A first draft is not a finished piece of writing. It is the version where you get an idea down before you lose it, mistakes and all. Revision is the separate stage that comes after: reading your own draft with a stranger's eyes and reworking it until it actually says what you mean.
Writers revise because a first draft is written from inside the idea, while a reader meets the piece from outside it. When you draft, you already know what you meant by a vague sentence or a detail you left out, so it reads fine to you. A reader does not have that advantage. Revision closes that gap. It might mean cutting a sentence that repeats itself, adding a detail a reader actually needs, moving a paragraph so the piece builds instead of wandering, or replacing a word that almost means what you wanted but not quite.
Revision is not the same as editing. Editing fixes small things: a comma, a misspelled word, a verb tense that slipped. Revision changes bigger things: what the piece says, how it is organized, which parts stay and which parts go. A piece can be flawlessly edited and still be poorly revised, still missing its point or dragging in the middle. Strong writers usually revise first and edit last, since there is little reason to polish a sentence you might cut in the next draft anyway.
Eden Robinson, a Haisla and Heiltsuk novelist from Kitamaat Village, British Columbia, and the author of Monkey Beach (2000) and Son of a Trickster (2017), described the advice that shaped how she works: "I think the best advice I got was to not worry about what other people would think while you were working on your first draft. Focus on getting it out of your head. You can always edit the manuscript later" (The Rumpus, 2016). Robinson is describing exactly this split. The first draft's only job is to exist. Revision's job is to make it work.
None of this means a first draft can be anything at all and revision will save it later. Revision only has something to work with if the first draft actually gets written, badly if it has to be, instead of being endlessly delayed while you wait to think of the perfect sentence. The two stages depend on each other. A first draft without revision stays rough. Revision without a first draft has nothing to revise.
Before you move on to the reading for this lesson, look back at Robinson's quote above. What single instruction does she give herself for the first draft stage, and what does she say you are always allowed to do afterward? Why might separating those two permissions matter more than trying to do both at once.