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There are some wonderful books out there, by some incredible writers—but we only see their final drafts. We don’t see the first pale sentences, or the deeply boring second chapter, or the totally ridiculous ending. We don’t see drafts two through seventeen, as the story begins to take shape, as it grows (or shrinks) and is honed and carefully crafted. We don’t see the editor’s red pencil, and the suggested revisions from the publisher that make the story better and tighter in every way.
So go ahead—write something stupid. Call it your first draft, like so many before you. You don’t have to show it to anyone, either.
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