#firstdrafts

[rwhague]

[buckeroonie323]

If anyone wonders what goes on in my brain and Google docs before I start writing. This is it.

[croevers]

Your First Draft Does Not Need To Be Perfect

So I started writing my first draft of a WIP a few days ago, and I have been writing a bit every day since then.

And, let me tell you, I think it really sucks. Like, bad. It just doesn't feel right. It feels boring, I'm missing things, it's not smooth at all. I'm starting to wonder if my plot isn't enough, or if my characters aren't developed enough, or if I should have taken more time to get to know my setting. Probably.

So what am I going to do about it?

I'm going to keep writing, because it's a first draft!

All those things I need to do to make it better? I can be doing those on the side. Fall in love with my setting, characters, and see what more I can do with my plot. I can edit later, I am not editing as I'm going along. I'm just going to write.

And then I can look back at my first draft to see how much I've improved!

We can do this! Let's keep writing.

[throughscreendoors]

early sobriety (1.27.20)

insomnia is like walking to a bar with no seats

and not getting the bartender’s attention,

standing a respectful distance from the patrons

seated at the bar, an unwelcome visitor

invisible enough to know only their clothed backs

perfectly ambiguous, your intentions apparently

not clearly announced with your mere presence,

the obviousness of the full seats and your body pointed barward

not enough to stop the walls inching in and

your brave little heart pushing back like an

outstretched palm held firm saying stop right there

you itch and fidget and time warps in on itself

like melted glass and you wonder if while standing silently,

feeling all this, your friends are burning holes through your back

with their eyes, the whole bar a Russian doll world

of blank eyes and cold backs talking

about how incapable you look stranded between

social registers, never telling you for fear of your fragility

until you finally make eye contact

and get your water

the algorithm feeds me inspirational Instagram

posts about risk and I wonder: how

will I ever unlock myself even holding the keys when

crossing a room is an odyssey

you all have your lucid values and convoluted schemes

and all I have is my rogue heart

my inner torturer

[quintiques-blog]

Happy AU Tuesday everyone! Don’t for get to post your own and tag us with the chance to be featured on Sunday! 🎃

[ladymacsteff]

Two words that have just sent shivers down my spine. I never thought I'd see this day. Now to type up the last two chapters and work out how to compile everything from #Scrivener. #writer #writing #firstdrafts #instawrite #instawriter #writerlythings #instawriting #creativewriting

[throughscreendoors]

post apocalyptic breakfast (1.27.20) (edit 4.19.20)

The first meal I eat after the apocalypse will be breakfast

eggs would feel symbolic but I'll still be vegan

and I’ll walk the end times with principles intact

I’ll make sourdough toast with hummus, miso spread

under it, an avocado plucked from the yard, halved,

sliced fine and green, Tapatio sprinkled

atop like blood

I pledge to remain essentially millennial—

I'll build a house out of empty coffee cans,

green La Llaves and yellow Bustelos stacked

empty as artillery shells from the revolution

that never came

The morning light will be lilac and orange rind

like steel sink scraps with the broken disposal or

my lover's earnest watercolors

I promise not to yearn to hold

one Platonically perfect breast

in my hand—just one, just for a second,

not daring to ask for two

When I was little I prayed only

to miss this moment, not to be

one of Jesus's forgotten many but here it is:

real life asserting itself again. It occurs

to me that today’s wet laundry

is not so different from yesterday’s,

knotted like guts.

After breakfast I’ll sit quietly, think about lunch

grant myself allowances, miss raw things

like anger and cold

For now I’ll chew my toast, gaze masculinely

at the wastes, pretend to water flowers,

take my coffee in the mist with the ghosts and

talk to saguaros, still not daring to

brush their spines

[parvaavem]

{{Why are first drafts sometimes like this?