I know, I know: Anne Lamott says they're "shitty" in Bird by Bird so she must be right. A lot of people swear by her. And she says that all good writers write shitty first drafts. Really? How does she know this for a fact? What stats support her claim? Where are the polls?
But there's a bigger issue here: the word itself. "Shitty" is an adjective I've never used to describe a first draft of my own. and it's a word I've never used in any creative writing class, workshop, or master class that I've taught anywhere. I think it's more than just pejorative, it's gross and inappropriate. Messy works. Disordered, unfocused, rough, undisciplined, chaotic, jumbled, scattered, unfinished--any words like that will do.
But shitty? That vulgarity undermines your own work, and it's a slippery slope--even though Lamott is apparently trying to make people relax and feel confident. But if you get writers used to applying a word like that to a first draft and it's too easy for them to survey other work of theirs in dark times and think, "This is shit, total shit." It can plant the wrong kind of seed. Writers have to deal with enough doubts about their abilities and cope with jealousy of other writers as it is. We can brood endlessly about the wrong word spoken at the wrong time. . .
I once had a graduate writing professor call a story I'd worked very hard on "shit." Luckily I'd won the MFA program's literary prize for that story so I was partly armored against his invective, but I still found his language deplorable and demeaning. I felt the same way when I was teaching creative writing at Michigan State University and heard stories from my own students who reported that other professors insulted their work, using words like "crap" and "shit."
None of the first drafts of my hundreds of stories, essays, reviews, or blogs were "shitty." Hell, some of the first drafts were pretty good. Surprisingly good. But however unfinished and incomplete, I always knew they were just a starting point and that they would need more work, sometimes much more work. That was a given, part of the process.
For me, a draft is just opening a door, but with a sense of adventure and expectation because I never know where the piece will end up. So labeling it or dismissing it in any way—even if I'm dissatisfied or disappointed—is setting a road block in my own way. I don’t see how it’s helpful.
I'm not saying that drafts make me want to dance like Bruno Mars in “Uptown Funk,” but every draft has possibility, and that makes me hopeful.
Lev Raphael has authored Writer's Block is Bunk (Advice for Writers) and 26 other books in many genres. He edits, coaches and mentors writers at writewithoutborders.com, and he’ll be teaching a master class in the personal essay for Rochester Writers on November 11. Details here.
(Image by Georgia Mashford at Unsplash)
Thinking about first drafts as open doors is wonderful. You want to see where the draught is coming from, maybe fix it where it sticks, tighten up the handle, and shut it (mostly) some day. You get there. It's not easy for people to continue on if they've been told by someone who "knows better" that the door is worthless anyway. You may have to work to get it door-shaped, but nonetheless it is still a door.
Sometimes a lot of preplanning and prewriting take place in my mind, so the first draft on paper or screen is further along than one might expect if his or her writing process is different. Yet a draft is a draft. I like your open door metaphor.
Writing teachers who call a work shitty are being lazy. Aren't they supposed to model the use of precise language and actually encourage the honing of craft? Such harsh language seems unnecessarily cruel and arrogant and maybe self-serving in limiting the pool of potential writers. Many writers I know are sensitive people who already deal with feelings of insecurity about their work and themselves and have had to work at both honing their craft and layering on emotional armor. An instructor can be both honest and kind.