Dear First Draft: We Need to Talk

Dear First Draft,

It’s not you, it’s me. Well, actually, it’s mostly you.

Let’s be honest — you’re a bit of a mess.

You turn up unannounced, wearing odd socks and a hat made of spaghetti, and insist on sitting in the best chair. You spill ink on the carpet, leave half-eaten metaphors on the table, and your grammar is, frankly, a crime in seventeen countries (and one disputed territory).

I know, I know. You’re supposed to be this way. All the experts say, “Don’t worry about your first draft! Just get it down!”

But First Draft, you don’t just get it down — you get it everywhere.

On the walls. On the ceiling. On my mug.

I found a dangling participle in my cereal this morning. It was soggy.

Let’s talk about your theme, shall we?

Or rather, your themes.

There are at least three, and none of them are speaking to each other. The main one started as a stream of thought, turned into a llama, and is now, inexplicably, a small ornamental teapot.

Another is allergic to punctuation. The central message appears to be a sandwich. I don’t know what genre we’re in, but I suspect it’s “confused.”

And the dialogue! Oh, the dialogue.

People don’t talk like that, First Draft. Not even people who’ve been hit on the head with a thesaurus.

“Verily, I shall perambulate yon thoroughfare,” said no one, ever, except possibly Shakespeare, and even he would’ve edited it out.

But here’s the thing: I like you. You’re brave. You’re bold. You leap onto the page with all the grace of a startled giraffe. You don’t care about being perfect, you just want to exist. And that’s beautiful, in a slightly alarming way.

So yes, First Draft, we do need to talk. Not to break up. Just to strike a deal.

You keep being gloriously awful. And I’ll keep showing up, red pen in hand, caffeine in bloodstream — to gently unravel your chaos into something that might just make sense.

Or at the very least, something where the teapot doesn’t fall in love with the sandwich.

Yours in creative chaos, Me.