Butterflies (Or First Drafts: Sarah Style)

When I first started writing, I read a lot of books about (would you believe it) writing. Among them was Seize The Story, by Victoria Hanley. I highly recommend this book -- it gave me the perfect combination of inspiring advice and kick in the pants that got me through Sarawen. But today, I'd like to quote the only sentences that I do not relate to.

"I dread starting a new book the way I'd dread living in the middle of an especially disturbing nightmare. Getting through that first draft feels very much like clawing my way through solid rock using only my fingernails."

This image caught my fancy so much that I have it heavily underlined in my copy of the book. It was my mantra as I launched each failed beginning, my solace when I began to believe that I could never make it. "So what if it's terrible?" I'd tell myself. "All first drafts are terrible, and none of them are fun. If I just make it to the end, then I can revise! That's the fun part."

I'm not sure when I realized just how ridiculous that was. It might have been Christmas Eve of 2009, when I stayed up until two in the morning wrapping presents, and then pulled out my laptop to get just a few more words in before bed. It might have been in March 2010, when I wrote my first love scene, a scene that made my mother cry. It was surely before that October day when I wrote my first 8k day and crested the climax of the book. It doesn't really matter when I realized it, because it's true.

I love first drafts.

Are they hard? Yes. Are they long? Yes. Do I sometimes stare at the stationary, blinking cursor until I'm sure my eyeballs are bleeding? Absolutely. But with all the pain, with all the heartache and the frustration, there is nothing more beautiful than watching your precious story take shape before your eyes. It's magical. It gives me butterflies.

On November first, I started my new novel, A Winters Tale. The first day was agony. The second was better. On the seventh, I fell in love. I wrote a scene so glorious, it kept me up three hours past my bedtime. I danced all the way to bed and rose in the morning with a song in my heart. That scene stayed with me all day, glowing somewhere near my abdomen. I wanted to curl around it and never let it go. I wanted to share it with the world.

Three days later, I am rattled. I am vexed. I may even be frothing at the mouth. Why, you ask? Today, I reached a scene that WILL NOT WRITE! I am currently beating it into submission, abusing my poor keyboard in my fury. But beneath it all, the glow is still there. I am a writer. And this is what I love.