When I am in the process of writing, I do not write shitty first drafts as Anne Lamott would call them. Rather, my “draft” is actually my meticulously constructed outline, which I use to guide the narrative’s development. Like George Dila in her article “Rethinking the Shitty First Draft,” I obsess over how different audiences will interpret my work, overthink it, and edit it continuously while I write. I accomplish this by making a thorough outline that includes all of the points I want to make, all of the references I want to use, and any potential detours I might want to take. I do not leave room for shitty first drafts because, while the thought of other people reading those drafts is embarrassing, the thought of having to reread what I wrote in those drafts myself would be disappointing.
Rather, I follow the advice of Michaela Ramirez and Christopher Morales. My outlines develop into a variety of instruments that best fit my writing style, a more intricate story map that delineates every stage of the process. I walk away and do something different if I’m not confident in my writing or if I’m experiencing writer’s block. In fact, the shower is where I get most of my ideas for writing. My body relaxes and ideas start to flood out of me as the warm water hits my head. I say each one out loud, almost like I’m making an argument, explaining its importance, potential applications, and maybe even why it’s superior to the one I just defended. The beginning and middle will already be written by the time I finish and sit down to write again.
As for the end, it has already been written. Ironically enough, I always begin my writing at the end. The ending is like a present handed to the reader, full with promises to uplift, wound, or even shock them. The subject matter of my story will determine all of this. But once I have determined which experience I’d like my reader to have, the rest, or rather the beginning, will follow.
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