You've figured out what to write. You have a vague idea how to structure it.

So now—just write. Or: Write badly to create a first draft.

Welcome to The Ugly First Draft (TUFD).

TUFD isn't an excuse. It's not a pass we give ourselves to create shoddy work. It's a necessary part of the process of creating work you love.

In Greek mythology, the goddess Athena was the favorite daughter of Zeus. She was born not in the usual way. Instead, she emerged from his forehead fully grown and armed.

Much of writing paralysis is the result of expecting too much of ourselves the first time out. Sowing letters onto the blank page and expecting something strong and powerful and fully formed—the writing version of Athena—is frustrating and impossible. Unless you are some kind of deity, it doesn't happen.

And that's okay. Expecting Athena-mature prose means you're putting too much pressure on yourself.

Very often, the people you think of as good writers are terrible writers on their first drafts.

But here's the secret: They are excellent editors of their own work. Writing is editing.

So embrace The Ugly First Draft. As painful and depressing as it might be to write badly—you're writing! You're getting the mess out of your head and onto the page! Then when you get back to it, you can start shaping it into something more respectable.

My own first drafts are like that: littered with typos and half-written phrases, like I'm typing with mittens on.

I constantly have to remind myself that brilliance—or anything close to it—comes on the next draft. The rewrite. The reshape. The polish.

Be brave. Just start.

Let's walk through a TUFD timeline:

1. Barf up TUFD (Draft 1). Think about what you want to say. (Think before ink!) Add your guiding bullet points or sentence at the top of the page. (See Chapter 13.)

   Adhere bottom to chair. Open up laptop. Affix hands to keys with permanent adhesive. Move them around so the letters form words and the words form longer strings of words.

   Full sentences? Structure? Flow? Grammar? None of it exists!

   Jot down your key ideas as they come to you in whatever order they come.

   Don't worry about forming full (or even coherent!) sentences.

   Don't worry about finding the right words.

   Lowercased words, misspelling, poor grammar, awkward phrasing, subject-verb disagreements so violent they are practically fistfights … Let it all happen!

   You can fix that all later. You're writing—even if it feels like a pantomime of writing. Like you're just going through the motions.

   If you get stuck, think about what's sticking. Do you need more research? More examples? Another point?

   Inserting “need a better example here” or “could use a research stat” or “something-something that supports that point” or “meatier metaphor” is more than legit during this phase.

   Reread what you've written only to remind yourself of what else you wanted to say, or to add some flesh to the bones of your terrible writing. (Even if it's rotting walking-dead flesh.)

   IMPORTANT >> Forgive yourself. Ban negative talk, self-slander, judgment.

   Maybe you're expecting beautiful and graceful gliding across the keys. Maybe you're expecting elegant prose.

   Instead you're getting the writing equivalent of a baby learning to walk, but way less cute.

   Your writing is stiff-limbed and unsteady, Franken-stepping across the page. About to crash horribly at any moment.

   Keep going. Do not move butt from chair until you've got 999 words.

   (The exact number I use. 999 feels easier than 1,000. Just like $.99 is way less than $1.00. Ridiculous head games.)

   You won't use all those 999 words. Most will be isht. That's okay.

   Keep those Franken-steps lurching forward.

   Did you leave all your awkward baby steps on the dance floor?

   You did it! This is The Ugly First Draft.

2. Walk away. Feel that? That's the relief of getting the first draft out, as gross and ugly as it might be.

   So this is a good time to walk away from each other. Give it overnight, if you can manage it. If not, eke out as much time as you can.

   Grab your dog's leash and go for a walk. Meet a friend for coffee. Scroll Instagram. Get lost in the For You page on TikTok.

   Whatever. Just put some distance between you two.

   When you get back to it, things will look more manageable. Your fresh eyes will notice that this sentence is better there. Or there's a better analogy you might use. Or you can say things more simply.

   I'm not sure why a little distance in between drafts is like magic. But it is.

   And like actual magic, it can't be explained.