imperfecting the first draft
My cursor blinks at me.
I look out the window. The screen once more.
It is where I left it. Expectant, ruthless, blinking.
The wait for original ideas can take forever, and I don’t have that kind of time — I have aerial yoga in two hours, and I’m in a hurry to relax.
I do what I must: I set a timer for 30 minutes and let loose my Stream of Consciousness. Whatever I write during this time must meet the following self-set criteria:
- It consists of real words.
- It follows some logic.
- It must have the potential to make an impression on me. On others, if they really must. But make an impression on me they must.
(The word “must” sounds weird now. Must must must.)
But drafting up the patience to write is a more expensive endeavour than the writing. Patience must be spent on the wording, on my writing implements, and — most importantly — on the blank spots in my mind.
I close my eyes to the judgy blinking thing. Slow inhale, slow exhale.
Patience.
I think of the times I’ve written before. There were moments when five rebel neurons would band together and bound ahead of me, catching netfuls of ideas so quickly I couldn’t write them down fast enough. And then there were days when I’d stare down the barrel of a deadline — and all I’d have was …
Blinking.
I drag the cursor forward. (It does not come quietly.)
Through it all, I must be patient, and remember that I am capable of this. After all, I am capable enough to have written for most of my time in the world. Journal articles, news pieces, exams, application essays, diary entries, love letters, birthday cards — there are hundreds of thousands of words in my repertoire, so surely I must be capable of this.
I hitch the cursor to my grit and pull. Progress!
I’ve now convinced myself that I am patient and capable. My next step is to allow myself to write imperfectly. It is only a first draft, after all.
I persist. Agonisingly — doggedly — I persist. (My cursor moves like a stubborn donkey, but I persist.)
I’ve written something now. Let’s review:
- It does consist of real words.
- It does follow some logic.
- It does have the potential to make an impression on me. On others, perhaps. But on me, it does.
That’ll do, Em. That’ll do.
(The word “does” may also sound weird now, but that’s something to deal with in the second draft. I have to get to yoga.)