On Writing, Part Nine

How maddening is writing? You can answer that for yourself, of course. But when I step back and really consider what we, as writers, put ourselves through—a thankless task, mind you—it’s almost absurd.
Take my process, for example. I wouldn’t call it unusual, but hell, maybe it is. First, I vomit words straight from my brain onto the page. No filter, no finesse—just raw thoughts spilled out. Then comes the editing, which for me, requires a tangible quality. I print out a hard copy because I need the physicality of pen and paper. Touch helps me grapple with my words.
From there, it’s a seemingly endless cycle: edit, type in changes, print, repeat. And repeat. And repeat. By the time I’ve slogged through 40 drafts, I might finally begin to feel somewhat comfortable—like maybe I won’t completely embarrass myself. And then maybe I'll let someone read it. But that is a difficult one.
But even then, let’s be honest—are we ever truly finished editing? I think, and maybe it's just me, but I could "finish" something and revisit it in a year and I guarantee the first page would be full of edits. Maddening, I say. Maddening.

I believe this was the fortieth iteration of this piece.