On Process: Don't Be Afraid of Your Drafts
One of the quietest ways writers sabotage themselves is not through lack of skill. It is through comparison at the wrong stage.
They read a published novel. Then they look at their own first draft. And they think: I am not good enough.
But that comparison is fundamentally unfair.
A published book is not a draft that "worked on the first try." It is the survivor of the writing process. Multiple drafts. Structural edits. Line edits. Copy edits. Agent feedback. Editorial feedback. Sometimes entire rewrites.
By the time it reaches a reader, it has been shaped into its most coherent version.
I have heard it all the time.
"But look at Harry Potter! Look at Lord of the Rings! Look at Dracula!"
Yes.
Look at them.
And if you could look at the cutting room floor, you might be shocked.
You are not seeing the confusion that came before it.
A first draft is not supposed to compete with that.
It is supposed to exist.
Drafts are supposed to be messy.
A draft is thinking made visible. Unfinished logic. Emotional instinct. Scenes that overshoot or undershoot. Characters still discovering themselves. Ideas arriving before structure has caught up.
A draft is not a failure state of writing. It is the raw material.
The mistake is assuming that clarity should already be present at this stage.
Clarity comes later.
A rough diamond is still a diamond.
Jesus, I wish you could see MY drafts.
Ok, maybe not. They'd look like something terrifying, like out of Indiana Jones. You might even get eaten by a paper monste--am I taken this too far? I feel like I am. But still, my point stands.
So grab your tea or coffee, (I am a coffee girl myself,) and let's go over what is possibly tripping you -- and me -- up.
For starters:
The comparison trap:
When writers compare their drafts to published work, they are often unknowingly comparing:
- their first attempt
- to someone else's final version
That is not a fair fight.
The real truth is not "I am not good enough."
The real truth is: "I am not finished yet." And listen, before you start, I am a Virgo! A perfectionist! And also a Virgo who RUMINATES. Do you know how hard that is to live with?
Anyways.
Someone's first, brave attempt versus an ending product, those are completely different states.
One is a judgment of ability.
The other is a description of process.
Drafting is supposed to feel unsafe.
A draft is where you are allowed to:
- write badly
- contradict yourself
- overwrite
- change your mind mid-scene
- discover that a character doesn't work yet
- abandon ideas halfway through
If a draft feels unstable, it is doing its job.
Stability is not the goal at this stage.
Discovery is.
Fear of drafts leads to creative shrinkage.
When writers become afraid of imperfect writing, they often start to:
- over-edit while drafting
- second-guess every sentence
- avoid bold choices
- simplify their ideas too early
- stop exploring riskier emotional territory
The story becomes smaller before it ever has a chance to become complete.
Fear doesn't improve writing. It narrows it.
Drafts are where voice actually forms.
Ironically, voice is not something you "perfect" in a first draft.
It emerges through repetition. Correction. Contradiction. Experimentation. Revision.
Your most authentic writing often appears in the parts you were unsure about when you wrote them.
The real job of a draft:
A draft is not supposed to impress.
It is supposed to answer one question:
"What is this story trying to become?"
Everything else comes later.
A few exercises I use (you can too):
Compare without judgment. Take a page from your draft and a page from a published novel. Ask: What work has already been done on the published page that hasn't happened yet in mine?
The permission draft. Write a short scene where you deliberately write "badly." Include a cliché. An overlong description. A messy structure. Then ask: Did anything in it still work?
Draft as discovery. Start a scene without knowing the outcome. Halfway through, deliberately change a character's motivation. Let the scene adapt. Notice what surprises you.
The kind reader. Give a draft to a trusted reader. Ask them only: What stood out? What felt alive? Do not ask if it is "good." Ask what is already there.
At its core, a draft is not something to fear or hide.
It is the earliest form of a story trying to find itself.
Published work is what happens after refinement.
Comparing the two is like comparing soil to a finished garden.
One is not worse than the other. It is simply earlier in the process.
So stop being afraid of your drafts.
They are not your enemy.
They are your raw material.
Now go write something messy -- clean it up later.
Here is what I am still learning. The mess is not the enemy. The mess is the evidence. Evidence that you tried. That you showed up. That you put something on the page instead of leaving it in your head where it could stay perfect forever.
We wouldn't blame a potter for having hands splattered in clay.
We wouldn't be mad at an artist for hands messy with color.
Why are we so hard on ourselves as WRITERS?
Ink blots (literally the name of my Substack and Tuhat) all over, paper crumpled, the cat - my cat's name is Honey, she is pure love & MISCHIEF - probably pawing at our manuscript.
A perfect story in your head is not a story at all. It is a ghost. A draft — even a bad one, even a broken one, even one that makes you cringe — is real. It takes up space. It can be fixed. It can become something.
The story in your head cannot.
So let it out. Messy. Ugly. Unfinished. Let it be a draft.
That is not failure. That is the first step.
And the first step is the only one that matters.