#3 The Perfect Post
How to Miss a Deadline by a Modest 437 Days
Well look who’s still subscribed. Either you were extraordinarily optimistic that I would return, or you’ve forgotten this Substack existed and now find yourself reading this by sheer accident. Either way—welcome! I’ve missed you. Though clearly not enough to actually write anything for the past year and change.
But let’s address the elephant in the inbox: yes, it’s been a while. How long, exactly? Well, long enough for a houseplant to die, be replaced, and die again. The reason for the delay? I was waiting for the right moment. The perfect moment. You know—the moment when the skies open and a golden beam of sunlight illuminates the keyboard, a chorus of birds harmonize in D minor, and the exact configuration of caffeine and inspiration aligns in perfect symmetry with the cosmos.
Naturally, that moment never came.
Instead, what arrived—frequently, and more reliably than I will ever be—was perfectionism. That not-so-subtle inner voice that insists, “No, no, this isn’t quite right. You can do much better than this. What if you fully illustrate it? Or turn it into a graphic novel? Or maybe animate it in the classic Disney style with songs, woodland creatures and vast crowd scenes!!” Perfectionism is a bit like having an inner editor who’s not only overly ambitious, but drunk, and knows nothing about deadlines.
Now, I like to think I’ve mellowed a little with age. My years in animation taught me to let go more than the younger me ever would. I don’t obsess over every word or pencil line like I used to. I no longer rewrite the same sentence seventeen times. I just rewrite it twelve times and stare at it with paternal disappointment for an hour.
The problem with perfectionism is that it wears a lot of disguises. It shows up as “just trying to make it better” or “caring deeply about quality,” but really, it’s just fear dressed as your biggest fan. The kind who says they love your work—then ties you to the bed and breaks your ankles. (Thanks, Stephen King.) It’s fear of not being good enough, of disappointing everyone, of writing something that doesn’t shine quite like it did in your head at 2:14 a.m.
And that’s the joke: nothing is ever perfect. The greatest things we’ve done—whether it’s a book, a cartoon, raising children, or that story about the squirrel in the vending machine that everyone should have laughed at (even though it had no real point or ending)—were all a little imperfect. That’s what makes them ours.
So I’ve decided to stop waiting for perfect—just this once. Honestly, I’m only writing this now because I have two other looming deadlines, plus a lawn that currently resembles Jurassic Park. And I apologize that this post isn’t perfect. It’s late, it rambles, I probably could’ve come up with funnier examples in paragraph four, and there’s a decent chance I got the math wrong on how many days it’s been since my last post. But it’s here. And if I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s this: showing up imperfectly is better than vanishing entirely.
That, and not to pry frozen hamburgers apart with a sharp knife.
If you’re also someone who’s been waiting for the perfect combination of talent, inspiration, and the cosmos—whether it’s on a project, a dream, or just a reply to that email from 1998 (yes, that old AOL account)—consider this a nudge. Hit send. Paint the thing. Ship it. As Nike used to say: just do it.
Thanks for still being there. I’ll be back sooner than last time.
Unless I decide to rewrite this one again.
But probably not.
(Maybe.)
-Eddie
And here’s some art that has nothing to do with this post.
A young woman commissioned me to draw a couple of post cards to give out to performers for the previews at the new How to Train Your Dragon area at Epic Universe.
Great sketchcards Eddie!
I'm glad you're back, Eddie. Maybe whatever got you back in the saddle will rub off on me, who has not really painted anything in almost three years.