But when is it done?

I'm just getting started on Substack, but I want to know how to tell when something is finished.

Having recently tasked myself with sharing my writing publicly, I now find myself, with a heightened sense of critique, thinking about what it means for work to be “finished.”

I have a number of pieces that I thought were more or less finished, perhaps just in need of some final edits, until I read them over with the intention of posting them online. That little exercise put me in a cold sweat, my brain announcing in a panic, actually, nothing is done. These are all early drafts in need of serious work. What was I thinking?

A little part of me is glad about this reaction — this, after all, was much of the motivation for me to make a Substack. I wanted to push myself, and moving my writing from my notebooks and laptop to The Internet certainly qualifies as a push.

After the panic subsided, I started thinking about what it means to finish a written work, and whether any piece is ever really “done,” and how one could ever know. (The kind of dreamy, philosophical, craft-based dialogue with creativity that, if I’m being honest, I relish.)

What is it about?

The sage

Jeannine Ouellette

came through on this topic, offering the following path to answers in an archived Lit Salon post this week:

Is your aboutness asserting itself in some unmistakable and visceral way, leaving an imagined reader changed, and a little bit breathless? If so, it’s possible your work is done.¹

This leads to more questions: what is my “aboutness?” Is it asserting itself? How will I know?

More from

Jeannine Ouellette

on this:

Aboutness should be something you can sum up in just a few clear, compelling sentences that would make someone want to read the rest of the piece. Don’t short shrift aboutness. It’s worth the time to discover for yourself what it is your essay or story is trying to say, at the center of its own heart of heart.²

I highly recommend a read of the two posts from which these quotes are excerpted (linked below) for a more in-depth exploration.

What does the gut say?

I recently read this post by

Jami Attenberg

at

CRAFT TALK

who says to listen to your gut, along with some more specific insights, here:

When the Musicians Spoke

Trusting her instinct about whether the work was done led her to hone in on the precise questions that needed answering, which led her to the resources she needed to answer them.

Rick Rubin, too, talks about trusting your feeling for when a work is finished. I recommend the “Completion” chapter from his book “The Creative Act: A Way of Being.”³ It reframed my alarm about sharing my work, explaining the value of the shift in perspective that comes from sharing something.

Figuring it out as I go

I suppose one way to determine whether a work is ready to be shared in this particular space is to get clear on what I want the space to be. From what I gather, fiction on Substack is shared either because the author has a completed work ready to be shared, or because the author is looking for feedback on a work in progress. But I’d love to hear how other fiction writers are using Substack.

My intent is to publish finished pieces that I think readers might enjoy (though I welcome feedback). I’m still not entirely sure how to know when something is ready, but I am equipped with questions to ask myself as I work it out. Maybe all we can do is ask the questions, set the work aside, come back to it, and listen to the gut. Look for the “aboutness.”

Getting a feel for this probably comes from writing (or painting or composing or sculpting, etc.) a lot, and learning over time what it feels like when something is finished.

As with all real things, no shortcuts.

In the interest of holding myself accountable to my intention to write more fiction and share it here, I plan to post another flash fiction piece on Wednesday. I was experimenting with this one, and wrote it from the second person POV. It’s definitely outside my comfort zone, but isn’t that what making art is about?

1. From the Archives | Dear Lizard Brain: Whatever It Is That Scares You, Write That

2. Eleven Urgent & Possibly Helpful Things I Have Learned About Writing From Reading Thousands of Manuscripts

3. Disclosure: I am an affiliate of Bookshop.org and I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase through this link.