“Again, go again!”
I’m sitting on a deck chair at the Fairway pool, air-drying after my swim. I hear the little boy’s loud and excited voice and watch as his mother hoists him out of the pool. His father holds his hand as the toddler hurries up the slide.
“Come on James, you can do it!” his mother says, poised and ready to catch him.
Instantly, he’s zooming down, splashing into the water and then into her arms.
“Hurray!” she says.
“Again, go again,” James says, water streaming down his face.
James climbs up, sails down, splashing into the water, then toddles over to the ladder to go again. His parents seem tireless, cheering, marveling and applauding their two-year-old son for his bravery, joy and tenacity. Each time, they slightly refine the process, telling him to sit up straighter so he won’t fall sideways, moving closer to catch him, bouncing with him to the edge of the pool, singing his praises along the way.
Twenty, thirty times James goes up and down the slide, his delight unwavering.
As I watch, I think about the thing I do 20, 30 times: editing my writing. Every time, I refine the process, making the piece stronger. But I don’t always have James’ sense of delight: instead I slog through, wondering why it takes so long, why it’s so hard to create a solid piece of writing.
“Again, go again!” James crows, his wet face beaming.
I vow to bring that sense of wet and wonder to my work.
How can you bring more joy to your own editing process?