If I’m asked my least favorite chore, the answer is immediate: ironing. I will do any other chore and do it with gladness and lightness of heart before I will turn to ironing. I can’t explain the antipathy. Perhaps it’s the tedium found in ironing out a wrinkle in a sleeve or dress when I could be writing or drawing or taking out the trash.
Despite ironing’s irksomeness, I sometimes have to get out the ironing board. I need a particular pair of dress pants, dress, or button-up shirt. I pull out the ironing board, plug in the iron. I gather an armful of clothes and get to work.
Revising my writing is similar. While it’s not at all the chore of ironing, it isn’t necessarily fun. It is, however, necessary. My work is incomplete without revision and editing. It’s wrinkled. No one can see the beauty of the piece for the misplaced modifiers and comma splices.
To get my writing to a presentable state, I have to revise and edit. I have to get out the ironing board and iron a shirt, a dress, a skirt. That’s all there is to it.
Image: Vladimir Yusseem (Creative Commons)