This is just like me. I am just like Abraham Lincoln. In so many ways.

I finished the first draft of my novel. Finished. DONE. No more words I have to write. Because I wrote “The End.” And that’s it. Did I mention that I just, you know, wrote a novel?

The whole thing only took me about five months, but then, I was going for quantity over quality, thinking about getting my daily word count quota instead of crafting something beautiful. This goes against my usual method, wherein I would sit with a short story for a year (or more), agonizing over every word.

This time I went the quick and dirty route–and oh, it was (and is) dirty. But I’ve been trying for years to finish the first draft of a novel, and I never got past the first few chapters, because I wasn’t comfortable with something kind of, well, sucking. I had to get okay with it. So I tore through this draft, and I have to say, it was a revelation. And now I shall share my discoveries with you! Bask in my insights!

1. The first draft is a mess.

Okay, so wasn’t a surprise. And calling this thing a “novel” might be a tad generous. This story ambles all over the place, sometimes it makes absolutely no sense, and oh my are there typos. I promised myself at the beginning that I wouldn’t correct myself or go back, ever, whether it was to the previous sentence or the previous chapter. At first I could turn to my outline for guidance, which helped, but then at some point I went off the rails as far as the outline was concerned, so every day I was just guessing about what to say next. So there are gaping holes in the narrative, weird plot shifts, and at one point I switched from first-person narration to third-person (and then back to first-person) and I didn’t even notice I did it at the time.

2. I’m totally okay with it being a mess.

I assumed the draft would be physically painful to read when I was finished, but I’m actually okay with it. I read it all the way through and didn’t cry or throw up even once! I expected it to be a disaster area and a confirmation of my utter lack of talent, but instead I feel vaguely affectionate toward it, like it’s some dopey disheveled cousin. I want to give it a makeover and some etiquette lessons, sure, but I wouldn’t bother unless it showed promise. Which leads me to my next point…

3. You can’t judge the mess while you’re in it.

I don’t know how this is possible, that this draft isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. There were times when I actually closed my eyes and typed frantically before I made myself stop because the pain of writing awful prose was too great. And yet it’s…not bad? There were chapters that I distinctly remember feeling were the worst things I’ve ever written, but now that I’m reading them, they don’t stand out as especially horrible.

Also, a lot of it is unfamiliar. I don’t remember writing it. Is this like The Elves and the Shoemaker? Are NUDE ELVES writing for me? (I’m fine with this, guys. But next time can you throw in a pair of shoes?)

4. The nature of the mess suggests how to fix it

You can’t think about rewriting when you’re writing, which is why I swore not to read back any of it. Once I was done, though, the rewriting part of my brain started kicking in. I can see all the holes clearly and they seem utterly fill-able.

5. The act of completion freed me up to re-imagine the whole thing

I’ve been chugging along with no idea what I thought I was doing or how I would fix it. At all. All along, I haven’t had a single usable idea of how to make this story better. The moment I read it, though, I knew exactly what I was going to do next. I’m going to take it apart and completely rewrite it.

Things are only going to get messier. Five months ago this idea would have caused me to hyperventilate, but today I’m okay with it.

So my advice to you today is: dive in. Don’t think. Don’t even look. You might be surprised at what turns up.