Songwriter’s Column: Nicolle Galyon on Creating the Rough Draft—“We Are Unafraid to be Wrong Out Loud”

the rough draft.

There are two types of songwriters. The first one sits quietly in a room with others for extended periods of time, working out the next right lyric in silence. This writer might not look like they are even thinking, but in fact, they are in deep conversation with their inner dialogue. This writer is the equivalent of the overachiever who sits in the back of the classroom quietly and then stoically walks to the front of the class and shows his or her work after every T has been crossed and every I has been dotted. This writer has edited and re-edited their words countless times before they finally show their masterpiece to the class—not in pencil, but with such certainty that they might as well be documenting their lyrics with a tattoo needle on someone’s skin. This writer is a final drafter. By the time they throw out a line in the songwriting process, it is perfect. It is final. It is complete.

I know this because I am married to and co-write with one (his name is Rodney Clawson; maybe you’ve heard some of his songs?). So many of the GOATS of our writing generation are this way—the stories are endless of one Craig Wiseman walking out of the room and then walking back in with a song-of-the-year verse completed top to bottom. The final draft-er is impressive, intimidating, and mystical.

And then there’s the rest of us. We are the fawns with shaky knees awkwardly wobbling through a field of ideas. We pitch our concepts by saying words like “This probably isn’t it…” and “This is probably crazy, but what if it was…” and “I don’t know what this is yet…” and then we bravely brainstorm in real-time, our titles and our lyrics with half-hummed, barely developed melodies. We audition our rhymes while they still have blank spaces. And we pitch our titles without hooks. And like a crazy abstract painter, we splatter 99 different options on a canvas before our head even has time to figure out where we’re going. We are swimming upstream in the stream of consciousness. We are wearing our worst ideas on our sleeves. We are unafraid to be wrong out loud. And we are willing to look stupid for the sake of making something great. We are the rough drafters. 

And that is the only way I know how to do it.

Someone recently asked me how I know when a song is complete, and I laughed and said, “You’re assuming I’ve ever actually finished one.” I guess I have written thousands of songs and have a catalog to prove it. But who’s to say any of these are actually “finished.” I remember in 2013 when Natalie Hemby, Miranda Lambert, and I were writing what would go on to be the title track “Platinum.” I had a family emergency and abruptly announced that I had to leave earlier than expected. To this day, I don’t remember if we ever even attempted to write a bridge to that song—or if, in haste, we just quit writing because I had to leave. And that was that. The song made the record as is. But maybe it was just a rough draft.

A few years later, I co-wrote a song with the duo Dan + Shay and Jordan Reynolds called “All To Myself.” We wrote it. We liked it. We kind of put it on the shelf. Then a year later, Dan Smyers opened the files back up and completely changed the entire vibe and production on the song. It was nothing like the original. That song ended up being a No. 1 off their self-titled album, but I swear the day we wrote it, I can only take credit for being a part of the rough draft.

The longer I write, the more I am convinced that our job isn’t to finish songs, it is to merely make them exist. Once it exists, it gets to take on a life of its own. Then, the universe decides if it loves it or not. Some of the best songs exist in the form they do because someone ruminated on an idea for six months. Some are the way they are because someone had to leave early to go to a doctor’s appointment. Some are like this article and become the final draft because it’s just time to pick the kids up from school.

Photo by Claire Schaper