Every Draft is a Shadow of the Work's Living Form

To revise requires humility, yes, but also desire: to step again and again into the stream of possibilities

I love revising, even when it hurts.

Revision is not just about the page. It is about us bending and reaching toward we cannot yet see. Each time we return to a sentence, a fragment, a draft, not only remake the words—we remake ourselves. The act of revision is an aperture widening, a way of training the eye to glimpse the invisible, to hear the submerged music of what the work longs to become.

To revise is to commune with the source itself, the current that precedes us and exceeds us. It requires humility, yes, but also desire: to step again and again into the stream of possibilities, to risk dissolving the easy or the obvious in order to reach something more alive, more strange, more true.

Every draft is a shadow of the work’s living form, that ungraspable thing that shimmers just beyond articulation. Revision is how we move closer. It’s not about capturing the work or pinning it down. It’s about becoming porous, a conduit. We shape the work, and in turn it shapes us, refining our atte…