It's textbook.

Write drunk,
said Ernest Hemingway,
and edit sober.
Write drunk.
Edit sober.
Write drunk,
drunk on the euphoria of rapidly clicking keys,
and take in the sound—
the sound of plastic, scraping against plastic,
creativity, scraping against will,
want, scraping against need,
hands, scraping their way up
the mountain
to the summit
and victory
on the pure power of words.
Write drunk on the vertigo of perfectly aligned rhymes,
sweet juxtaposition,
velvety verse,
singing syllables,
provocative prose laced with magnificent metaphors—
words so powerful,
even Shakespeare would cry.
Let the words seep into your veins,
let them dwell in the back of your mind,
let them wind their way into the chambers of your
frantically beating heart;
write drunk, said Ernest Hemingway.
Write drunk.

And then edit sober.