Shitty First Drafts
"People tend to look at successful writers, writers who are getting their books published and maybe even doing well financially, and think that they sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they have to tell; that they take in a few deep breaths, push back their sleeves, roll their necks a few times to get all the cricks out, and dive in, typing fully formed passages as fast as a court reporter."
-Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
Well, I know that I've got first drafts that aren't even close to finished, passages that I've busted out with these incredible stories that go along with them, worlds I've created in my head that have yet to make it to page or even to story, and today I was going through a couple of my unfinished shitty first drafts after cracking out an assignment for my creative writing class with the help of my guy this morning. And reading it afterward he helped me finish, I got goosebumps! And so did my teacher when I read it later to the class. Now, I'm looking at previous assignments in this class and (in this moment) I couldn't be more excited about editing them and making them better. If for no other reason than to actually submit some of my stuff to the Wire Harp at the insistence of my teacher.
Then enters my kryptonite. Fear, my old nemesis. And that little voice starts whispering that I should just leave it as is. That no one will REALLY want to read my shit (But hey, what does that voice know? You're reading this, so there's a check in the victory column). And I listen. I've been listening to that freaking voice for a while. And not just about my stories. About letters, and legal actions, and assignments, and scholarship applications, and so many other things. But then Danni starts whispering to me. And so does Julianne. And Cassie. And now Tiria. They all have stories that need, that WANT to be told. And I'm the only one that can tell them.
So it's time to get another cup of coffee, to stick my earbuds in and let Jack croon me into another plane of existence, and start letting those characters talk to me and help me get that shitty first draft out of the way.
-Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
Well, I know that I've got first drafts that aren't even close to finished, passages that I've busted out with these incredible stories that go along with them, worlds I've created in my head that have yet to make it to page or even to story, and today I was going through a couple of my unfinished shitty first drafts after cracking out an assignment for my creative writing class with the help of my guy this morning. And reading it afterward he helped me finish, I got goosebumps! And so did my teacher when I read it later to the class. Now, I'm looking at previous assignments in this class and (in this moment) I couldn't be more excited about editing them and making them better. If for no other reason than to actually submit some of my stuff to the Wire Harp at the insistence of my teacher.
Then enters my kryptonite. Fear, my old nemesis. And that little voice starts whispering that I should just leave it as is. That no one will REALLY want to read my shit (But hey, what does that voice know? You're reading this, so there's a check in the victory column). And I listen. I've been listening to that freaking voice for a while. And not just about my stories. About letters, and legal actions, and assignments, and scholarship applications, and so many other things. But then Danni starts whispering to me. And so does Julianne. And Cassie. And now Tiria. They all have stories that need, that WANT to be told. And I'm the only one that can tell them.
So it's time to get another cup of coffee, to stick my earbuds in and let Jack croon me into another plane of existence, and start letting those characters talk to me and help me get that shitty first draft out of the way.
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