Sometimes it’s only when you’ve gone too far that you realize your second-to-last version was actually “finished.”
Sometimes there’s a hard deadline, and you know your piece is finished because your time’s up and you have to submit whatever you’ve got when the clock runs down.
But what if you don’t have a hard deadline? A too-flexible deadline or no external deadline at all can be the kiss of death if you’re neurodivergent. A hard deadline may be stressful (okay, it’s always stressful), but at least it lights a fire under your butt to get it done.
A flexible deadline doesn’t feel urgent at all, so it may take a while to even get started (the ADHD brain responds to urgency or interest, but not to future rewards or “importance”), but once you do, you might find it impossible to stop. Instead, you find yourself endlessly rewriting, tweaking a sentence here, a verb there, knowing you should just declare it done, but you don’t know how to judge when it’s “done.”
So what do you do?
The bad news is there is no formula. But maybe these guidelines can help.
1. Aim for “good enough,” not “perfect.” Pro tip: There’s no such thing as “perfect.” There’s always something you can change if you get another chance. Myself, as soon as I finish writing something and post it, I’m ready to turn around and start revising it again. I don’t, but I could! Here’s a thing: Even mainstream published books aren’t perfect. The best editors in the world still miss the occasional error; the rest of us humans miss a lot more and it’s still considered “good enough.” So don’t sweat it. You’ll reach a point of diminishing returns. Stop there.
2. Build in external accountability. Tell another person what you’re doing, when you’ll do it, and when you’ll be done. Pick someone who will hold your feet to the fire, and get your person to hold you to that deadline in whatever way works for you. Some people respond to rewards, others to consequences. (Personally, I respond to neither. Rewards are usually way too far in the future to matter to me because ADHD brain. And consequences just make me freeze.)
3. For the neurodivergent brain: body doubling. Sometimes the only thing that works for me is body doubling AKA coworking (like the cowriting group I host twice a month) (or like Focusmate, Focus Club, etc). For me, the presence of even one other person struggling with the same issues beats rewards or consequences any day. If you mention in the opening check-in that you’re struggling to figure out when you can call your piece “done,” I bet there will be at least one other person struggling with the same thing.
4. Get help. Ask a friend to read it for you. Be sure to pick someone you can rely on to be kind — the last thing you need right now is a harsh critic. Ask for the specific feedback you need, such as: Does it seem finished to you? Is anything unclear? Any place you get lost? Anything you don’t understand? Again, this is only helpful if the person is genuinely asking these questions without judging or criticizing.
5. Read your piece out loud to another person. Be really sure they will be kind. Again, ask for specific feedback.
6. If you can’t find a friend who will do that for you, read to any live audience. Your fur babies, feathered babies, your plants, your goldfish, it doesn’t matter. Get creative. I know of one writer who would assemble all her kitchen appliances on the counter and read out loud to them. (Can I remember who? Not a chance.)
7. As you read, listen to yourself too. You’ll hear where you stumble, feel where you’re bored with your own writing. AND be kind to yourself — this is not an invitation to your internal critical voices to have a field day smacking you down.
8. Do three separate passes through the document and then stop, no matter what. (See previous post.) If you’re working with an editor, hand it over to them. Now.
9. Trust your gut. Wait for that body sensation that tells you when you’re feeling satisfied. Like the way your body feels sinking into a hot bath at the end of a long day of skiing. Like that first cup of rich, bitter-dark coffee in the morning. Like sliding that last piece of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle into place and seeing it fit perfectly.*
10. Set it aside for a day or two, if you can. Then do another gut check — how finished does it feel now? If you’re still not sure, just hit publish. Do it now.
I almost always use some combination of these strategies, but, like all things ADHD, there’s no guarantee that what works today will work tomorrow (or ever again).
What works for you? Anything I haven’t mentioned here? How do you know when a piece of writing is done enough to publish?
I’d love to hear from you. I read and answer every single email I receive!
*Postscript, added July 21, 2024
I had an AHA moment this morning that I wanted to add. Here’s how I know a piece is “done.”
I get a sensation of “rightness” in my body, subtle but unmistakable. A sensation of calm excitement. I can feel my heart stirring. I feel a flip of excitement in my belly. I feel a sense of barely contained joy, like the anticipation of seeing a new lover. Words echo in my mind: ahhh, this is good. This may or may not be objectively “true,” but it’s true for me now.
And that’s all that matters. I don’t care what anybody else thinks. If other people like it, that’s great, I love hearing it. I love praise – crave praise – as much as the next person.
So I don’t care how many “likes” I get, how many comments, how many eyeballs see it.
I’m open to comments, to praise or criticism, but I don’t need them.
I know, in my heart and in my body, that I’m satisfied with it. I may even be in love. I am content.
