Week 9: The First Draft Dance

The idea strikes you in the middle of the night. Your eyes open, a faraway rhythm pulls you from sleep and you have to write. You are compelled to develop an idea, to create a choreography on the page from a sequence of words only you and the muse understand.

Thus, the dance begins. The pursuit of an idea, to craft a story from an image or a line of dialogue that arrived with no provocation. Like the wind, you cannot see it, but you know it exists. Now, the journey becomes, how do you replicate the idea in your mind to a fully fleshed out story on the page.

The first draft is a confounding experience. Simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, the first draft tests your mettle. It pushes you to keep writing, despite concerns of will this fit in the market? Are the characters clear? What story am I telling?

The first draft forces you to stretch and contort, to impetuously leap into the story feet first, without preoccupation or worry of touching the bottom. All risk and ineffable reward, the first draft is the creative space to run free.

The first draft also requires a reckless dismissal of your inner critic. Any voice that stops your flow, that impedes your progress: you must ignore it. Sometimes, our inner critic is useful. It tells us when an idea may be cliche or too on the nose. If a line of dialogue is inauthentic or if a character is reading less than genuine.

But if you find yourself writing a sentence, then deleting it, in the first draft, stop. Ask your inner critic to wait in the next room until you get this draft done. The first draft is shy and it needs help to emerge on the page. Invite it to the dance floor, remind it that no one is watching, all that matters is the rhythm of this singular idea.