The Messy First Draft: Why Done Is Better Than Perfect

“Done is, ultimately, better than perfect”

When Voltaire said, “Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien” (the perfect is the enemy of the good), he wasn’t wrong. Obsessively pursuing the flawless finish will get in the way of you finishing at all. Done is, ultimately, better than perfect. Done means that there’s something tangible on the page in front of you, and that’s where the real work begins.

Creative writing is a process of accretion — or excavation, depending on who you’re talking to. Both analogies stand. When you’re applying makeup, the best advice is to use thin, buildable layers. Anything else looks rather caked on. And speaking of cake, imagine trying to assemble one all at once. Again, you build up your layers. When an archeologist digs? Again, layers. Not doing so would destroy the site’s historical timeline.

So, whether you see writing as a building up; a construction of world, plot, and character; or a deconstruction, a stratigraphic excavation that leads to truth, the crux is layers matter.

Messy first drafts are an essential part of this journey. They are the primer you apply to your face that allows for a 24-hour lasting finish. They are the first pancake that teaches you how to create fluffy deliciousness. They’re brilliant because of their imperfection, not in spite of it. You learn what works, what doesn’t. You play on the page. You dump all the rough stuff, then go in with your fine-tuning tools and hone until you have something glittering, something to be treasured.

How I learned to accept there is no “perfect first draft” with my first book

I saw my inability to write a perfect first draft as a failure, a sign that I was a bad writer. My editor, of course, disagreed. She knew what I didn’t: that this practice — revising and improving, piece by piece — is where the real work is done.
— Ella McLeod

I am an unashamed messy first draft evangelist.

But I didn’t start out that way. When I was writing my debut novel, Rapunzella, Or, Don’t Touch My Hair, I sent my first draft to my editor and waited patiently for the email I was sure I would receive. The one that said, You are a marvel. This is a perfect first draft. You, in fact, are perfect. You are the greatest writer I’ve ever edited. Have a gold star. Have 20. A+. Congratulations. Writing? You’ve completed it, mate.

Naturally, that didn’t happen. I received a long edit letter and a marked-up manuscript, full of thoughtful comments and suggestions for revisions. There was some praise; my editor was lovely, but she was rightly focused on making my debut the best it could be. And it wasn’t there yet.

I was devastated.

I saw my inability to write a perfect first draft as a failure, a sign that I was a bad writer. My editor, of course, disagreed. She knew what I didn’t: that this practice — revising and improving, piece by piece — is where the real work is done. Rapunzella wasn’t built in a day. But look: I was 24 and it was my first book. Now, at the grand age of 30, as I tap-tap-tap away at my fourth novel, I have gotten past my insecure fear of being a bit messy.

Okay, that’s a total lie. But I’m working on it, and I’m going to tell you how and why.

Why you might be struggling with the first stage of the drafting process

1. Because you’re like me. Maybe you’re a recovering teacher’s pet, maybe you’re the oldest child, maybe something else. Regardless, perfectionism is your strength and your weakness. The idea of writing something that you know is bad is anathema. It makes you queasy. Teary. You want to throw your laptop across the room.
2. You write like someone is watching. You have a somewhat irrational fear that someone is going to see this draft and think you’re terrible. You don’t believe in “just a placeholder.”
3. You’re scared of the work. The thought of repeatedly going back over your writing sounds daunting as hell, and you’re worried that you can’t do it. In fact, even the initial premise — writing something that you don’t have a tight leash of control on — sounds horrendous. And a waste of time. Like, why write something bad? What’s the point?

Does this sound like you? Listen, I get it. I have been there. But to you doubting Thomases, I say:

1. Some reframing is needed here. A screenwriter friend recently told me that a bad first draft is a good first draft. Because a first draft you think is perfect is going to stunt you creatively. You’re going to be too wedded to your ideas, and you’re going to feel too protective of them to kill your darlings. And you’re going to have to kill your darlings. It’s inevitable.
2. No one is watching, babe. No one has to see this draft. No one has to read it. It’s for you and you alone. (This is why we tell our writers at The Novelry not to let others read their first drafts. Writing the messy first draft should be a liberating experience!)
3. Yes, the work is hard. Writing is hard. It is beautiful, profound, and fun, but it is also painful at times. It is hard to stop worrying. But nothing worth doing is easy, and there is immense growth on the other side of discomfort. Honestly, letting go of control is where all that delicious raw material lives. The things you’re too disciplined to say out loud in polite company. The behavior you’re too polite to exhibit. The feelings that feel kind of gross because they’re big and unseemly and, well, messy. That’s the good writing shit.

Assuming I’m as good at persuasive writing as I am at writing romance and magic, I’ll have convinced you this is the way forward. You’re ready to start messy drafting, and you see its value. Excellent. Slay.

But if you’re sitting there thinking, Okay, but how do I do this? I’m a control freak. I’m type A. I’m a regular Monica Geller. How the hell do I begin?

Don’t worry. I got you.

How to write badly (and be okay with it)

Use that initial first spark as your guiding light. If you don’t filter or edit yourself too much, you’ll find that what you create stays true to your story’s raison d’être.
— Ella McLeod

1. Start by taking the pressure off. I’m a big fan of setting a clear intention for a writing session. I write this intention on a sticky note and put it on the wall above where I’m writing. Sometimes it will be Remember Why You Started (courtesy of my best friend, Charlotte Paradise). Other times it will be You Do This Because You Chose It (courtesy of my husband). Last draft, it was Write As Far As You Can See (courtesy of my friend and fellow coach, Dhonielle Clayton). But lately, it’s been First Drafts Are Meant To Be Bad (courtesy of my amazing friend, Francesca Forristal).
2. Messy drafting is, first and foremost, about play. I know, it’s kind of wild. Once upon a time, play was a part of your daily life. And then, one day, all of a sudden but as if it was inevitable, you stopped playing. You never played again. Well, now you get to. Go and play on the page. Sit down with your laptop — or with a pen and paper, if you’re analog and that works for you — and play a game of pretend. Experiment. Explore. Don’t take yourself too seriously. No decision is final. Your inner child will thank you. And aren’t we all doing this for them?
3. Use that initial first spark as your guiding light. If you don’t filter or edit yourself too much, you’ll find that what you create stays true to your story’s raison d’être. Lead with feeling. In a messy first draft, no feeling is too big. It doesn’t matter if it feels cliché or overwrought to start with. Somewhere in there, you’ll find something sincere or authentic, and as you re-draft and edit, you’ll refine so it rings true for your reader.

Still not clear? Still unconvinced? That’s okay, I won’t take it personally. I have (mostly) outgrown my perfectionism.

Ten top tips for perfecting your messy first draft writing process

Drafting asks, “What could I say?”
Editing asks, “What should stay?”
— Ella McLeod

1. Write before you know exactly what you mean. You can figure it out later.
2. Don’t edit while drafting. If you spot a bad sentence, keep going. You can edit it later. There will be a next draft!
3. Experiment with form. Sometimes I write dialogue as a script, writing scenes rather than chapters. Sometimes I write descriptions as poetry. Sometimes I write action as a list. It’s all good. Get that raw material on the page. There are diamonds in this rough.
4. Use placeholders. Write [figure this out later] when you’re unsure, instead of stopping.
5. As I always, always say: Follow The Sparkle! If something unexpected happens or something grabs your attention and gives you that excited-in-the-tummy feeling, explore it! See where it leads!
6. Allow repetition. Say the same thing three different ways if that helps you discover what you actually want to say.
7. Don’t worry about the opening. Start with the easiest or most interesting section and come back to the beginning. The opening always changes.
8. Separate creating from judging. Drafting asks, “What could I say?” Editing asks, “What should stay?”
9. Set a small target. Try 10–20 minutes or 300 words rather than waiting for inspiration. I LOVE a writing sprint. Set a timer. Give yourself a treat at the end. That’s the best part of the creative process.
10. Finish the draft even if the ending is terrible. A complete bad draft is much easier to improve than a perfect first paragraph. Done! Is! Better! Than! Perfect!

I have faith in you. I have been you. I’ve judged myself too harshly, gotten in my own way, lost momentum. But for me, writing is the most fun when it is most free. When you give yourself permission to be a dreamer, a creator.

So, go forth. Mess up that first pancake. The one that you plate will be delicious.

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