I am plagued with the ability to recognize problems I cannot fix. I tune pianos and tune the fuel injection on our vintage motorhome. I am “pretty good” at both.

The motorhome runs beautifully, but not perfectly. I can tell it is slightly rich on warmup, and I know how to fix that. The result is that it is better, but not perfect. I console myself that the engine was designed before fuel injection. The old saying, “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” rings in my mind. My trouble is, I want a better purse.

Piano tuning involves “equal temperament,” meaning that all notes are slightly sharp or flat in relation to other notes. If an F and a Bb are perfectly tuned, Bb will stink when played with other notes. When tuning, I often hear something that isn’t “clean” yet cannot move beyond “pretty good” and reach perfection. It is hard to perfect something that is supposed to be uniformly imperfect, yet some tuners can do just that. (Not all. There are pianos on famous recordings that are not “clean.”)

I recently Tweeted, “I’m a sucker for moments in books when a character is met with or utters universal truth. It doesn’t have to be earth-shaking, but in a twinkling, I’m drawn into what the character is feeling. These moments will be remembered.” I want to write those scenes.

When I revise, I occasionally stumble onto a great line that moves me and, hopefully, the reader. I’m bothered by scenes that aren’t earth-shaking—workaday scenes. When I read a so-so passage, my first inclination is to try to fix it. I want to make the scene great.

As a writer, these are the pivotal moments for me—not being satisfied when there is nothing wrong with a line. In the back of my mind, I am spurred on by the inkling that “there can be something great here.” And so, I revise, look for a better word, and try to imagine something more.

I do a lot of revising. I often have to give in and let the scene stand. It is hard for me to let go, perhaps because I know it could be better even though it is the best I can do. I have to admit that maybe I am not good enough to do any better.

By the way, this blog article has sections that could use a slight revision. The trouble is, I have already revised it several times.

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I spent my life teaching 6th graders. We have always been involved in church. Now I spend my days in an old stone house, wandering our four acres, and writing.