I can generate a draft instantly.

A page.

A plan.

A position.

It looks complete.

It isn’t.

The draft feels like progress.

It resembles the finished thing.

It hasn’t been tested.

It hasn’t been refined.

It hasn’t been chosen against anything else.

The draft is possibility.

The work is what happens after.

Tightening.

Cutting.

Reordering.

Letting something go that almost works.

That’s where the discomfort shows up.

The draft is easy to like.

Refinement is harder to love.

It asks me to decide.

The draft is not the work.

It’s the beginning of the work.