The Thrill of the First Draft

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I finished my first draft. If I told myself this time last year that in a years time I would have just finished an 83,000 word first draft I would have laughed. A big, booming, belly laugh. But I did... and this is how it happened.

About a year and five months ago I was on the final stretch of my Masters year and looking for anything to distract myself from all the deadlines tumbling towards me. To be honest, it wasn't the most sensible time for me to decide to check out of my masters degree; I had a dissertation to write (well, research, plan and then write... I left it a little late! I don't recommend it), I had a final performance coming up and I had absolutely no plan of what to do with my life when it was all done.

I suddenly decided to read for pleasure for the first time in four years. I couldn't believe I had forgotten how much I loved curling up with a book and reading, shutting myself away from reality and completely immersing myself in a world so beautifully different from my own. Twenty books later I realised I'd let it get a little bit out of hand... my wallet was empty and I had fallen behind on my studies (still hadn't started the dissertation).

The worst thing was that I felt like I had completely exhausted my chosen genre, young adult dystopian fiction. (Only now do I realise how many more exciting YA dystopian novels there are out there, but hey, I was new to this world.) I'd read The Hunger Games, Divergent,Unwind, The Declaration and Matched amongst other fantastic YA books and I was desperate for something else.

I'd always dabbled in concocting stories, but in a non-committal way; 'wouldn't this be a great idea for a book/movie?' It always intrigued me that I was lacking imagination for writing plays considering I am a Drama and Theatre Studies graduate. I worked in a library so always had plenty of time to think and one day it just came to me. The Idea. It was a light bulb moment. I spent six solid hours shelving books and thinking solely about the story that was taking shape in my head.

Even though my shift finished at 1am I went home and wrote the first chapter. That weekend I wrote three more. Over the next couple of weeks I wrote the first TEN chapters. It was a miracle to me, sitting down and writing my dissertation struck my heart with fear and dread, yet I was voluntarily writing thousands of words.

Reality check. Three weeks before my dissertation was due I finally sucked it up, put my novel down and put my academic hat back on, wrote that and then... couldn't start writing for me again. I had some sort of writers block. To be more accurate I had FEAR. I had finished my degree with First Class Honours (Whoop!) and I was at the point where I had to decide. If I continued writing my book what was I trying to say? That I was a writer? That I actually thought something might come out of my hobby?

It seemed ludicrous to devote that much time to something that wasn't going to feed me, clothe me, or pay my rent. I was scared to say I wanted to write because what right did I have after studying Drama for years (see what I did there... write... right?) I did not want to fail, I mean nobody does want to fail, but pursuing something that I hadn't even studied seemed crazy to me. So, I did the adult and responsible thing. I moved house, got a job and let my story brew in the back of my mind.

Things didn't really start off how I planned, I couldn't get enough hours as a Theatre Practitioner, so I started teaching singing... I had moved to a new place, and was finding it hard to make friends (who knew it'd be so difficult out of school and uni, I was constantly asking people out on friend dates) and the severe lack of money made me house bound.

'Sooooooo' I thought one day, twiddling my thumbs, 'what shall I do...?' I reasoned that it was OK to start writing my book again, I didn't have work and I needed a hobby that relied on just me. So I sat myself at a desk and wrote. I tried to write everyday and once again the novel took over my life. I thought about it everywhere; at the gym, at breakfast, in the shower, on the bus,in bed, watching TV, when I was teaching, when I was cooking. You get it, I thought about it all the time.

I'd always known how the first book would end, but suddenly, it was here... In fact at ten on Sunday 4^th August I knew I'd finish it that night. I'd had a couple of false alarms during the week, but this time, I just knew.

At 11.53 I finished my first draft.

Look how thick it is :) 

Silence and calm swept over me and for once, the only thing that was in my head was this; 'I can't believe I finished it.' I spent the next hour in a bubble of disbelief and as I let myself sink down into my bed I was looking forward to a night of nothing. The light was off and I was thinking about work the next day (I'm not the best at switching off). 

Just as I was drifting off, at around 2am, I realised that the thrill of the first draft wouldn't last past that moment...a deeply terrifying thought hit me.

Oh crap! Now somebody has to read it. 

Needless to say, I didn't get any sleep that night.