PERFECT IMPERFECTION

On June 2^nd, my son Derrick would have turned 44. This year marks the 8^th birthday I haven’t been able to celebrate with him. As you can imagine, this is a hard day for me. This year, a few of my friends bought me a ticket to attend a Beattle’s cover band concert. It was a perfect distraction.

I remember being excited about my second child’s birth and dreaming about having a darling little girl to complete my family. My firstborn, Norman, was a fifteen-month-old inquisitive boy who loved motoring around our yard on his souped-up tricycle.

When my second child was born, I asked the doctor, “Is she perfect?”

To which he replied, “He has ten fingers and toes.”

“He?” I tried to sit up so I could see. “Are you sure the baby’s not a girl?”

“Pretty sure since he’s peeing on me.”

And so, Brianna Denise became Derrick James, son number two. As a boy mom, I loved the idea that Norman and Derrick would be best friends growing up. When I noticed that Derrick wasn’t hitting the same age-related benchmarks that Norman had, I consulted a pediatrician. Within a couple of months, Derrick had his first diagnosis of cerebral palsy. Over the next few years, he would receive five other designations, finally being diagnosed with autism at the age of eight.

As Derrick’s first birthday approached, I remember thinking: He was perfect until he was born.

Every year, this sentiment would haunt me right before Derrick’s birthday. Of course, other thoughts piggybacked on this main theme. What would “normal” Derrick have been like? Would he have been smart? Would he have chosen a car or a truck to drive? Would he have gotten married and had kids?

After Derrick died, I thought about my musings and realized that Derrick had been perfect all along. His sense of humor was spot on and always accompanied by a big belly laugh. He couldn’t drive, but his mind had a built-in compass, and he never hesitated to tell you if you made a wrong turn. And though Derrick couldn’t be a husband or father, he was an excellent Uncle.

Now that I spend my days writing the Stoneybrook Mystery Series and developing Derrick’s alter ego, Deputy Derrick Stone, I’m once again caught up in delusions of perfection. When I write … anything … I have a deluded expectation that it will be perfect when my fingertips touch the keys and tap out my thoughts. That, unfortunately, is not the case!

I recently discovered that there are still errors in my first novel, “Peril in Paradise.” Seriously? After personally reading the manuscript ten times and listening to the novel five times? I also had four Beta Readers read the book, not to mention paying two editors … and there are still errors.

My enlightenment came from my investment in Grammarly. The AI editing software had no trouble pointing out all the flaws in my masterpiece. At first, I was extremely annoyed by this revelation.

I shared my experience with one of my Beta readers, and she was amazed. “There’s no way all of us combined didn’t catch errors in the book,” she said.

Spurred on by her doubt, and since I hadn’t actually made any of the changes suggested by Grammarly, I decided to take the AI’s recommended corrections one at a time. I discovered that “Alice” (my nickname for the artificial editor) didn’t always get what I was trying to say. Alice did, however, find a few minor things we missed. So, I went through the manuscript, made the necessary changes, and corrected things that made sense to my creative brain.

Next, I used Alice while I re-listened to “Redneck Ranch”. I’m double-checking the book for errors or anomalies since I’m having it narrated for an audiobook. Once again, Alice couldn’t wait to point out my mistakes. And this time … I found a few storyline problems that Alice wouldn’t catch.

I had another conversation with my Beta Reader friend, and she said, “I know how much of a perfectionist you are, but your stories are fabulous.” She flipped to a part of the book featuring Deputy Derrick Stone putting together clues that would eventually solve the crime. After reading a small snippet, she grinned at me and said, “If there were errors in this section, I didn’t see or hear them.” She hugged me. “For me, and I think all of your readers feel the same, the whole book is perfect.” She grinned. “Just like Derrick.”

When I take a breath and try to look at my work from a non-perfectionist point of view, I’m proud of the seven books I’ve written. My narrator, Dawn, called me a plotting genius and couldn’t stop gushing about how good “Peril in Paradise” is.

Nothing is ever completely perfect. I think when we love something, we massage the person, experience, book, painting, sunset … into perfection. But the true talent is seeing the perfection in the imperfection.