Romanticizing the Rewrite: Why First Drafts Are Meant to Be Ugly

“I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.”

- Shannon Hale.

Today I want to talk about the messy stuff. The cringy stuff. The stuff you write and then pray no one ever sees: the first draft.

In a world saturated by aesthetic Instagram posts and carefully curated TikTok videos, the beauty of imperfection has been forgotten; and not only its beauty, but also its need. Artists, be it writers, painters, sculptors or whatever else, especially the emerging ones, often wrestle with the expectation that their art must be perfect, pristine and marketable on the first try. But real art is not a performance or a product: it is emotion and humanity. And both of those things are imperfect and messy and corny.

We must reframe the notion of “ugliness” and imperfection, and think of it not as a failure, but as the birthplace of humanity and the stepping stone of a creative, emotion filled future final product. In doing so, we free ourselves from perfectionism, reclaim the chaotic joy of creating art, and ensure that what we write, we do it authentically and humanely.

Today’s post is a love letter to the “ugly” first draft, to the messy, corny stuff that leads to true art.

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Let’s start by saying this: the first draft isn’t supposed to be perfect. It’s just supposed to be written.

The same way a sketch is not supposed to be flawless, the first draft is not supposed to be faultless either.

And let’s continue by saying this too: the final draft isn’t supposed to be perfect either. It’s just supposed to be yours.

The same way art, in general, is not supposed to be perfect, writing isn’t either. Because perfection is not for us, humans, nor for what we create. Humans are supposed to be imperfect and what we create should be flawed too, because that’s what makes it human, what gives it soul. If I wanted art to be perfect, I’d ask a machine to make it.

Why first drafts are so important:

Writing is thinking. Is putting the messy, chaotic scenes and dialogues and descriptions that fill your head on a somewhat orderly page. First drafts are how we figure out what the heck we’re actually trying to say and how. They help us put order to our inner thoughts.

That means they’re going to be weird, repetitive, overly dramatic, painfully dull, or all of the above.

And that’s okay. Because that’s their job, their whole purpose.

When we create, we first must ensure that what we have in our head is real: we must first give it a physical body to inhabit on this physical plane.

Once it exists, only then we can start to refine and polish it. But first it has to become real. Trying to do both of these things at once (creating and polishing that creation) is like driving with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake. You won’t get anywhere.

Let the first draft be your safe space, your sandbox, where you’re free to build and rebuild and keep building. The first draft is supposed to be yours and yours alone, private and forgiving.

But we tend to forget this when faced with the pressure of society. A society that demands results fast and easy. We, as writers, internalize this pressure, forgetting that our writing is not a product for consumption, but a piece of art.

Rewriting that first draft (spoiler: it’s not gonna be perfect either. Another spoiler: that’s fine too)

If the first draft is giving your thoughts a body to inhabit, then the rewrite is us taking care of that body.

Rewriting allows writers to take that raw emotion on the page, the fragmented thoughts and images that lived in your brain, and sculpt them into something coherent and more or less orderly. It is in the rewrite that clarity emerges: here we figure out the how, rather than the what. How we want to say this and how we should express that. Often, we don’t really know what we’re trying to say until we have written it badly (at least) once and it’s staring us in the eye.

Think of it like sculpture:

The first draft gives you the marble and the rough shape. The rewrite is where you chisel and chisel and chisel until it becomes something recognizable.

So if your early draft feels like a mess? Congrats. You’re doing it exactly right!

To be free of perfectionism is to embrace the idea that revision and editing is not a burden, but a gift: it means that we are free to toy with our ideas and mold them however we want (and isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that fun?).

We live in a world that worships the final product. The polished version of ourselves. But that’s not fun. Nor healthy.

Writing isn’t content, it’s not for the algorithm or consumption or value. In embracing the imperfection we not only embrace the inherent humanity of it all, but we also rebel against the idea of art as a number and nothing else.

Let yourself write badly. Let yourself love the mess before anyone else loves the order.

Putting this knowledge to the test:

It’s easy to say. All of this is easy to say. However, it’s not as easy to accept and to do. Yeah, I can say “it’s okay to not be perfect! No one is!”, but that doesn’t mean writing is gonna get any easier.

Because of that, here I give you some of my tips and tricks to get comfortable with the chaos:

1-The first draft, write it with white font or on a black page. You, quite literally, cannot edit what you can’t see.

2-Timers!!! Time limits are imperfection’s best friends! 10 minutes, 5 minutes, 1 minute: here you can only write and write and write, no stopping, no erasing, no backpedaling. You can only go forward.

3-Do not write it, instead, record it. This allows you to focus on the what rather than the how. On what you are saying and want to say, instead on how you are saying it.

4-Make yourself look forward to the firsts drafts and rewritings, not something you want to get over quickly or that you dread. Embrace the fun of the process, the freedom of having no one breathing over your shoulder and demanding perfection.

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Now let’s end with this: the first draft is an act of bravery and freedom, it says “I don’t know what the heck I’m going, but I’m certainly going anyways”. And that is exciting.

Looking forward to the first draft means finding fun and joy in the process. It means believing that your words, tangled, messy, chaotic, timid, are something worth existing and worth returning to.

So go ahead: write bad sentences, and make your characters say corny things, and overflow your descriptions with bad metaphors. Write it wrong. Write it real. Write it rebellious and humane.

Then you write it again. And again. And again.

This is not failing. This is freedom. And this is humanity.

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And if you’re deep in the trenches of a first (or second or third or tenth) draft right now: I hope you’re having fun. I hope you’re staying true to yourself. I’m cheering for you.

Remember: ugly drafts make beautiful stories. Always.

Written By: Chiara Wilson