Stop Apologizing for Your Writing
On embracing crummy first drafts and resisting excuses
Before I ever took a creative writing workshop and confronted the nest of insecurities and egos that congregates around a discussion table, I was a writing tutor. Specifically, an academic writing tutor for undergraduate freshmen.
I usually dealt with one of two types of tutee: the I-know-what-I’m-talking-about-have-you-even-read-the-book-this-is-on stock, or the deeply apologetic, I’m-sorry-your-eyes-had-to-suffer-a-single-word writer. Sure, there was the occasional well-adjusted student with a healthy dose of perspective, but come on…these are freshmen we’re talking about.
Perhaps surprisingly, the manic-apologizers outnumbered the hotheads by a great deal. And while some might say that it is better to be humble about your work, there is a difference between self-deprecation and keeping an open mind to critique.
The instinct to apologize for one’s writing is strong.
We writers can’t afford to separate our lives and anxieties from our writing because when we write, we must confront ourselves in one way or another.
And sharing that with a stranger or, God forbid, someone you already know, is scary.
But here’s the first reason why you should never apologize for your writing:
1. First drafts are supposed to be sh*tty
The first step to getting over the instinct to tag an “I’m sorry” onto the front page of every draft you share is to remember that first drafts are always bad.
Writing is an unkempt process, prone to tangling like strands of thought. There is no sense in apologizing for that beautiful mess, and it is precisely in the untangling of that mess (read: revising and rewriting) where the magic happens.
In Bird by Bird, writer Anne Lamott insists that “all good writers write [sh*tty first drafts]” because “very few writers know what they are doing until they’ve done it.” She goes on to say:
Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start
somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft — you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft — you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy.
This layered process makes sense because, at its core…
2. Writing is thinking
The primary reason why people feel embarrassed or apologetic of their writing, particularly first drafts, is because writing is a seemingly linear process. You put one word after another, after another, after another. Abstract thinking, on the other hand, is anything but. So why make the claim that writing is thinking?
The process of writing is like a filter for your thoughts. It forces you to think in a linear way to translate your thoughts effectively. During first drafts, a lot of thinking – the errant, looping, wayward type of thinking – happens directly on the page, in part because you haven’t had the time or wherewithal to parse it all out yet. But that’s what’s so wonderful about the activity. Once you have that sh*tty first draft on your desk, you can review it more objectively and tweak your language to more coherently reflect your ideas.
Please, don’t knock yourself for participating in that time-honored artform. You “don’t know what you’ve done until [you’ve] done it.” Give yourself time and grace to untangle your thoughts.
Now, once you accept that, you need to evaluate how your apology might read to others.
3. When your writing ends up being good, something’s going to smell fishy
On the flip-side of embracing mediocrity at first pen is the danger of minimizing the potential merit of your work.
I can’t even count how many students and fellow writers in workshops have sheepishly confessed to having “written everything at 3 a.m. the night before, so it’s probably garbage.”
Then, with expectations of rushed and garbled words, I’m met with pristine prose and well-conceptualized premises. Here is where the reader smells something fishy. And it’s kind of infuriating, because either 1) the apology-explanation was an intentional humble-brag meant to elicit compliments, 2) the writer lied about their process (i.e., they did not write it all in one sitting), or 3) they are genuinely insecure.
All three possibilities, even if untrue, are depressing to think about. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt.
And while I know not everyone consciously thinks this way, it may inadvertently leave your readers with a bad taste in their mouths.
Ultimately…
4. We’re all in the same sinking boat
If you feel the urge to apologize or excuse the quality of your drafts, just remember that every other writer around you probably has the same instinct. Nobody feels 100% confident about their words at all times. But I think we can all appreciate that part of being a writer is putting yourself, voluntarily, in a vulnerable position.
We’re all exposing ourselves, airing out our dirty laundry, bearing our ‘souls,’ so to speak. It comes with the job.
Know that you are in like company. Don’t feel the need to explain yourself – let your writing speak for itself. The revising can come later, and after that grueling labor of love, you should have no reason to feel sorry.
