I completed the second draft of a new short story last night.

Those of you who come here regularly know that I tend not to give out the details of stories either when I’m writing them or attempting to sell them, preferring to only share about my writing when a story is sold, published, or nominated for an award. I guess I’m superstitious in a way, in that I’m afraid spilling the beans will jinx a story’s fate.

I’ve only made a few exceptions before. So why am I opening to the door to the vault today?

Well, as I wrote above, I just finished a second draft, which once again followed my tradition of doubling the word count of the first draft. According to Word, the first draft was 3,762 words, while the second draft came out to 7,023 words.

Between the two, I tore the story apart and rebuilt it. I sometimes think of myself more as a rewriter than a writer, because it’s in the rewriting that my stories discover what they’re truly about. I do many drafts before I’m satisfied enough to start submitting a piece to editors, but the first three are usually the most extensive.

Something popped into my mind as I was wrapping up this particular rewrite that crystallized my feelings about these earliest drafts, about all of my early drafts, and that was—

I write the first draft so that I understand what happens.

I write the second draft so that the characters understand what happens.

I write the third draft so that the reader will understand what happens.

All the drafts that follow are polishing drafts, though there are sometimes larger rewrites closer to the end if a major plotting or thematic flaw suddenly comes to light.

I don’t know how any of this compares with how those of you out there do what you do, but I find it fascinating that though my own process hasn’t changed much over the decades, this is the first time I’ve been able to identify exactly what it is that I’ve been doing all along.