Once, over something completely unrelated to writing, I told my sister something like this: “I wanted to set the wheels in motion, not set the wagon on fire!” 

At a certain point in a draft, I always end up feeling this sort of panic. All of the careful thought I put into the plot, all of the careful work I put into wording things just right in the opening chapters—all has gone out the window. My draft is a burning wagon and all I can do is chase it down the hill with a fire extinguisher in hand and hope that once the wagon rolls to a stop, the framework can be salvaged. 

Here’s another comparison. I studied opera singing for my undergraduate degree, and for reasons that I won’t go into detail about here, I developed a paralyzing stage fright that severely impacted my voice. Usually, within the first few notes, I could tell whether I would be singing well or singing to survive. In the latter situation, I would shut down, enduring the few painful minutes from a detached place.

Sometimes, to finish a draft, you have to go into survival mode. Sometimes, despite careful preparation, the first note just isn’t supported, which means, oh no, the phrase isn’t supported, which means, oh god, the entire song might not be supported—

In that moment of panic, you have to make a decision. Will you abandon ship, or will you finish the song?

In the case of writing, I would argue that survival mode/my-wagon-is-on-fire mode is normal for a first draft. I’ve written several at this point, and there’s always a point at which the panic threatens to take over, because maybe the framework of the wagon can’t be salvaged, and maybe you’re just going to be left with a pile of burnt sticks.

I will say this: I have never regretted finishing a first draft. You may be able to arrange your burnt sticks into a cool, edgy modern sculpture about the fragility of wagons. You may throw the charred remains away and learn how to, you know, not set the wagon on fire next time. You may come back to the remains in a few months and see something that could be used to make a better wagon.

Okay, you’re probably getting as sick of this metaphor as I am, but the point remains. You can’t fix something that isn’t finished. You may not be able to see where you’re going until you’ve made a ton of mistakes getting there. Finish your draft for that one brilliant line amid the ashes that you can use in your next draft.

So, from my place at 94,000 words into Dragons! 2.0, I wish you luck finishing your own drafts, and I wish myself some luck as well!