This morning, I finished the rough draft of the text for Volume 3 of The Absent Classic. It took me three weeks, but I finally have sixteen pages of proverb-ridden folktales. I will not quote any of that, because I am in the First-Draft Doldrums, and all 10,271 words look stupid, trite, and awful.

            What do real writers do when they finish a rough draft? I imagine them striding into Fendi and ordering fur coats (“and can I have the midnight-blue sable delivered by Thursday?”), or tucking into chocolate cake, or booking a trip to the South of France, all with a sense of triumph and achievement. Maybe they call their grandmothers and say, “Guess what? I’ve finished my first draft!”

            Whereas I am sitting, scrolling though my sixteen pages, thinking, If this was a typed manuscript I would be tempted to take it out back and set fire to it. And, Why did I want to do folktales, anyway? I should have done that opera project instead. And, Someday my great-grandchildren are going to read this and wonder about my mental hygiene.

            I am going to resist the temptation to delete the whole thing, and instead let it percolate all weekend. On Sunday morning I will look at it again, and I am hoping it will look manageable. I mean, it’s a mess – the chapters need to be separated out, there are spelling and grammar problems, the illustrations need to be placed, and there are at least three major continuity issues to be addressed. After that, there is the Second Draft to be printed out and red-penciled, and the Third Draft, to be read aloud to my editorial committee (consisting of Husband, Toddler, and Baby) and then, if all goes well, I will have a Final Draft, which will be all tidied up and logical and nicely formatted, with margins like razorblades. Today, this all looks like too much to bother with.

            However, on Sunday things will look better. Or else I will set fire to the stupid thing, and do the opera project instead.