Draft 3
Let me begin by saying that the act of typing this blog post is somewhat counter to the very thing this post is about. Here’s what I want to consider: writing as technology is changed in part by our ability to edit our writing because — for good or otherwise — we can’t see our work being changed.
In her essay “Shitty First Drafts,” Anne Lamott says the first drafts are important:
“You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper” (2).
Dennis Baron, in “From Pixels to Pencils: The Stages of Literacy Technologies,” says of the pencil with an eraser, “American schools allowed no crossing out. Teachers preferred pencils without erasers, arguing that students would do better, more premeditated work if they didn’t have the option of revising. The students won this one, too: eraserless pencils are now extremely rare. Artists use them, because artists need special erasers in the work; golfers too use pencils without erasers, perhaps to keep themselves honest. As for the no-crossing-out rule, writing teachers now routinely warn students that writers never get it right the first time, and we expect them to revise their work endlessly until it is polished to perfection” (82).
Do we edit more or less on a computer than by hand? Is the eraser to the pencil what backspace is to the computer? Or, is backspace the intensified eraser because it completely removes? We rewrite a nicer draft by hand; we edit away the bad draft on a computer.
Baron continues,
“We have a way of getting so used to writing technologies that we come to think of them as natural rather than technological” (83).
What’s natural for the technology of writing?
- The pencil?
- The typewriter one of my students brought to class last week?
- The keyboard I’m typing on now?
- The act of writing, whatever form it takes place in?
Lamott considers, “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later” (1). Is it the first draft, in all its “shitty-ness,” the one that is the truest?
I don’t have definite answers to this question, but my gut response tends toward Lamott. The natural messiness of a first draft seems right, and when I type, I don’t see that transformation. Personally, I like seeing where I start and where I end and that I made it somewhere in the process. If it is a typed first draft, I usually edit by hand so that I can be engaged in the changes that need to be made.
We don’t get to see that change if we don’t have that first draft. Lamott poses,
“Very few writers really know what they are doing until they’ve done it” (1).
Lamott ends her essay, “A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft — you must 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” (2). (Bold font is mine.)
To continue in her metaphor, can we achieve healthy teeth without the brushing and the flossing? Do we need that pencil to best complete the cleaning?
Draft 2
I’d realize that the ideal would likely be that there is time between drafts. But I have one more hour at Starbucks before I need to be back at school for high school graduation tonight, so here goes draft two of three in one sitting:
Let me begin by saying that the act of typing this blog post is somewhat counter to the very thing this post is about. Here’s what I want to consider: writing as technology is changed in part by our ability to edit our writing because — for good or otherwise — we can’t see our work being changed.
In her essay “Shitty First Drafts,” Anne Lamott says the first drafts are important: “You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper” (2).
Dennis Baron, in “From Pixels to Pencils: The Stages of Literacy Technologies,” says of the pencil with an eraser, “American schools allowed no crossing out. Teachers preferred pencils without erasers, arguing that students would do better, more premeditated work if they didn’t have the option of revising. The students won this one, too: eraserless pencils are now extremely rare. Artists use them, because artists need special erasers in the work; golfers too use pencils without erasers, perhaps to keep themselves honest. As for the no-crossing-out rule, writing teachers now routinely warn students that writers never get it right the first time, we expect them to revise their work endlessly until it is polished to perfection” (82).
Do we edit more or less on a computer than by hand? Is the eraser to the pencil what backspace is to the computer? Or, is backspace the intensified eraser because it completely removes? We rewrite a nicer draft by hand; we edit away the bad draft on a computer.
Baron continues, “We have a way of getting so used to writing technologies that we come to think of them as natural rather than technological” (83). What’s natural for writing? The pencil? The typewriter one of my students brought to class last week? The keyboard I’m typing on now? Writing, whatever form it takes place in?
Lamott considers, “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later” (1). Is it the first draft, in all its “shitty-ness” the one that is the truest?
I don’t have definite answers to this question, but my gut response tends toward Lamott. The natural, messiness of a first draft seems right, and when I type, I don’t see that transformation. Personally, I like seeing where I start and where I end and that I made it somewhere in the process. If it is a typed first draft, I edit by hand so that I can be engaged in the changes that need to be made.
Lamott poses, “Very few writers really know what they are doing until they’ve done it” (1). We don’t get to see that change if we don’t have that first draft.
Lamott ends her essay, “A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft — you must 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” (2).
To follow in her metaphor, can we get to healthy teeth without the brushing and the flossing? Do we need that pencil to best complete the cleaning?
Draft 1
Let me begin by saying that the act of typing this blog post is somewhat counter to the very thing this post is about. Also, you’ll never know what the first draft of this blog post is. (Except, I just had a great idea: I’m going to in fact share my “shitty first draft.” Hooray for copy and paste.)
Okay, so knowing I”m going for a demonstration of The Shitty First Draft, Here’s what I’m going for (I almost just backspaced to fix me “H” capitalization, but I stopped myself. In typing that explanation, I’ve backspaced multiple times. It seems inevitable).
Here’s what I want to consider: writing as technology has changed in part by our ability to edit our writing, but for good (how nice is it that I can copy and past this text for editing purposes) and for bad– usually we don’t draft as much and we can’t SEE our work being changed.
Lamott says the first drafts are important, “You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper” (2). Baron says of the pencil with an eraser, “But American schools allowed no crossing out. Teachers preferred pencils without erasers, arguing that students would do better, more premeditated work if they didn’t have the poption of revising. THe students won this one, too: eraserless pencils are now extremely rare. Artists use them, because artists need special erasers in the work; golfers too use pencils without erasers, perhpaos to keep themselves honest. As for the no-crossing-out rule, writing teachers now routinely wran students that writers never et it right the firs ttime, we expect htem to revise their workd endlessly until it is polished to perfection” (82). Yes, I realize there are typos in this direct quote. It’s my first draft; I’ll fix it later.
Here’s what I’m thinking: Do we edit more or less on a computer than by hand? Is the eraser to the pencil what backspace is to the computer? Or, is backspace the intensified eraser because it completely removes? We rewrite a nicer draft by hand; we edit away the bad draft on a computer. (Except, of course, for this bad draft.)
Baron continues, “We have a way of getting so used to writing technologies that we come to think of theme as natural rather than technological” (83). What’s natural for writing? The pencil? The typewriter a student brought to class last week? The keyboard I’m typing on now? Writing, whatever form it takes place in?
Lamott considers, “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later” (1). Whoops. People will see this first draft. But, back to my point, is a first draft like this one natural and right?
I don’t have definite answers to this question, but my gut response tends toward Lamott. The natural, messiness of a first draft seems right, and when I type, I don’t see that transformation. Personally, I like seeing where I start and where I end and that I made it somewhere in the process. Lamott writes, “Very few writers really know what they are doing until they’ve done it” (1). We don’t get to see that change if we don’t have that first draft. Of drafts, Lamott ends her essay, “A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft — you mnust 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, wher eoyu check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even , God help us, healthy” (2).
To follow in her metaphor, can we get to healthy teeth without the brushing and the flossing? That, at least for this first draft, is where I’ll leave you.
Works Cited
Baron, Dennis “From Pencils to Pixels: The Stages of Literacy Technology.” Passions, Pedagogies, and 21st Century Technologies. Ed. Gail Hawisher & Cynthia Selfe. Utah State UP, YR, pp. 15-33.
Lamott, Anne. “Shitty First Drafts.” Language Awareness: Readings for College Writers, ed. by Paul Escholz, Alfred Rosa, and Virginia Clark, 9th ed., Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2005, pp. 93-96. Writing, Rhetoric, and Digital Studies, University of Kentucky, pp. 1-2, wrd.as.uky.edu/sites/default/files/1-Shitty%20First%20Drafts.pdf.



