In her book, Bird by Bird, Ann Lamott writes about the common fantasy view of successful writers as people who “sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they have to tell; that they take in a few deep breaths, push back their sleeves, roll their necks a few times to get all the cricks out, and dive in, typing fully formed passages as fast as a court reporter.”

People think about successful musicians like that too. In fact, I think it is one of the hardest hurdles to get over in teaching—at all levels. The child-like, yes, naive perception that if you are good at something you don’t have to work at it permeates our society.

Every year I have families and students go down this bad road. The whole thing is made worse when parents compare siblings (or worse, step-siblings), or when young adults become frustrated and crash and burn because everything has not suddenly become magically effortless.

Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something—anything—down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft—you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft—you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy…

The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later… Just get it all down on paper because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational, grown-up means. There may be something in the very last line of the very last paragraph on page six that you just love, that is so beautiful or wild that you now know what you’re suppose to be writing about, more or less, or in what direction you might go—but there was no way to get to this without first getting through the first five and a half pages.

Ann Lamott, Bird by Bird

I  personally am a Terrible First Drafter—a TFDr—by choice and nature. Lots of musicians are. We like to dive right in and get our hands dirty. For me, the relevant question is, when in the process is it appropriate to employ TDF strategy?

Teachers everywhere bemoan students who learn everything by trial and error (and have even been known to occasionally hide quickly in a convenient closet when they see them coming). The end result of such efforts is rarely fit for anything but the sonic trash.

I don’t think that Ann Lamott was talking about trial and error. I know she has a good vocabulary, is well read, can spell, is adept at manipulating form, and understands the rules of grammar to the point that she can use those rules in a sophisticated way. Translated into music-speak, TFD should not be used to enable poor note and rhythmic accuracy, disregard for technique, clumsy phrasing, wanton disregard for tempo, form and style, and lack of a basic working knowledge of theory.

I prefer to use TFD to read through a piece a few times so I get the general idea of the problems I will need to solve. Next, I do some listening. There are countless inexpensive recordings available through ITunes and other online sources. Three to four performances are my numbers of choice.

Then I get down to the nitty-gritty and put away both the recordings and all thoughts of TFD. The score must be learned accurately and thoroughly. Technical challenges must be solved. Family members and close neighbors find excuses to visit places like  Mazanderan, Socotra, and the Promontories of the Larger Equinox during this phase.

Finally, it is time for a return to TFD. For me, this stage is the play in playing the piano. It is time to get gloriously messy. It is time to experiment and find the point where my voice meets the composer’s. Recording myself and finding friendly ears, and a return to listening to performances are all essential tools at this stage in the process.

The real trick is the timing. Wait too long and practice begins to lack direction and motivation. Start too early and real musical play is strangled by a lack of proficiency. The real task is in finding just the right balance for each student–balance of the nitty gritty vs. TFD and the balance within that allows experimentation without guilt or self loathing. The ultimate challenge is in helping parents know when to praise accuracy and when to praise experimentation.

May you all have many TFDs in your musical life.

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