Let’s get one thing straight…the myth of the perfect first draft is right up there with the myth of comfortable stilettos. Cute idea. Never been real. Every time I open a blank document, the cursor blinks at me like it’s filing a complaint with HR. Suddenly I’m convinced I’ve never had a single coherent thought in my life. Meanwhile, my inner critic is already in the corner polishing imaginary Louboutin’s and whispering, Sweetie, maybe don’t embarrass yourself today.

Here’s the plot twist….first drafts are meant to be a little tragic. They’re the scuffed heels you throw on when you’re running late, the ones that have seen things, survived things, lived to tell the tale. The ones you don’t really worry about and know they might meet the end of their life that night. They’re not the heels you wear for the photo. They’re the heels you wear for the story.

When I started writing, I always fantasize about producing something glossy and editorial, like the literary equivalent of a fresh blowout. Instead, my first draft looked like the aftermath of a tornado that exclusively targeted adjectives. Half sentences. Rogue metaphors. A paragraph that starts with confidence and ends with me questioning my life choices. It’s giving “lost in the sauce.” It’s giving “girl, blink twice if you need help.” And yet… that’s where the magic lives.

A scuffed heel is proof you actually went somewhere. You didn’t just stand still looking pretty, you moved. You danced. You risked a sidewalk crack. You lived a little. A pristine heel? Gorgeous, yes…but also suspicious. Has she ever touched pavement? Has she ever sprinted across a parking lot at 11:58 PM because the store closes at midnight? Has she ever survived a girls’ night? Exactly. Messy drafts are the same. They’re evidence of motion. Evidence of courage. Evidence that you showed up to the page even when your brain felt like a browser with 47 tabs open and one of them is playing music you can’t find.

Some days my first drafts read like a fever dream. Other days they’re basically a grocery list with delusions of grandeur. Every single time, they remind me that perfection is not the assignment, momentum is. You can sculpt a messy draft. You can polish a chaotic paragraph. You can revise a sentence that wandered off like it saw something shiny. But you cannot edit a blank page. A blank page is a heel still in the box, technically flawless, but completely useless.

So, if you’re staring at your own scuffed heel draft right now, wondering if it’s good enough, let me say this with my whole chest…it is. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s alive. Because it’s honest. Because it’s the version of your idea that wasn’t afraid to show up before it was ready but honestly? That’s the bravest version of all. Starting, whether in heels, in writing, in life…is always the moment that counts. The polish comes later. The shine comes later. The strut comes later. But the scuff? The scuff is where the story begins.

XOXO,

Savi Monroe