Scrapping the Shitty First Draft (SFD) for Something More Loving and Liberating
That book you just put down last night.
The blog post you read on the train.
The online course you finally finished.
All those words have one thing in common.
They started as a SURRENDERED first draft (SFD).
Ann Lamott coined the phrase “Shitty First Draft,” which I embraced for years. After a while, though, the “shitty” part didn’t feel good. I reframed this as surrendered.
Pretty much everything you’ve ever seen written started as an SFD.
The idea of the SFD is intended to get people comfortable with writing crap (note, I didn’t say publishing crap.) If your writing flows from your fingertips perfectly, error-free, with no pesky dangling modifiers or other grammar offenses, then you might not be human. But really, if this is you, I’d love to know — maybe you can teach me your ways.
Most writers, myself included, are intimately familiar with the SFD. This blog post was an SFD. I wrote the first draft in 20 minutes while listening to this song on a sunny afternoon while watching the chicken’s free range around the backyard.
The term SFD came from author Anne Lamott. Her book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, was one of the first books I read about writing when I had the inkling that I wanted to write more. Maybe even make a career out of it.
In Bird by Bird, Anne introduces the idea of a “shitty first draft” or “SFD.”
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
I recall when I read it years ago, during those days when I was riding the frigid train to Chicago, reading books about writing, dreaming I’d be a writer someday. When I read it, I felt a sense of relief.
Like, okay, I can write shit and be okay with it. It’s what kicked off my thinking of separating the idea of writing and editing as two distinct activities.
Now, while I talk about writing shit, I never mean publishing shit. And by writing shit, I realized this phrase has to go. Gone are the days of the SFD. I get Anne’s intention behind these words. It’s a salve to the perfectionist who won’t write (let alone publish) a thing because they’re too obsessed with trying to get it “right.”
I’ve seen this play out with my clients.
“I have to get the sales page right.”
“I made a mistake on my first draft. I need to redo it.”
“Does this look right?”
The problem with trying to get our writing right — implies that there’s also a wrong.
Wrong can only be in the form of lies or misinformation. A draft or work in progress isn’t wrong.
As is with many of my biggest insights, they come when I’m in conversation. With the new feature I’m starting on Substack, “Show Your Work Wednesdays” (look for the first edition on Wednesday, October 4, where we’ll review a sales page), I was playing with another concept for the feature. The title “SFD to Finished Draft.”
And as soon as I wrote that title, I paused. I would never call my client’s drafts shit. I’ve literally never read shit from clients. A draft is just that — a draft. I decided not to call the feature anything related to SFD for a few reasons.
First is that “SFD” is jargon. People in the writing world and my writing community know what the term means, but it’s not universal. In writing, we want to be clear more than clever. And clarity sparks more connection than cleverness ever will.
Here’s the biggest. I brought my feature name options to the 12D BSchool private chat and received this response. Sharing with permission.
“I didn't know what sfd meant! I don't like that whole concept of the first draft being shitty or first anything being shitty. Everything I write is a first draft, I rarely edit. I know there's a whole "everyone creates crappy stuff at first," movement out there, bc I've seen it in other places, but I don't think that's true. Of course we master and improve over time, but I personally don't like the belief that your first attempts automatically suck.”
This comment struck me at first. I know the SFD was born out of good intentions. Intentions to encourage perfectionist-leaning people to take to the page, get whatever writing they needed out so that they could move on, and edit later.
Here’s how I define a draft:
A piece of writing that comes out super fast. There are probably typos, incorrect words, and definitely some funky grammar.
The point of the draft is to give us something to work with. Calling anything we create “shitty” or really, assigning it any negative label can lead us to unconsciously think that the first of anything we do is crappy. Sometimes it might be, but surely we can come up with better ways to describe our co-creation with the divine as “shitty.”
It’s like sculpting an owl with a lump of clay, and instead of leaving the lump of clay in a brick, the first draft of your sculpture is to make a rough body shape, add some curves to the head and ears. That’s a first draft.
Or a painting. You grab a wide brush, dip it in water, and then swirl the bristles through a golden yellow acrylic. Making broad, fluid strokes, you cover the canvas with a base layer, maybe add a little white, and blend it in key spots. It’s a quick draft. It’s not shitty.
Or your favorite tomato sauce. You chop and saute the onions and garlic, add tomatoes, and some spices, toss a bay leaf on top, and let it simmer. That base is a first draft. If you’re intuitive in the kitchen, eyeballing your measurements, you know you might adjust the seasoning later. That first layer is a first draft. Also, not shitty. Completely edible. Could it be a little sweeter or heavier on the basil? Sure — those additions suit it to your liking. There’s no perfection (though if you’re a professional chef, maybe you disagree with me, and there is such a thing as the perfect tomato sauce. We’re aiming for edible and enjoyable with writing here — perfection is subjective.
In these three examples, the first draft is compiled, assembled, and crafted quickly, so your body takes over. By letting our senses lead the way, we stay out of our heads. And staying out of our brains is the key to getting moving, dancing past what some people call blocks — which I call BS by the way.
⛔️💩Just because your first draft is messy and needs smoothing, though, doesn’t make it shit.
In fact, anything but. She was right. Just like my first pass at molding the clay isn’t shit.
Just like the lump o clay, base layer, and sketch on my canvas isn’t shit. It’s a draft, a beginning, a start.
It can also be helpful to think of a child or yourself as a child. If you were learning to tie your shoes for the first time, would you ever call their first attempt “shit”? (God, I hope not).
Aaralyn also mentioned in her message that everything she writes is a first draft, and she never edits. This is true for most things you read from me in emails, texts, and social posts. When it’s website copy, I read it over and make tweaks. I might work it in stages. She’s a great example of someone who’s not doubting or overthinking — only saying what needs to be said and moving on.
When I tweak website copy that’s already on one of my websites, I often skip the draft phase. I might rewrite entire sentences live. Which I don't recommend because more than a few times, Squarespace has glitched for me, and I lost everything. For this reason, I suggest making any edits or doing any writing in another document. I’ve lost 2,200 character draft posts on Instagram, too. The post is pouring out, and suddenly, I make the wrong keystroke. Poof! Gone!
Another comment came up in this chat, which brought it all home for me.
Kaimani said she calls SFDs “Surrendered first drafts.”
Bingo!
It’s time to retire Shitty First Drafts and let Surrendered First Drafts shine.
This was the feeling I was after. It’s a surrendered draft. It’s showing up at the page, dropping our ego (which doesn’t happen overnight), not controlling or forcing, but letting it out. It’s letting go. If you’re a mom who breastfed her babies, the milk “let down” is precisely what that release of writing feels like. You’re not controlling it — it’s free-flowing. It’s surrender.
Surrendering at the page means you’re not people-pleasing, controlling, or forcing anything. You’re not trying to dictate an outcome. You’re co-creating with God, Goddess, the Divine. You’re the vessel bringing the writing to the page, and you’re downloading it.
Clues you’re writing a surrendered first draft:
The writing feels easy
You read it back and think – “Wow, where'd that come from?” or “That’s pretty fucking good!”
You look up at the clock when you finished a draft and marvel at how quickly the words came out — wow, that was fast!
It’s conversations like the ones I had in the 12D BSchool community chat that lead to the biggest A-HA’s and revelations. It’s why I’ll never do business alone. It’s why one of the first investments I made when I started my writing business was in a community of like-minded people. And then courses, masterminds, and mentorships.
Sure, we’re all pretty dang smart and can figure things out on our own. But the learning, insights, and pure speed at which we can glean them when we’re having conversations — is unmatched.
So, Anne. I won’t retire the SFD term, but it does have a new meaning for me.
7 things you need to know to master the SFD:
1. Turn your brain off and tune into your body.
The SFD isn’t for overthinking. Ignore all those red squiggly lines alerting you to typos. To ignore these, I like to blur my eyes, look out the window while I’m typing, and constantly scroll down so I can’t see what I wrote. It can be tempting to go back and start fixing — don’t! Write as if you don’t have a backspace button.
2. Get it out as quickly as possible.
This is the point. Just write. You’ll go back and edit later. The stuff you don’t edit is the stuff of journals. Setting a timer for 25 minutes can help you focus.
3. You're going to edit.
When you revisit your SFD, ideally after you’ve stepped away for either a few minutes, a day, or even a year, you’ll have fresh eyeballs and be ready to edit.
4. It's supposed to be a draft.
When you revisit your SFD, read it with fresh, non-judging eyes. Stay open. Ask yourself what the draft needs. Sometimes, SFDs sit in my draft folders for months. Some never see the light of day, anyone’s inbox, or the pages of my books. And that’s okay. That’s the whole point. The SFD is for downloading information from your brain onto the page.
5. Write when you feel like it.
When I get a stroke of inspiration, I’ll write a fast and furious SFD and revisit it later. Sometimes, “later” means in a few months. When it comes time for me to publish a new blog post or start a big book project, I’ll review all my surrendered first drafts and see what inspiration I can draw from there. Talk to any writer, and they'll tell you the gold is in the editing and refining.
6. It's going to morph.
Sometimes, an SFD turns into something entirely different than I had planned. Sometimes, it ends up as a PDF download or even a workshop or course. It could live forever as a draft.
7. It wants to come out.
The SFD wants to get out of your head and onto the page. Let it out.
If I go on, this post would be way longer than necessary. All you need to know is to sit down, quiet the inner critic, and let the words fall out.
Need to edit your SFD? Here are my favorite ways to edit my work.
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