This, I realize, is one of those "Just don't do it," problems. Thing is, I'm having trouble not doing it.

Maybe it's not finished. Not like I've envisioned, anyway.

My question, then (I've been rambling, I know), is how do you know when it's finished? What if you've gone through seven drafts, written and rewritten, tied up all the loose ends, filled your world with three-dimensional characters your readers can relate to, typed those two elusive words at the bottom of the last page: the end, and, just before you stick your manuscript, in all its glory, into your mailbox, a little voice at the back of your head goes, Wait. What if...? Or how about...? Or you know what would make Jeremy more real?

That's my problem. The voice won't shut up. Sometimes, that's a good thing. During the first draft, for example, when the story is spewing from your mind like magma and has yet to cool into rock. Then, the voice is good. During the second, and third drafts, when cavemen are building houses, and hunting, and learning medicines, the voice has it's uses. During the seventh draft, however, when you've got colonies, and sciences on this rock, and are colonizing space (this metaphore's getting a little wierd, I think), the voice is not so good.

Any suggestions...beyond alcohol, or mind-altering drugs, or a sharp blow to the head? 'Cuz I've already tried those. :P

CVG

However, I think a solution to your woes might be to write separate stories with the same characters. I do this often. Sometimes it's only a scene. But it helps me flesh out the characters and bring them to life.. especially if they have more to say regarding their plight.

The second thing to try is just leave it alone. If you're on the 3rd rewrite, you've probably over-edited and the story no longer feels "magical" to you anymore.

You could try outlining, but this might make your story feel stale and limited. So make it a flexible outline with clear goals, but not written in stone.

Other than that, I don't know what else to tell you. Hopefully someone will provide really good advice to help.

I'm just about to start a whirlwind approach to the third draft of my novel. (I hope it's final.) When Kathleen posted that the Wizards of the Coast has an open call but the deadline is March 1st I went nuts...I'm so close to being able to meet that deadline and they only really want three chapters by then.

And then I remembered my college years from oh so long ago (three years). I thrived on deadlines. So, whether I actually succeed or not, I am giving myself March 1st as a deadline for having my novel completed, or at least completed such that a month would take care of the line-by-line tweaking of all but chapters 1-3 as I wait for a response. I don't have any choice about a fourth draft. This is it. Finito. The end. I've got a month and this is the draft.

Besides, it won't be magical after this. Critiquers can tell me all they want that I should have written it in this order or in this way...but unless that's a small change I don't think I can do it again. It'll have guts but no soul, and soul is more important anyway.

The simple truth is that a story can be anything. It can be changed into one thing or another for ever and ever. I believe that the answer to your question is: "You are not the one who decides when its finished." That is the job of a publisher.

The need to endlessly tinker with a story is often a coping mechanism for fear of rejection. Whether that is a factor in your own case is for you to decide for yourself. (I'm not saying it IS the issue in your case: I don't know you from an undernourished muskrat hunter.)

True, only you can decide when you're happy with a piece. But often the things we go back to add, while good ideas on their own, don't make the story better. They just make it different. And those good ideas could often be just as easily worked into another piece.

Stories are like shirts. When you first get one, it's itchy and uncomfortable. It needs to be lived in, but the longer you do live in it, the more comfortable it gets. Eventually, we find it so reassuring and cozy that we are reluctant to part with it - even going so far as to make endless repairs to justify not letting go.

If you write to express yourself and to engage in intellectual exercise, then tinker away. If you want be a published, paid writer, only a publisher can tell you when you're finished.

Great Canadian 2-cent offerings, going cheap.
Jefficus

*Edited for typos.

In addition to what the other posters have said, I’d like to add that it’s important not to let yourself become intimidated by what test readers say in their critiques. The critiques I’ve gotten from the people on this site have all been extremely good, not to mention utterly invaluable. But on the other hand, you’ve got to have the confidence in your own judgment regarding critiques that you don’t agree with. I don’t mean to say you should ever debate someone who’s critiqued your story—that’s a big no-no, in my opinion.

Rather, bear in mind that you are always the final arbiter of what goes into your story, and that it’s only finished when your best judgment tells you it’s finished.

Every time I read over something I've written, I always find stuff to fiddle with, and things that could be better. I'm still finding stuff wrong with The Eddy. But I leave it alone anyway. I think it helps to have another person tell you to stop messing with it and declare it done. But all in all, it's a completely arbitrary decision. It's done when you say it is, and when your hands listen to your declaration of MITTS OFF.

quote:

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Of course, you'll edit before you send it out -- you want to have the cleanest, clearest, most professional manuscript you can. But at some point soon you'll need to stop and say, "That's today's story. I'll mail this day's story to this day's editors. Then I'll begin to think about the next story. The one I'll write tomorrow."

You grow a whole lot more as a writer by getting old stories out of a house and letting new stories come in and live with you until they grow up and are ready to go. Don't let the old ones stay there and grow fat and cranky and eat all the food out of the refrigerator. You have dozens of generations of stories inside you, but the only way to make room for the new ones is to write the old ones and mail them off.

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