While the perfectionist in me cringes, I have to applaud myself for publishing stories that could be written in more captivating language, that don’t have an ending, that I’m not satisfied with, that could be better. The desire for perfection can lead to inertia and writing blocks. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, it can lead to constant tweaking, the story not seeming “ready” or “finished” or “good enough” to publish. I’m finally learning that an unpolished story is more valuable than no story. Wouldn’t you rather be told “I love you” by someone you care about than be told nothing because no words seemed special enough? A song tuned to the key of “fine” can be the most beautiful song somebody’s ever heard.