Not Chasing Perfection. Just Perfect Enough.

There’s a moment in every book where you have to decide what “done” means.

This isn’t it.

What you’re looking at is the first printed proof of Vanishing Mia—and all those pink tabs? Every one of them is a place where something could be better. Not perfect. Better.

I know perfection doesn’t exist. I’ve been writing long enough to understand that. You can revise forever if you let yourself. You can chase cleaner sentences, sharper pacing, tighter dialogue until you drain the life out of the work.

That’s not what this is.

This is me—reading as a reader. Not as the person who wrote the book. Where a sentence slows me down when it shouldn’t. Where a line of dialogue isn’t quite how a real person would say it under pressure. Where clarity can replace confusion without adding weight. And a couple of continuity things that we’ve all missed along the way that I’d rather a reader not be the one to catch.

I have the chance to fix it, so I will. Not because I’m chasing perfection. Because I respect the reader. Because if someone gives me their time—real time, hours of their life to sit inside this story—then the least I can do is remove anything that pulls them out of it.

So no, it’s not perfect. It never will be. And, whether you (or I as a reader) ever notice it, no book is.

But it will be as clean, as tight, and as true to the reading experience as I can make it.

And then I’ll let it go.

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