My 8-year-old is the consummate perfectionist--with all the intensity and anxiety that comes along with it. She struggles with making the first effort at anything perfect, even though I constantly try to explain that NOONE gets it right the first time.
She's been making paper cranes lately. And the most recent ones are coming out well. Countless have ended up ripped to shreds, recycled, lost at the bottom of the bin.
As writers, it's often frustrating that words don't just flow onto the page. I'm a writer, right? The words should just be there. Perfect. The. First. Time.
Five years after I started it, I'm finally feeling like maybe my novel is close to being publishable. Of course, I didn't start is as a novel, so I'm hoping my next effort doesn't take quite so long. But when I think of all the words that ended up on the cutting room floor, I cringe. Thank goodness I didn't give up.
Don't give up. Keep practicing. Eventually, it gets easier. And the cranes start looking like cranes.