So the real reason behind all my procrastination this week (aside from planning the best birthday party EVER), is that I’m at the beginning of a second draft. I really, really hate starting second drafts. Once I get going, I usually enjoy them. It’s fun to think of myself as an artist, shading here, coloring there, adding and subtracting and shifting things until they’re just right. But it is a pain in the butt to get started on a second draft.
I get worried that I’m going to break whatever I did right in the first draft, and I have this needling suspicion that nothing was right in the first draft. But mostly, the second draft is supposed to be better. On a first draft I can get myself started by telling myself that it doesn’t matter, I’ll fix it later. Now I’m supposed to be fixing it. But I don’t magically become a better writer because I’m writing a second draft.
I remembered that I was having a very similar experience almost exactly one year ago. At that time I was participating in poem-a-day for the month of October, and I wrote a little piece on this very odd sensation, which I will share. Just ’cause.
A second draft laughs
Gone is the warm comfort
The reassurance that all writers
Write shitty first drafts
Now the words should breathe
Take their first tottering steps