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Stuck in the Writing Arctic? Try Zero Drafts! 

Snow day! 

Writers tend to begin their projects in the arctic. The writer seeks the blossoming flowers and abundant wildlife of a warmer climate; however, writer and dream are separated by stretches of snow. That is, before a writer’s ideas can bloom on paper or a screen, the writer must first traverse the fearsome blank page. (*insert chilling music*) That arctic page once made me freeze. How would a crisp Google Docs page become a ten-page essay? How would miles of arctic snow become a bustling garden? 

Even when I did begin to populate my Google Doc, I spent minutes perfecting a single sentence. I could not move on until I felt confident in my composition. This was unsustainable. In 10th grade, my wonderful English teacher introduced me to the “zero draft.” The Zero Draft may look something like Peter Elbow’s freewriting activities. While Elbow proposes freewriting as a tool for writing improvement, however, zero drafts are more specific to an assignment or project at hand. Before creating our garden of ideas, we writers must play in the arctic snow. 

What is a zero draft? 

Writers often begin assignments with little more than an assignment sheet, their brain, and, of course, a blank document. The zero draft asks us to use those resources. With our task in mind, zero-drafters write out every thought as they appear, as quickly as we can. For me, zero drafts are “blurts.” We do not need a thesis statement, specific pieces of evidence, or sources chosen. The zero draft requires us to do one thing: write. We are recording a stream of consciousness. Do not self-censure or critique your words as they appear on the page. Pay little regard to grammar, clarity, or relevance. You may want to set a timer for, say, 15 minutes to give yourself a manageable stopping point. You are, of course, welcome to continue with your zero draft once your timer has ended. 

My high school English teacher offered the following advice: if you can pull even one sentence from your zero draft to incorporate into your future drafts, your zero draft was worthwhile. Even if nothing from a zero draft appears in a final product, zero drafting provides a playground for writers to overcome our fear of the blank page and watch our ideas sprout. Now that we have left behind the arctic, we can turn our attention to new life. 

What does a zero draft look like? 

Zero drafts don’t have to follow any particular form. I believe any unregulated brainstorming session can count. You might produce a paragraph (as I tend to do), a bullet-point list, a mind map, or even a drawing to represent your initial ideas. Below is an excerpt of my “zero draft” for this blog post: 

I have an essay to write and nothing written. The blank page is cruel and daunting. I am going to do the thing where I write out my thoughts as they come to me without editing a lot to make sure I have some words on my paper. They do not have to be polished or fancy or “good.” I just need to write write write so I have something to start with. Remember what Ms. Bryant said? Even if I get one sentence of quality content out of this zero draft, it will have been worth it. I admit, I feel a little pressured to write “well” right now because in my head I know this is going to go on a published platform. But I have to remember that that is okay! This is not meant to be my polished writing. This isn’t even my “shitty first draft.” This is my random brain thoughts that will help me write my paper later because at least now I’m no longer staring at a blank page! 

The paragraph above is not meant to be glamorous. Instead, I hoped to situate myself in the context of my assignment (to write a blog post about zero drafts) and my ideas. I referred back to my zero draft often throughout my drafting process. Though my ideas were not particularly eloquent, connected, or professional (for my intended audience), I regularly pulled topics, pieces of advice, and memories that lay sprinkled in the chaos. 

Why should I write a zero draft? 

The first draft may overwhelm some writers because it does not feel “rough.” First-drafters may feel pressured to include some degree of structure, direction, focus, and flow. Most often, however, first-drafters are still figuring things out! Outlining may be a stellar solution for some. Others, however, may be daunted by an outline’s demands. You may not yet know your thesis, topic sentences, evidence, or analyses. You may not yet know where you intend to focus your piece. I am reminded of a James Thurber quote shared by my eighth-grade English teacher: “Don’t get it right, just get it written.”  Zero drafts relieve us, the writers, of all obligations. There is no pressure. So, in advance of your next snow day: are you ready to play in the snow? 

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Ace Your Class Presentation: Five Tips Every Student Needs to Know

Public speaking is a skill that will take you far in life. From presentations in your future career, to defending theses in graduate school, and even to panel interviews, the experience of giving a presentation will equip you with important skills for long-term success. However, not everyone feels like a “natural” when it comes to public speaking. Here’s a list of tips to improve your presentation skills in your college classes.

Practice, practice, PRACTICE!

The most obvious tip is to practice, and good practice requires detailed pre-planning. When starting a public speaking project, make sure to plan out when you want a finished draft so you can start doing run-throughs. Many people underestimate how many times they should rehearse their presentation or speech. You should do it a few times. Your first few rehearsals should be alone, but once you feel comfortable with the material, try giving your presentation to another person or a group of people. By slowly acclimating yourself to the environment, you will be prepared to give your presentation to a class or a crowd.

Do Not Make a Script

While a script may seem like the best way to remember everything, it can significantly hinder your ability to deliver the speech confidently. When you rely on a script, it is easier to get lost on the page, causing you to take a few awkward moments to find where you are in your presentation. Instead, outline or “bullet” the main points you wanted to communicate. With practice, this approach will make you more comfortable with the material and more confident with presenting.

Make Eye-Contact with the Audience

Instead of burying your head in your notes, look up at your audience. Every time you glance down, look back up at a new person in the crowd. If you repeat this for the entire presentation, your audience will be more invested, regardless of the subject matter. Eye-contact shows that you are comfortable with the material you are presenting, and it keeps your audience engaged.

Keep an Eye on the Time

For most presentations, there is a specific time restraint. If your professor allows, bring up your phone or a timer so that you have easy access. To keep your audience engaged, it’s best not to look at the time often. Best practice is to find the halfway mark of your presentation and mark it down on the outline. For longer presentations, you can do the same thing with thirds or quarters.

You’re Not Nervous, You’re Excited!

Before a presentation, it is very common to get hit with a wave of nervousness. If you have a moment to yourself, repeat “I am so excited to share what I know!” Since nervousness and excitement have similar physiological symptoms, it is easier to shift your nerves to excitement and from there, you can build a positive relationship with public speaking.

The best thing you can do for your presentation is to go in prepared and with a positive attitude. And if you ever need a practice audience, come visit us at the Writing and Communications Center.

Public Speaking Resources

“How to Give a Speech without a Script” Think podcast from January 9, 2024

Speeches Handout

Lori Jacobson
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DNA, Deadlines, and Drafts: A Reflection on the Writing Process 

silver pen on white paper

Throughout middle school, high school, and even my freshman year of college, my writing process was a mystery to me.

Whenever an assignment was almost due, I would sit down in front of my computer, open a new Google Doc and write until I had reached the word count or page limit. I didn’t plan or refine my ideas in advance; the most deliberation I gave was when I read over the assignment details and grading rubric. I would take a moment to organize my thoughts into a single bullet point — a proto-thesis statement of sorts — before beginning to write, calmly pressing out line after line, stacking paragraph on top of paragraph, until I had finished. My points and ideas followed each other meekly in my mind; all I had to do was pull one from my head to the page and the next logical thought came right behind it. Maybe I’d glance over my work once before pressing the “submit” button, but by the time I had closed the tab, I’d forgotten all about the paper entirely. I was totally unaware of variations in the writing process, and I never questioned my serene, machine-like approach. It was only during the second semester of my college sophomore year that I began to learn about the writing process and, as a result, began to understand myself as a writer a little more.

In 1981, Betty Flowers, a Professor of English at the University of Texas, Austin, published an article describing stages of the writing process as four different characters, each with their own personalities: the madman, the architect, the carpenter, and the judge. The article explains that blocks in the creative process can be thought of as the conflict between the madman and the judge: “…two competing energies… locked horn to horn, pushing against each other” (834). The madman is pure creativity, someone who is “…full of ideas, writes crazily and perhaps sloppily”, who “…could turn out ten pages an hour”, while the judge is “a kind of critical energy” who is utterly incapable of generating new ideas; “…for all his sharpness of eye, he can’t create anything” (834).

Reading this article was eye-opening to me. I had never considered that an alternate writing process existed, especially such an emotional and charged process. Writing seemed like such an exciting and dangerous activity when I thought about these four characters slugging it out in the dusty saloon of my brain, and I was disappointed to discover that my process had no traces of any of them. While my classmates described their processes as ancient labyrinths with Minotaurs, or comfy old friends, or wild jungle beasts to wrestle with, my writing process just felt like an old player piano, clicking out notes with precision and rhythm, but with no actual vibrancy, no sort of soul or life. That unhappy thought lodged in my brain, gathering dust on the floor of that empty saloon, until some time later, a new assignment arrived in town and shook everything up. 

The assignment seemed simple enough from the outset, a mere reflection on my writing habits, but unlike before, I didn’t leave it until the eleventh hour to begin. I spent time thinking, mulling over the Flowers article I had read, pondering classmates’ discussion points, and engaging in deep introspection. I ransacked that old abandoned brain-saloon, turning over tables, kicking over chairs, breaking down locked doors, until I found something. I began to finally understand my writing process, and why it seemed so different than the ones Flowers and my classmates had described. All it took was a trip into the hard sciences.

While I enjoy writing, both academic and creative, I am a biology major, and it was a topic in biology that most closely resembles my writing process. DNA is a molecule present in all living things, and acts as the blueprint for every aspect of life; every cell and tissue and organ in your body. It is absolutely essential; without it, we would cease to exist. Because of its absolute importance, every time a cell tries to duplicate itself to create more cells, that cell’s DNA first has to be copied. This process, known as DNA replication, is done by first splitting the DNA molecule in half lengthwise, before a small protein called polymerase attaches to each half and fills in the missing pieces, traveling down the length of the DNA like a zipper until it reaches the end and the cell contains two healthy DNA molecules.

This little polymerase protein is exactly how my writing process works; instead of having the madman, architect, carpenter and judge work on the paper, I figure out how I want to start my assignment in my head, then fill in the holes and missing pieces as I go; methodically moving down through the introduction, body paragraphs, and finally the conclusion. My process isn’t lively, but it lets me hold on to my train of thought easily while still having enough space to keep my own voice in my work.

While I don’t have the same process as Flowers, with her squad of tiny writing people, or my classmates, with their lively, creative journeys, I’ve learned to love my little paper polymerases. Instead of a player piano, I feel more involved, instead of mechanical and robotic, I feel meticulous and tidy. My confidence and enjoyment in writing has soared; no longer is writing a chore to be put off and procrastinated until absolutely necessary. Instead, I now look forward to sitting down at my computer, pulling up my Google Doc, and letting my writing proteins get to work.