No Alarms and No Surprises
Regularly scheduled Bullard resumes soon
The big message at the end of this essay is that the newsletter will be back to its every-two-weeks schedule with an audio edition, starting in July. Now that I’ve spoiled it, here’s an update.
For the last month, my reminders app had one item in it: Send Draft.
What this meant was that I needed to get a workable draft of my book manuscript to the dear friends who have been kind enough to agree to read it before it’s due to my editor later this summer.
I also wanted to let my sources know how I was using the information from our sometimes rambling interviews (this is for a future post, but I’ve never been confident in my interviewing ability, since the vast majority of interviews I’ve conducted have been for stories, not to be presented as Q&As). I didn’t want anyone to see a copy of the book and be surprised that I interpreted their comments to be something they didn’t actually believe.
I met my goal. I wanted to have a draft done before my birthday. And because my birthday fell on an American holiday, I wanted to have my emails to sources ready to send as soon as I was at my desk the next day. The strategy was to not worry myself on my birthday and enjoy some small relaxation after months of work.
I did relax, but I also worried plenty. My relationship to editing is extreme. I want a thorough edit. I prefer an edit so all-encompassing that, by the time it’s done, I’m so tired of the piece that I just want to push it out into the world and move on. This becomes an expectation. If someone says a draft is good, or leaves no suggestion after a string of successive paragraphs, I assume there’s something wrong. The sugar coating has become the entire candy. The reader was so bored they couldn’t summon the energy to make a note. Or, even worse, they considered the draft to be beyond saving, so we may as well publish and let me take the reputational damage.
At the same time, I am proud of the work I do, thorough in my drafting, and comfortable in my writing. I want to please my editors. I want their approval.
So I dread major changes but I crave them. I want to be told “I hate it but it’s great.” I want it all, but at the same time, I want none of it.
This is, of course, nonsense. Fantasy and anxiety in an alliance against sense and practicality.
Each new email makes me jumpy, then relieved. A few early responses have been positive, or only had minor notes.
What I realize I’m doing is trying to avoid any surprises for myself. I have control over what I write, but no control over how it’s read. I trust the early readers and editors I’m working with. I know they’ll be honest. I look forward to revising and editing over the next few weeks. But at some point these drafts will become final copies and they’ll go into the world and I’ll have no idea what to expect.
As all of the above suggests (and the note at the top said explicitly), the lack of posts here lately has been due to the other work I’ve been doing. As I go into the next phase of the project, I’m going to be back to regular updates and relaunching the audio edition of the newsletter. That’s happening in July. I have pages of ideas for upcoming newsletters. I’ll be writing more essays inspired by the woods behind our apartment, a series on books about craft, and a bunch of posts that loosely link together midcentury modern design, the ‘90s swing revival, shirtmaking, and sociology. It’s something strange, but I think you’ll like it.