In the process of developing multiple screenplays over the past several months, I found myself repeatedly returning to a single, uncomfortable realisation: first drafts are comforting not because they are good, but because they do not demand honesty. They offer a creative safety net. They allow a writer to participate in the act of making something without yet confronting the full responsibility of shaping it. As long as a project remains in its first-draft form, it exists in a state of infinite potential, immune to criticism, structural rigour, or thematic clarity.
This realisation may sound counterintuitive, especially within writing communities I have been to, where “finish your first draft at all costs” is a recurring chant. While finishing is important, the assumed significance of the first draft often overshadows its true role: it is merely the beginning, a placeholder for the work that actually matters. The comforting nature of the first draft lies in the psychological shelter it provides. A writer can rationalise every weakness with the convenient phrase, “It’s just a draft.”
Avoiding Honesty in First Drafts
The lack of accountability embedded in first drafts is deceptively appealing. Weak character motivations can be dismissed as temporary. Illogical plot developments can be excused as placeholders. Even messy, overwritten dialogue can be justified as a necessary step in the “process.” Writers often protect their ego through these caveats.
For example, when a character abruptly changes their decision mid-scene with no dramatic justification, the writer can reassure themselves that this inconsistency will be resolved “later.” Similarly, a plot twist that appears unearned or an antagonist whose motivations feel generic can remain unexamined because the writer has permitted themselves to avoid difficult decisions until revision.
In this sense, the first draft serves as a shield. It lets the writer believe they are making progress without confronting the reality of what the story actually needs.
Second Draft as the Confrontation Draft
The second draft, however, removes these protections. It demands precision, coherence, and emotional truth. This is why I refer to it as the confrontation draft, the moment where the writer must face the story without excuses.
During the second draft, structural cracks become visible. A character who seemed dynamic in the first draft may suddenly reveal a lack of psychological depth. Plot points that felt thrilling during the initial writing pass may no longer hold up under logical scrutiny. Themes that the writer assumed were clear may appear superficial or even absent.
This stage forces writers to interrogate their choices. Why does a character behave in a particular way? What is the causal chain that drives the narrative forward? Are the emotional beats earned or simply inserted for dramatic effect?
Character Motivation Under the Microscope
One of the most striking challenges that emerges in the second draft (I faced) is the re-evaluation of character motivation. In the first draft, characters often function as vessels to move the plot forward. Their actions serve the outline, not their psychology.
For instance, a protagonist might agree to investigate a dangerous mystery “because the story requires it,” rather than because of a clear internal or external motivation. In revision, such shortcuts become impossible to ignore. The writer must articulate what drives the character's decision. Fear? Guilt? Curiosity? Desperation? Without a concrete answer, the story begins to collapse.
This is also where secondary characters reveal their weaknesses. A side character who existed merely to deliver information or push the protagonist toward a specific revelation may become unconvincing. In the confrontation draft, such characters must either be developed fully or removed entirely. This forces the writer to address whether each character serves the narrative meaningfully or simply clutters it.
Plot Logic and Structural Integrity
Plot logic often appears coherent in the mind of the writer during the first draft because they understand the intended trajectory. However, when revisiting the draft objectively, logical inconsistencies become evident.
For example, a sudden coincidence that enables the protagonist’s escape or an antagonist’s decision that contradicts earlier behaviour may go unnoticed during initial writing. But in revision, these moments disrupt narrative flow and raise questions about credibility.
The second draft demands structural integrity. This involves evaluating transitions, pacing, the progression of stakes, and the cause-and-effect chain that governs the story. A weak midpoint, an unclear climax, or an ending that resolves too easily all become visible. Revision forces the writer to build a coherent architecture rather than relying on instinctual writing alone.
Rewriting as the Space Where Writers Evolve
Rewriting is where writing matures. It shifts the task from merely generating material to shaping it with intention and precision. Revision demands a higher level of critical thinking, technical skill, and emotional honesty than drafting. It pushes the writer to confront their weaknesses and refine their strengths.
This is why the second draft feels like a battlefield, as it requires discipline and resilience. But it is also where the writer develops the most. The transformation of a rough idea into a coherent, compelling narrative happens not during the initial act of creation but in the iterative process of refinement.
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I'm joining, Geoffroy Faugerolas. I'm looking forward to this Q&A! I already have one question to ask. I'm gonna try and think of some more.
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Geoffroy Faugerolas I'll be there!