk alone at night. I cannot forget to tell her she can never walk alone at night. Never ever. She has absolutely no idea how life-threatening life can be.
And then there are the lapses in etiquette! Just the other day, after returning from dinner with her boyfriend and his family, she announced, “I didn’t know I was supposed to put my napkin in my lap. But they all did, so I realized I should too!”
OMG. How could I have been so lax? So inattentive? I have left her so ill-prepared, unpolished, naïve. And even if I buy her a ramen doohickey and remember to tell her about parties and walking alone and shower shoes, I know there are a thousand other bits of wisdom I will forget to impart.
At some point in late 2024, my first novel, one that is even older than my children, will be sent off into the world. How nice it will be if a copy lives 2831 miles away. How nice it will be if there are copies on friends’ and strangers’ bookshelves. How nice it will be if people want to hang out with my book and the characters that populate it. It’s so nice to think about these nice things.
But just before Thanksgiving, when my amazing editor returned her first round of editorial feedback, she gently pointed out numerous not-small issues.
Issues with character motivation.
Issues with the timeline.
Issues with consistency.
While I had known the manuscript wasn’t perfect, her feedback revealed massive cracks in the foundation. Or perhaps I had built a foundationless story-house? Yes. Atop the San Andreas Fault. Using graham crackers and a hot glue gun.
How could I have been so lax and inattentive? How could this book have been so utterly unprepared for life outside of my laptop? How could I have been so negligent?
These days I teach middle schoolers at a school filled with young humans who tend to reside in Perfectionistville. Especially when submitting work to writing contests, they can become paralyzed by the idea that their work is not yet perfect.
“Right,” I tell them. “And your work will never be perfect.”
They look at me with that middle schooler expression that communicates this: You, middle-age teacher-lady, are clueless. And wrong. And your outfit is so mid.
“Therefore,” I continue, unfazed, “you need to learn to recognize when good enough is good enough.”
I share this often with my students because I am working to understand it myself: How do I know when something–my children, my writing–is good enough, ready enough for the world.
We are told that when we query agents, our query letters and manuscripts must be perfect, that when we self-publish our stories, they too must be perfect. Except we know that perfection does not exist. We humans are life-long students, always (if we are lucky) growing and learning. Likewise, the stories we create are forever works-in-progress, forever imperfect. How then do we know a piece of writing is ready enough to go out into the world?
I don’t know that we can know, not for sure. But I do know we cannot write in isolation. Or at least, we cannot write good-enough stories in isolation. Just as when we are raising children (and/or dogs, chickens, orchids, backyard vegetables), we writers need helpers. We need guidance and advice. Most importantly, we need tough love. And we need to be open to receiving that tough love.
Over the years, my dear, wise writing partners and my equally dear, wise agent, have been the midwives of my current WIP. They have patiently shared thousands and billions of bits of feedback. They have all made the book sellable. And even with their hundreds and trillions of hours of constructive feedback, there is still so much work to be done. They, like I, lost the ability to see the story with fresh eyes.
More bad news: It can take years of trial and error to find even one good-enough critique partner, someone who is wise, honest, and savvy, someone who recognizes our potential as writers, as well as the potential of our story. It requires tenacity (and a lot of luck) to find a trusted critique partner, and even more tenacity and luck to find new people to bring aboard, generous, fresh-eyed folks who will smooth the rough edges that have gone unnoticed, partners who will tough-love our literary offspring, readying them for weird roommates, dinners with the boyfriend’s family, city-wide homicides, and high-of-two-degrees weather.
But is there anything about the writing process that is simple, efficient, and painless? No, I don’t think so either.
So we keep going, braced by literary midwives who will help us build imperfectly beautiful, good-enough stories.
Right?
That’s right. We keep going and going and going.
Your turn! How and where have you found a trusted soul who can discern when you are ready to query, pitch, or submit your work? How have you been able to determine when “good enough is good enough”? What else have I forgotten to tell my children?
Thank you, dear WU community, for reading and for sharing your experience and wisdom.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
[coffee]
Thank you Sarah! That’s a lesson we all need to hear, and often. I’d just started my next book on this Day After New Year and immediately stopped to rethink it… yes, we need to know what’s good enough.
Another way to put it is WIBBOW, Would I Be Better Off Writing? Just like we have to make choices between giving a minute to writing or for laundry, TV, or book promotions, sometimes the purest question is “Can I give more by re-tinkering this story again, or by going to something new?”
Good Enough.
I laughed when I read this lovely comment, Ken, because I often feel that I WBBOW, but then I am in my bathroom or kitchen or really anywhere in my home, and I think, Hmmm, I believe I WBBOCleaning. My house is a total pit!
Your point, however, is excellent. And sometimes, I need to remember that IWBBOW instead of playing the NYT Spelling Bee. I know IWBBOW, but the lazy part of my brain insists that IWBBOPTNYTSB.
Thank you for my new favorite acronym!
Dear Sarah — your post resonated so much with me. I am the mother of three, the youngest of whom is about to finish college and start his first job. I never taught him how to be professional but also collegial, how to find a good apartment, how to save for retirement. Can he even navigate his own taxes, much less adult relationships?
I am also the wife of a clinical psychologist, who taught me very early the concept of the “good enough mother.” It has saved me from countless bouts of perfectionist grief regarding my children, but you are so right: it is difficult to know where “good enough” lies in writing. Somewhere just past “but I thought it was already polished and ready for instant fame” and right before “I’d better take to another paid editor and rewrite extensively,” I suppose.
In my case, my brilliant-and-practically-perfect middle grade novel encountered a further wrinkle in that my lived experience and life-long expertise bumps uncomfortably up against diversity issues in the publishing world. This particular book will never be published in the current climate, and I’ve grown okay with that. I know that good enough really is. Not everyone has to love my difficult child, but I’m not about to force her to become something she isn’t.
Thank you so much for sharing your empathy and humor, Kristin.
My MG novel has also been a problem child … for ten years. One of the character dies by suicide, and publishers said–with good reason–that “suicide” was not appropriate for MG readers. Yet the narrator was too young to appeal to YA readers. So there was years and years of “close, but not quite.”
And then the pandemic happened, and we realized that when kids are living through terribly sad things, maybe it’s OK for them to be reading stories about others who experience terribly sad things.
Do NOT force your child to become anything other than what she is. xo!
Thanks so much for reassuring me that my book is good enough to be published. Which is lucky, because it’s coming out in April 2023 and it’s too late to do anything about it now. But the occasional doubts persist…(and your children will be fine!)
Vaughn: the ultimate good-enough-is-good-enough moment comes when you publish, wait a while to take a look at it, and then start shaking your head, this followed by slapping your forehead. But that was then, this is now, and it’s time to move on. Or should I get the production files and ….No, enough is enough.
Wise advice, Barry. Thanks for leading the way and shining the light as you do so. Happy New Year!
Gabi, that’s amazing! And so exciting. That’s just around the corner … you perhaps have a boatload of exciting emotions? Wow … congratulations. Keep us all posted! :)
Hey Sarah, Oh how deeply I feel this. Going in to publication, I knew I didn’t know stuff, of course. But I had really didn’t have any clue about the depth of my unknowingness.
Turns out post-pub life looks like one of those truly erratic graphs you see–sort of like one of those charts that shows how unstable global temperatures have become or something. One day I’m on top of the world, smiling down on the glory of my creation. The next I cannot bear how flawed and unfit my pile of words is, wondering how in the world I could’ve imagined it was ready for others to invest hours of their lives slogging through. Some days these wild swings of the graph occur within hours. often with that low end coming at triple threes (otherwise known as 3:33 am–the hour of personal penance for my lack of discipline; i.e. not enough exercise, no “work” progress made, an ill-advised final libation, indulging in any amount of hubris, or any combination of those).
Sorry for the mixed report from the front. I’m glad to see that you’re doing the proper preparatory work. We can never know all the stuff, but we must prepare for the unknowingness nonetheless. I’m glad, too, that you’re sharing, because I’m still dwelling in my unknowingness for releasing a complete trilogy. What fate awaits me once the entire story is told? Only a fool would say they’re sure. So I’ll try to avoid thinking that I know, and hopefully stay successful at it. Well, most days. Until triple threes smacks me back to the appropriate humility.
Honestly, though, I can’t wait to have your release here, 2,144 miles distant, to read and admire and escape into, and shelve for rereading. Keep on keeping on. It mostly feels much more than good enough on this side of publication.
Thank you, as always, for your humility and humor, Vaughn. It really is funny … most/many of us see that publication is the secret to happiness, the true source of validation. Your comments reminds us that’s not at all the case … or at least that any validation or happiness we feel is ephemeral.
Have you found ways to keep the doubts at bay?
As for your trilogy, I’m afraid the writing and publishing of Books 2 and 3 is inevitable. So grab your shield and sword (and laptop) and keep being your bad, beautiful self!
For the most part the doubts are as ephemeral as the overly proud delight. I see it as part of the job of the pendulum, to keep me on my feet, moving forward, with my head out of the clouds. Today the pendulum has been on the upswing since triple threes. Sorry to have commented on the low end of the swing.
Thanks again for an uplifting post! (Upswinging?) Here’s to grabbing the sword and shield every day and striving to avoid the extremes.
xoxo! “The job of the pendulum” … brilliant. I have never thought of a pendulum having a job. I’ve always just thought of it as one of life’s rather exhausting realities. Thank you for personifying the pendulum … it actually looks out for us, keeps us humble, keeps us moving. Three cheers for pendulums!
Does she know how to ride a city bus? In my view, deadlines are lifelines. They force you to stop. Keep us posted on your MG. Applause!
Hi Chris. Yes, she does know how to ride a city bus! I guess this means my job is done. Phew. ;)
I do love this reminder that something as mundane as using public transportation requires a whole bucket of transferrable skills.
I love your point about deadlines too … it helps me understand why yesterday, when one of my critique partners reminded me that, if necessary, I could push out the deadline a bit, I had a visceral reaction and said, “No!”. I realize now that extending a deadline only makes me feel that the work has to be even better, and that is a feeling that will paralyze me.
Gosh, this is weird work we do.
Thank you for your wise and encouraging comment.
Oh Sarah, I am right there with you. Thank you for this beautiful article!
Thank YOU, Julie, for the comment. I hope you (and your family) are well. Here’s a hug and a high five!
Sarah, with the heart and soul that your work always communicates, your daughter takes with her much of your words, your touch and your direction. She will be fine. The communication you have built with her will continue, though you might get a few tear-filled phone calls asking about some symptom or hurt feeling. Relish the questions. They keep the connection going. It’s not unlike writing a novel…you make mistakes, but over time, the story you have been creating (your adult child) will surprise and amaze you.
Gosh, Beth. This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your wisdom.
Isn’t it amazing how many parallels there are between writing and living? Or between sticking with a novel and sticking with a partner? You’re such a gem. Happy writing (and creating) to you!
Sarah, my friend, please don’t fret. Kids learn by example, by watching, and I bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what they figure out on their own. Life is nothing but try, fall, dust off, and try again. This is how we all learn . . . in life, and writing.
A good mom still worries about her children, no matter their age. The trick is to subdue the worry while you watch them fly. :)
Hugs
Dee
Thank you, Dee! I think the fact that my son, still home for winter break, has a bedroom floor that looks like a war zone, is proof that children do learn by example. [Insert scared-face emoiji here!]
xo!
Ha, yes! And can you imagine a world without stories? That’s a world I could not possibly survive.
More than a decade ago, right before I started querying agents, I met with a poet-friend who was the writer-in-residence at a writing organization in Seattle. I showed her my first ten pages that I would eventually, if requested, want to send to an agent. I was 100% sure there were still major issues, but this poet-friend, assured me it was ready to go. “But it’s not perfect yet,” I told her. “And every agent says the work must be perfect before you start querying.”
She looked at me and said, “Yeaaaaah, but when agents say that, they’re not talking to you.”
I still didn’t believe her. But I trusted her … I guess that’s the important thing: having someone whose opinion we trust more than our own.
Thanks so much for your words here, Pamela!
I am lucky to have found two women who are great writers themselves. We have an agreement to ask for feedback in a way that will be productive and helpful. In the past, I have received feedback that was so devastating it made me feel like a failure and I stopped writing. These two women provide very helpful, but also encouraging feedback. I do the same for them. It’s been a very good process for all of us. My husband is my co-author as well, so having a male perspective is priceless. With their help, I have written almost 21,000 words and hope to get to 50,000 within six weeks.Then, the editing begins. I agree that having helpers is very important, and I have three that really work for me.
Dear Barb,
That is wonderful … and what you share is such a great example of the blessing of honest, tough-loving critique partners … and the danger of partners who affect our ability to keep going. I have been in that situation too, and it feels horrible!
I’m so glad you have found that balance. And I’m so curious about the experience of co-writing with a spouse! It makes me giggle to think of what a nightmare I’d be if my husband and I were co-writing. Clearly you two are doing something right!
Thanks so much for sharing.
:)
Thank you, Sarah, for your wonderful post!
I’ve been working with a writing group for about 8 years we care enough about one another to give and receive tough love. Unfortunately, since none of us write in the same genre, feedback while candid and constructive is not professional, a little like the blind leading the blind. I recently produced a MS I was optimistic about, and realized that in addition to candid and constructive, I needed a professional opinion. First, I got an editorial assessment, which I found I could trust, She offered helpful criticism on stuff that had nagged at me ands other stuff I would never have seen. It’s now in her hands for line editing. We’ll see. But I’m still optimistic.
I never send anyone off to college without a copy of Been There, Should’ve Done That. (www.amazon.com › Been-There-Should’ve-Done-That › dpAmazon.com: Been There, Should’ve Done That: 995 Tips for …
Mar 15, 2008 · There is a newer edition of this item: Been There, Should’ve Done That: tips for making the most of college. $12.95. (19) In Stock.)
It won’t tell them all the stuff you (and I) forgot to tell them, but it can be a lot of help.
Dear Bob,
Thank you for the parenting book tip. I am going to check that out … except that somehow, I have birthed two people who do not read. I don’t know how that happened. It’s quite discouraging.
I am so glad you found a good editor because you’re right: sometimes our partners can’t offer us everything we might need. I guess it’s like any relationship; it’s rare (or impossible) for any one person to meet every one of our weird needs. We do need a team.
Best of luck to you! And thank you for your guidance.
:)
Sarah, your post is much better than good enough—thank you.
You might remind your children not to take selfies on a suspension bridge in a rainstorm after two martinis, despite the stark temptation.
Hi Tom! That is a very good tip … but then they might say, “OK, Mom!” and then proceed to take selfies on a suspension bridge in a WINDstorm after THREE martinis while wearing roller skates.
Ah, parenting. And thank you for your kind words and funniness. You’re a peach!
How I love this kind, human, realistic, constructive attitude toward writing…and life. Thanks for a great post. I rarely get “lost” in posts, but I did in this one.
Gosh, Tiffany. Many times each day I wish I were just a little less human. It an be so dang exhausting. But I know we in the WU community tend to be just as human, so I am in very good company. I think “massive amounts of humanness” is probably a requirement for writers.
xo!
On my eighteenth birthday my father sawed my corner off the table, broke my plate, took me by the scruff of the neck and led me to the door where he advised me not to let it hit me in the ass on the way out. Guess what? I’m still here!
Dear Jay,
I love this. I also just started listening to Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead. Your voice in this comment reminds me of her fabulous narrator. I bet you and he would be good friends. :)
Thanks for the laugh and the encouragement!
Sarah, it’s amazing that despite all our deficiencies and failures, our kids do fine. As do our stories. Though some stories take even longer than kids to mature. I’m grateful for my writing friends and community who make this journey so much more enjoyable. Happy New Year!
And happy 2023 to you, Vijaya. I agree 100% that this road would be terribly terrifying and utterly lonely without a community like WU. Hugs to you and your family.
xo!
Shower shoes?
Leaving that aside, the whole idea of “good” is, ask me, misleading. Plenty of manuscripts are “good”: skilled, commercial, readable, nothing notable to fix. When evaluating the salability of a particular project, for me it’s often not what’s there that gives me pause but what’s not there.
Things I’m looking for but not necessarily finding? Captivating narrative voice. Characters to immediately care about. An inviting (or terrifying) story world. Beneath the surface tension that makes every scene, every page, every line contribute something that is necessary to read. A sense that this story is imbued with significance greater than the sum of its pages. Originality. For starters.
There’s nothing wrong with good enough and maybe that’s a fine state at which to arrive with a manuscript. Yet why be satisfied with okay? Pause and evaluate, sure. Feel good. But why stop there? No one here lives to be unnoticed or writes to be merely patted on the back. Be restless. Feel unsatisfied. After all, your manuscript isn’t leaving for college. You can make it ready or you can make it a force to be reckoned with. Why not the latter?
Dear Donald,
Am I correct to assume–by your opening comment–that you don’t believe shower shoes are a necessity while living in a college dorm? I find such blitheness troubling. How is it possible that you, a college graduate, have survived sans shower shoes? Because I care about you (and treasure your presence at WU), I took the liberty of purchasing a pair of “quick drying, non-slip, comfortable men women shower shoes/house slippers.” In black. I had to guess about your shoe size, but they seem forgiving, size-wise. Enjoy! They should arrive at your home in six minutes, give or take.
https://www.amazon.com/XUANHSU-Bathroom-Slippers-Sandals-Swimming/dp/B07CK7M5DV/ref=sr_1_6?keywords=shower+shoes&qid=1673024633&sr=8-6
Thank you so much for your comment, Donald. I admit it threw me into a bit of a tailspin, but you are right. Maybe “good enough” is not the phrase I should use? Maybe “perfect enough” is better? As an agent, you likely receive so many queries that are nowhere near perfect enough. That must be frustrating and crazy-making. Perhaps throwing a men women shower shoe house slipper across the room will provide an outlet for your frustration.
I love the reminder that we are supposed to remain restless and unsatisfied, that the quality of our work requires our willingness to hunker down, earthquake drill-style, in a state of both. I also dislike that reminder. Being a writer is not for wimps.
Really, thank you for being here. You make us all closer to perfect enough.
Hello, Sarah — This was so refreshing to read — especially since my own inner critic challenges me to make the leap between ‘good enough’ and ‘good,’ In the way our work will never be perfect, parenting will never be perfect, and the equivalence you make between the two really struck a chord.
Thank you, dear Deborah! Isn’t it so difficult to figure out if our inner (and our outer) critics are doing more good than harm? I suppose that’s why it’s so important to surround ourselves with a trusted team, one that can help us know which critic is more “right” than the other.
Happy writing to you! And thank you for taking the time to write and share.
Sarah:
On of the blessings/curses of being human is that nothing is every “good enough.” In Robert Browning’s words, “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” Chalk it up to the loss of Paradise or to human neuroticism, but we’re always looking for something better. The Buddha suggests a remedy, “It is better to travel well than to arrive.” Maybe being a better writer, whatever that means to you, is “good enough.”
This is lovely, Christine. Thank you. And your comment reminds me of Vaughn’s response here. It’s so tempting to think that “getting published” is the goal when maybe it’s better to think of it as “a” goal. If it is the only goal, I fear we will be quite disappointed by how quickly the joy of publication can evaporate, dissolve, fizzle. I really appreciate that reminder. And thank you for sharing The Buddha’s wise words. :)
Happy writing to you!
The only simple and painless part of writing, I think, is coming up with the original concept for a story. Those promise-filled gems often just ‘boop’ their way into your mind and you can’t even say why. (Magic.) As for efficiency, it and I are not friends. I cannot wait to read your novel, and 2024 feels like a very inefficient number of days away from today.
I empathize with both your editorial notes and your worry over All The Untaught Things. I distinctly recall shoving life tips into random conversations when I knew my kids were engaged. “Never mix bleach with ammonia!”
If your daughter ends up in the 6-foot-snow city, I will come to visit.
As for that revision, you’ve got this, Sarah Callender. Write on!
xoxoxo! I have definitely forgotten to give them the bleach and ammonia warning. I will share that when I remind them of the perils of mixing vinegar and baking soda.
You are right about the joy of a new idea. It seems so simple, so exciting, when it’s just the idea booping around in our head. The possibilities are thrilling. And then, well … you know.
I just checked, and if Anna goes to the school that’s under six feet of snow, she will “only” be 160 miles from you. Maybe you can split the distance and meet at the Wegman’s in Geneva?
Thank you for inventing (along with Kathleen) this amazing community!