I still find it odd that it took a jumping roundhouse kick to the head to help me realize how terrible my perfectionism is.
Perfectionism is something that affects most writers. Far too many authors have cut their own careers short because of this vile little gnome. Rather than pressing through and recognizing that success only follows hard work, those of us who listen to the imp refuse to even start. After all, if we can’t do something right, what’s the point of doing it at all?
I started practicing Tae Kwon Do in college. I wasn’t the best fighter, but I enjoyed the exercise and camaraderie. Our class was held at my university, and consisted of a group of colored belts and an easily-awed group of white belts who were taking the class for credit. No one but our small group saw our mistakes.