I find a three-year-old to be the most interesting companion. They are full of curiosity and have learned the art of conversation. One morning my son and I were running errands around town, we passed through a construction zone with a crew of men digging a trench on the side of the road.

Casey asked, “What are those men doing?”

We had been through several areas with large machines and workers, and I had gone through explanations about making a ditch to put in sewage pipes, and preparing a new place to build houses for people. Each answer elicited another barrage of questions. What is sewage? Why do we need sewers? Why do people poop? Why do roads need to be fixed? How many houses are going to be built? Who will live in them? Can we meet them sometime? Do those men put their machines in their garage at night? Can we live in one of the new houses? Can Glenny and Johnny come live next door? Each question led to another. Most I could answer easily. We passed a new high-rise being constructed and a bridge being reinforced. Now we were detoured through lanes as a road was under repair. 

“Mommy, when will the world be finished?” That question put a pause on the talk, talk, talk.

What a concept – a finished world, a static world, a world without change. This was not a throwaway answer. I always welcomed his curiosity as he learned about the world around him. This question required more thought. Never – is the easy answer. But to a three-year-old that doesn’t cut it. Why? Why? Why? Are the follow-ups. As we paused in our journey delayed by the construction, we discussed how things like roads have a purpose and, when they are used, they wear out just like his beloved blanket that was now in shreds, even after many rebindings, but still a constant companion at bedtime. Sometimes buildings are made and then need to be changed for bigger or better buildings. We discussed the nature of change as the seasons change. How flowers bloom sometimes but not always, and leaves change colors. He was only old enough at that time to really have memory of one complete year of seasons. We talked about how he changed, learning to walk, learning to use the toilet, learning new songs and words. As a person he will change as he gets older. Someday he will be big like Daddy and have his own family. Because of all those things, the world will never be finished. It is always evolving/revolving.

I can liken that to my writing. When is a story finished? I spend hours writing only to find, after review, it needs to be changed. Even a short essay requires review and editing. I usually write something then put it away for a day or two and revisit. I wake from sleep with a brand new line for a story that was born in my unconscious. Many of my stories remain in my computer or, if handwritten, in my file cabinet. If they are to be published, they will be revised and revised before other eyes see them. I always think of different ways of saying something or other words to use to reveal a character or action.  I don’t believe I have ever reread a piece of my writing that I haven’t wanted to change something. Even in the book we published last year, I go back and find so many lines that need to be rewritten. I’ve talked to other writers who feel the same. There is a point when “it is good enough” is the only way to actually produce a “finished” story or poem.

Just like the world, my stories are never really finished. What you read is just the latest iteration.