Writing a first draft is always an exercise in frustration, self-doubt, and perseverance. It’s where half-formed ideas take their first trembling steps into existence. The process is always grueling, filled with roadblocks and the constant temptation to quit. In my case, the first draft of New Eleusis became an unexpected pile-up of obstacles—computer problems like a dead battery and a cord that needed replacing, getting locked out of essential accounts while trying to access them from Mexico, and countless other mishaps and detours. I even wrote nearly 30,000 words of my 80,000 projected word count on my phone to keep the project moving forward. Besides the tech problems, there were other typical first draft concerns. The Intimidation of the Blank Page The sheer emptiness of a new document can feel like an insurmountable challenge. There’s no safety net, no guide—just the expectation to create something from nothing. The longer you stare at the blinking cursor, the more paralyzing the task becomes. What is the best way to defeat this fear? Start typing, even if it’s terrible—especially if it’s terrible. Progress beats perfection every time. In my case, I was tackling an ambitious work, perhaps the most ambitious project I have ever tackled. That “ambition” added another layer of pressure. The Vision and Execution Don’t Match (Yet)You have a brilliant idea inside—sharp, evocative, and powerful. But when you try to translate it onto the page, it comes out flat, clunky, and embarrassing. This disconnect is normal. First drafts rarely capture the full depth of an idea. They are stepping stones, not finished works of art. The key is to get the words down so you have something to refine and expand later. Blending neo-noir, gothic horror, eroticism, and ancient mysteries into a cohesive narrative was a balancing act that demanded precision and instinct. Each genre has its expectations—neo-noir thrives on cynicism and hardboiled fatalism, gothic horror evokes dread and decay, erotic elements require tension and restraint, and ancient mysteries demand a slow unraveling of hidden truths. The challenge was weaving these disparate tones into something seamless, where atmosphere and character drove the story rather than genre tropes clashing for dominance. At the same time, I needed the narrative to serve as a deep character study, exploring the uncanny and ambiguous without losing momentum. It was easy to get lost in the mood and aesthetic, but the story still had to move forward. Finding that balance meant committing to the tone early, refining as I went, and resisting the urge to overcorrect in one direction at the cost of the others. The Creep of Self-DoubtBoth experienced and inexperienced writers face the nagging voice that whispers, “This isn’t good.” The inner critic is relentless, convincing you that your story is unoriginal, your prose is weak, and your characters are lifeless. The trick is to acknowledge the doubt but keep writing anyway. Editing is where brilliance emerges, not in the first messy pass. For New Eleusis, that nagging voice was louder than ever. Am I attempting too much? Is it possible to meld neo-noir, gothic horror, eroticism, and gnostic ideas into a single, coherent vision? This voice warned that the tone might slip, that the atmosphere might suffocate the plot. The sheer weight of influences could crush originality. Can something so ambitious truly work? Can these disparate elements sublimate into something greater rather than pulling the story apart at the seams? The doubt lingered, feeding on the fear that it was all merely a patchwork of borrowed styles rather than a living, breathing world of its own. Maintaining Discipline The excitement of a new project fades fast, and writing a first draft requires relentless commitment. Some days, the words flowed effortlessly. On other days, every sentence was a war. The key is to show up anyway. Set a daily word count, a schedule, or a routine—whatever keeps you accountable. Momentum is everything. I’m happy to say I remained disciplined despite the setbacks. In the end, I completed my 3-month challenge, ending up with around 89,000 words. Living with the Mess A first draft is a dumpster fire of plot holes, inconsistent characterization, and clunky dialogue. Scenes go nowhere. Subplots dangle unresolved. The themes shift halfway through. That’s fine. The purpose of a first draft isn’t perfection—it’s to exist. The refining comes later. But it’s okay; the second draft remedies the problems. The Temptation to EditEditing while drafting is a dangerous trap. It slows progress, feeding the illusion that you need to perfect every sentence before moving forward. Thankfully, I resisted the urge, but it wasn’t easy. A first draft should be written with reckless abandon. Get the words out, then worry about fixing them later. The Impossibility of Finishing Halfway through, doubt hits hard. The initial excitement disappears, the end feels impossibly far, and every flaw in the draft looms large. This is where most people quit. On top of that, I had to rethink my entire process—my computer battery died, I got locked out of crucial accounts, and my usual workflow became impossible. I had to adapt, figuring out how to dictate on my phone, finding ways to pull files off my computer, and adjusting my game plan to keep writing. It wasn’t ideal, but the only way forward was through. I pushed past the frustration, worked with what I had, and finished before long. Was It Worth It? A completed first draft, no matter how flawed, is something real. It’s proof you pushed through doubt, setbacks, and resistance to pull a story out of nothing. And for New Eleusis, it’s just the beginning—a rough, unwieldy mass of ideas waiting to be shaped. In a few weeks, I’ll dive into the second draft, peeling back the layers, refining the tone, and pushing deeper into the unknown. The real story is buried beneath the surface, and revision is where I’ll unearth it.
If you want to know more about the writing process of New Eleusis, check out my playlist on YouTube.
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