Interesting post about counterintuitive ways to unlock new layers of energy in your writing by approaching drafts differently, starting with the example of Oliver Burkeman, who prints his first drafts, deletes the computer file, and retypes from the printed version.

Reminds me of what I have rediscovered repeatedly in my own process over the years: For me, one of the most fertile approaches is to start with a handwritten draft and then type it into a word processor (formerly a typewriter in the pre-1994-ish era).

Something about starting by hand and then transitioning or translating to typing is oddly vital. It's as if the handwritten draft is both more vividly intimate, owing to the direct tactile connection to the formation of the words on the page, and more rudimentary, in a primal kind of way. It embodies the thing's compressed essence.

Then typing it unfolds that essence into its more realized and developed form. The very act of typing from that seed version, as it were—with typing, especially on a word processor, being faster and more amenable to swift choice of alternative expressions, and with the handwritten text now assuming a crisp typeset form before my eyes—suggests more details and development.

In effect, the first draft serves as a spiritual blueprint for the typewritten one.

I distinctly flashed on this as I read of Burkeman's experience with retyping his own first drafts from their computer-printed versions. Not exactly an identical process, but with a kindred creative flavor.