In the 1600s, writers and poets would gather for an evening of artistic expression and discussion. Known as a literary academy, the all-men or all-women groups served as a meeting point for sharing topics of philosophy along with art in the drafting process. This column honors that sentiment with thoughts on craft and writing.
I’m in the middle of an essay.
It’s been tedious.
I’m on draft 28, more or less. Based on my files, I started working on this essay close to two years ago. Some months, I’ve revised and rewritten like crazy. Then, I got stuck. But like a toxic ex, I keep coming back.
Some of the best essays I’ve read are from writers who have struggled to get it right over a span of years, even decades. I enjoy when they post the publication and add a note about the arduous journey to get it in print. It reminds me of the time and patience this kind of work requires.
Back in the summer, I took a course on Courageous Revision. The instructor showed us an early draft of a short story and the published version. Seeing a strong early draft intimidated me. I have some friends who can write a pretty strong first draft. One fiction writer told me that she ruminates about the story for weeks on end before she finally puts something down on paper and when she does, it’s pretty well-formed.
But that’s not my process. My work comes out very amorphous and crummy. No one would dare publish it. I know it’s not nearly as strong as it could be. I’ve decided to get some tallies going—measure out the amount of drafts and the time spent before the piece received any love.
Hair*
Drafts: 35
Time: 2 years
Publication(s): The Iowa Review, Accolades: A Women Who Submit Anthology
Awards: Winner of Iowa Review Award, Notable in Best American Essays
A Celibate Marriage*
Drafts: 34
Time: 1 year and 2 months
Publication(s): Prairie Schooner
Bhangra*
Drafts: 47
Time: 3 1/2 years
Publication(s): The Offing, Transformation: A Women Who Submit Anthology
Awards: Finalist for the Penelope Niven Award in Creative Nonfiction
Steel
Drafts: 21
Time: 1 year and 1 month
Publication(s): Coachella Review
My Father’s Language
Drafts: 26
Time: 1 1/2 years
Publication(s): Kweli Journal
Awards: Notable in Best American Essays
What We Can’t Do
Drafts: 13
Time: 1 year
Publication(s): The Citron Review
Awards: Nominated for Pushcart Prize, Nominated for Best of the Net
*These were drafted and worked on while in an MFA program.
I’ve always known I was a slow writer. But in marking it out this way, it’s evident in my process that work that took longer to draft and polish was better positioned for rewards later. I’m okay with my crappy first drafts (and I mean quite crappy). When teaching, I’ve shared with students that I produce a ridiculous amount of drafts. I don’t mean to show this to make anyone feel demoralized. Rather, I think the process is important. Recognition of the time and energy spent hacking away at sentences to figure out the right flow.
Maybe as I work on this essay, I’ll get it right. Or maybe it will get set aside again. It’s ever-evolving. There’s something within it that I want to say, I know that. It comes from a deep and raw part of myself.
Once again, I really appreciate your vulnerability and generosity in giving this window into your writing life. "Hacking away at sentences" resonated in a major way. Yes. I do a lot of hacking. It never ceases to amaze me how my inner critic - the very one who is rarely, if ever, satisfied with my word choices and flow, can then get on me for spending too much time hacking and polishing. What a clever cad, that inner critic.
I find this fascinating. But what I’d really like to know is what do you consider a new draft? If you revise just part of it, is that a new draft? Or do you need to work on the whole essay to consider it a new revision? Or do you save it as a new draft every time you touch the file and then close it again? I also wonder how many of these drafts you brought to writers groups, etc. for feedback? From another slow writer :-)