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[Content warning: extremely brief hint of something that could be taken as suicidal ideation, but isn’t really... and internalised ableism.]
So, despite the title, these are not shitty first drafts. Or if they are, I’m also writing Extra Shitty First Drafts. This blog is more like... reasonable second drafts.
SFD is a term that Brene Brown uses (based on a concept of Anne Lamott’s) to talk about that raw journalling you might need to do, to get the crap out of you. I recently revisited the early podcast episodes, and the hosts talk about how SFDs should be done completely privately, or only shared with someone you really trust (more on that in a moment...). Then I got to that part in Dr Brown’s book, and, yeah, it does look like private works better for the really shitty ones. As I was discussing with the lovely person who’s working through the book with me, we’re both people who’ve blogged in public for a long time and don’t mind hanging out our dirty laundry (anonymously) there. But there’s definitely another level of writing you need to do, with this whole ‘rising strong’ process, that’s more private than even ‘public but anonymous’
For the past few days I’ve been attempting to write Extra Shitty First Drafts, because I’ve needed to yell and scream about things that really shouldn’t be public. I tried using video format. I’m crap at videos and mostly stared at myself on the screen and had trouble finding words. I wrote 750 words of a written ESFD, and it took up all my time and energy for the evening and then I couldn’t share it with anyone so... what’s the point?
I’m sad that I don’t really have anyone I trust enough to share personal writing with. I still think everyone must be looking at me and going “they’re off their rocker” for doing this Project. My spouse is an angel, but I don’t want them to see my ESFDs - it’s not the sort of thing they’d understand.
“You can’t skip day two,” Brene says. She means you can’t skip the second act. The hard stuff. You can’t jump to the happy, successful end. Day two takes forever. Like Chapter 3-5 in the book, which I’m currently struggling through (I think the book is laughing at me while I get pissed off), day two just goes on and on. I really want to skip it, right now. I’ve been really fucking pissed off, this week - at me, at my inability to feel anything properly, at my perfectionism and overworking myself and terrible eating habits, at my stupid coping strategies that hurt me or the people I love (like what Brene calls ‘chandeliering’, where you hit the ceiling because you haven’t - which I did to my spouse after they had gone out and got my wheelchair fixed for me, because I wasn’t dealing well with those old feelings of ‘if I rely on you I must be useless and a waste of oxygen and I should just die to make space for someone who isn’t totally useless’...)
I hate feelings. I hate Chapters 3-5. I hate day two.
Thus, Extra Shitty First Drafts. But I think I hate them too. What’s the point of writing if you can’t share it with anyone?
The Work is too much like hard work for me, at the moment. Sigh. Getting up anyway, if only because ‘facedown in the arena’ is a really shitty place to stay. The mud is cold and wet, and there’s ice cream on sale in the concessions stand once I clean myself up a bit.
So, despite the title, these are not shitty first drafts. Or if they are, I’m also writing Extra Shitty First Drafts. This blog is more like... reasonable second drafts.
SFD is a term that Brene Brown uses (based on a concept of Anne Lamott’s) to talk about that raw journalling you might need to do, to get the crap out of you. I recently revisited the early podcast episodes, and the hosts talk about how SFDs should be done completely privately, or only shared with someone you really trust (more on that in a moment...). Then I got to that part in Dr Brown’s book, and, yeah, it does look like private works better for the really shitty ones. As I was discussing with the lovely person who’s working through the book with me, we’re both people who’ve blogged in public for a long time and don’t mind hanging out our dirty laundry (anonymously) there. But there’s definitely another level of writing you need to do, with this whole ‘rising strong’ process, that’s more private than even ‘public but anonymous’
For the past few days I’ve been attempting to write Extra Shitty First Drafts, because I’ve needed to yell and scream about things that really shouldn’t be public. I tried using video format. I’m crap at videos and mostly stared at myself on the screen and had trouble finding words. I wrote 750 words of a written ESFD, and it took up all my time and energy for the evening and then I couldn’t share it with anyone so... what’s the point?
I’m sad that I don’t really have anyone I trust enough to share personal writing with. I still think everyone must be looking at me and going “they’re off their rocker” for doing this Project. My spouse is an angel, but I don’t want them to see my ESFDs - it’s not the sort of thing they’d understand.
“You can’t skip day two,” Brene says. She means you can’t skip the second act. The hard stuff. You can’t jump to the happy, successful end. Day two takes forever. Like Chapter 3-5 in the book, which I’m currently struggling through (I think the book is laughing at me while I get pissed off), day two just goes on and on. I really want to skip it, right now. I’ve been really fucking pissed off, this week - at me, at my inability to feel anything properly, at my perfectionism and overworking myself and terrible eating habits, at my stupid coping strategies that hurt me or the people I love (like what Brene calls ‘chandeliering’, where you hit the ceiling because you haven’t - which I did to my spouse after they had gone out and got my wheelchair fixed for me, because I wasn’t dealing well with those old feelings of ‘if I rely on you I must be useless and a waste of oxygen and I should just die to make space for someone who isn’t totally useless’...)
I hate feelings. I hate Chapters 3-5. I hate day two.
Thus, Extra Shitty First Drafts. But I think I hate them too. What’s the point of writing if you can’t share it with anyone?
The Work is too much like hard work for me, at the moment. Sigh. Getting up anyway, if only because ‘facedown in the arena’ is a really shitty place to stay. The mud is cold and wet, and there’s ice cream on sale in the concessions stand once I clean myself up a bit.
