Sometimes, I’m tempted to go back and edit my past work to make them better. It’s as if I’m not satisfied with my work, that it can be improved or fixed. If that’s the case, what’s to say that that won’t be the case every year? When will I ever be satisfied with my work?
Our work reflects a moment in time when we created something having a particular mindset and skills. Overtime, we grow and evolve, changing our beliefs, learning and developing new skills, and having more resources at our disposal (i.e. new software or better computers, etc.).
As a writer, I find that my editing skills improve with each story I write. I learn from my past experiences, my mistakes, and apply them to each new work. Being an author is a continual process of growth.
If I look back at my earlier work, I can probably find things I’d like to change–things I can reword, sentences I can revise, etc. But once the work is out there (i.e. published), I don’t think there is a need to do so unless there is an anniversary edition of the book. Overall, it doesn’t make sense to go back and change the work because in ten, twenty, or thirty years, I can always find things I’d like to change because my perspective isn’t the same as when I first created the work.
For a painter, it would be like going back to a painting that was made, let’s say, ten years ago, and fixing it up. Rather than letting the painting be what it is, let’s say they fixed the colors or the details of the objects within it.
But what if they changed more than that? What if they changed the painting such that it doesn’t reflect what they made prior? Wouldn’t it be a different painting–a different version of it at least?
It makes sense to touch up the work if it is falling apart, which is the case with antique paintings, but to repaint it or change it dramatically changes the context of the work itself. It doesn’t fully reflect the skill set and ideas that were applied in the original work. The same goes with past novels and stories. The context is lost when they are altered or changed.
Who really made the work then? As in my case, the me one year ago, or the me one year later? Is the work supposed to be in flux–always changing and never certain of what it’s supposed to be, or is it supposed to represent who we are and what we believed at the time we made it? And if not the latter, will we ever be satisfied with it?
Fallton Havenstonne 