Narbs

merlin:

You want “freewriting?” I’ll show you freewriting. I got your freewriting swinging.
(And, God bless you, Anne Lamott, Natalie Goldberg, Joan Bolker, Jack Hart, Don Murray, and Richard Hugo. You each taught me not to be chickenshit about starting with a whole lot of nothing and not-sure-what, and just seeing where it goes.)
Anne Lamott, on shitty first drafts:

For me and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts.
The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page. If one of the characters wants to say, “Well, so what, Mr. Poopy Pants?,” you let her. No one is going to see it. If the kid wants to get into really sentimental, weepy, emotional territory, you let him. Just get it all down on paper, because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational, grown-up means. There may be something in the very last line of the very last paragraph on page six that you just love, that is so beautiful or wild that you now know what you’re supposed to be writing about, more or less, or in what direction you might go – but there was no way to get to this without first getting through the first five and a half pages.

You want “freewriting?” I’ll show you freewriting. I got your freewriting swinging.

(And, God bless you, Anne Lamott, Natalie Goldberg, Joan Bolker, Jack Hart, Don Murray, and Richard Hugo. You each taught me not to be chickenshit about starting with a whole lot of nothing and not-sure-what, and just seeing where it goes.)

Anne Lamott, on shitty first drafts:

For me and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts.

The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page. If one of the characters wants to say, “Well, so what, Mr. Poopy Pants?,” you let her. No one is going to see it. If the kid wants to get into really sentimental, weepy, emotional territory, you let him. Just get it all down on paper, because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational, grown-up means. There may be something in the very last line of the very last paragraph on page six that you just love, that is so beautiful or wild that you now know what you’re supposed to be writing about, more or less, or in what direction you might go – but there was no way to get to this without first getting through the first five and a half pages.