You know that feeling when you sit down to write and immediately start editing the first sentence before you've even finished it? When you delete and rewrite the same paragraph six times, and suddenly an hour has passed and you've got nothing to show for it except a growing sense that maybe you're just not cut out for this writing thing?

Here's the truth: you're not actually writing—you're trying to write and edit simultaneously, and that's like trying to drive with one foot on the gas and one on the brake. Your brain literally can't do both well at the same time.

Enter Anne Lamott's liberating concept from her book Bird by Bird: The Shitty First Draft Permission. It's not just a catchy phrase—it's a concrete method for separating the creation phase from the editing phase, and it might be the most practical tool you'll ever use to overcome the self-doubt that stops you from making progress.

The Real Problem With Perfectionism

Most advice about overcoming self-doubt focuses on mindset: "Believe in yourself!" "Ignore your inner critic!" But that's like telling someone with a phobia to just stop being afraid. It doesn't work because you're fighting against how your brain naturally operates.

The actual problem is simpler: when you critique while you create, you're asking your brain to use two completely different modes of thinking at once. The creative mode needs to be open, exploratory, and messy. The critical mode needs to be analytical, judgmental, and precise. When you try to use both simultaneously, they cancel each other out.

That's why you can sit for an hour and produce nothing. Not because you can't write, but because you're sabotaging yourself with terrible timing.

How The Shitty First Draft Permission Works

The Shitty First Draft Permission isn't about lowering your standards—it's about deliberately separating the drafting stage from the revision stage. Here's the specific method:

Step 1: Give yourself explicit permission to write something genuinely bad. Not "rough" or "needs work"—actually terrible. Say it out loud if you need to: "This draft is allowed to suck."

Step 2: Set a specific time or word count goal for your drafting session. Maybe it's 30 minutes, maybe it's 500 words. The key is that during this period, you are only allowed to draft.

Step 3: Turn off all editing during the session. This means:
- No deleting anything (except obvious typos if they slow you down)
- No rereading what you just wrote
- No stopping to find the perfect word—use a placeholder like [BETTER WORD] and keep going
- No stopping to fact-check or research—write [CHECK THIS] and continue

Step 4: When you finish the session, close the document and walk away. Don't read it. Schedule your revision for a different time—ideally at least a day later.

Step 5: Return with your editor hat on. Only now do you read, evaluate, and revise. This is when you fix everything you knew was wrong while you were drafting.

What This Actually Looks Like in Practice

Let me show you the difference. Here's what trying to write without the Shitty First Draft Permission looks like:

[Sits down, types:] "The detective walked into the room."

[Immediately thinks: That's boring. "Walked" is such a weak verb. And which room? I should be more specific. Delete.]

[Types:] "Detective Morrison strode into the cramped interrogation room."

[Thinks: "Strode" sounds pretentious. And is it really cramped? Maybe I should describe it more. How big are interrogation rooms? I should look that up. Also, should I introduce what he's feeling here?]

[30 minutes pass. One sentence written.]

Now here's the same scene with the Shitty First Draft Permission:

[Sits down, sets timer for 20 minutes, reminds self: This is allowed to be terrible.]

[Types:] "The detective walked into the room. It was an interrogation room, small and cramped with [DESCRIPTION STUFF]. Morrison felt [SOMETHING ANXIOUS?]. The suspect sat at the table. She looked [DESCRIBE HER]. He sat down across from her and [WHAT DOES HE DO? INTIMIDATION TACTIC?]. 'Tell me about the night of the murder,' he said. She [REACTION]. 'I already told your partner everything,' she said. 'Tell me again,' Morrison said. He [GESTURE OR ACTION]. She [HESITATES?] and then began talking."

[20 minutes pass. Rough scene drafted with placeholders.]

It's messy. There are gaps. Some sentences are clunky. But there's something on the page. And here's what matters: when you come back tomorrow to revise, you'll have a much easier time improving something that exists than creating something from nothing.

Why This Method Actually Changes Everything

The Shitty First Draft Permission works because it addresses the real psychological barrier: perfectionism isn't about high standards; it's about fear of judgment. When you judge yourself while you're still creating, every imperfect word feels like evidence that you're not good enough.

But when you give yourself permission to be bad on purpose, you remove that fear. You're not failing to write something good—you're succeeding at writing something intentionally rough that you'll fix later.

This method also reveals an important truth: most of your self-doubt isn't actually about your writing ability. It's about expecting your first draft to be your final draft. Once you stop expecting that, the self-doubt often disappears.

Making It Stick

The hardest part of this method is trusting the process. Your brain will try to pull you back into editing mode. You'll write a sentence and immediately want to fix it. When that happens:

- Physically move your hands away from the delete key
- Remind yourself: "I can fix this later, and I will"
- If the urge is overwhelming, open a separate document and write your editorial thoughts there, then immediately return to drafting

Some writers find it helpful to change their document's font to Comic Sans or set the text color to grey during first drafts—something that signals "this is not the final version" to their brain.

Your First Step

Here's your challenge: The next time you sit down to write, try this method for just one session. Set a timer for 20 minutes. Give yourself explicit permission to write badly. Turn off your internal editor. See what happens.

You might be surprised to discover that your "shitty first draft" isn't even that bad. More importantly, you'll have something to work with—which is infinitely better than a blank page and a head full of self-doubt.

Remember: no one writes perfect first drafts. The writers you admire got where they are not because they write clean first drafts, but because they've learned to separate creation from criticism. The Shitty First Draft Permission is how you do the same.

Now stop reading this post and go write something terrible. You can fix it tomorrow.