I typed “End of Play” but I didn’t mean it.

I took part in “End of Play” even though it didn’t really exist this year.

I got to the end of the play, which is odd because it was the first scene that I wrote.

What matters, I suppose, is that I have a new full-length play under my belt.

That is to say, I have a rough draft of a new full-length play under my belt.

It’s something, I suppose.

From the beginning of April to, (* checks calendar *) this past Saturday, I worked, and sometimes slogged, my way through my newest script, determined to another full-length play to a portfolio that is replete with shorter works.

No exaggeration: I have about 150 short plays on my New Play Exchange page. But you could count the full-length plays, even with this latest addition, on a Muppet’s hand.

Is it any good? Who knows. I’ll let it rest for a month before I start on revisions. I liked the idea of it, and I liked the characters.

My main goal was to kill my inner editor during the process, who has way too much sway over anything I write that’s longer than 10 minutes. At one point this same editor had me convinced I was writing a stage version of James Joyce’s epic and incomprehensible “Ulysses.”

That alone would be enough reason to give up.

But here’s the thing about first drafts: They don’t need to be good. They don’t even need to make sense. See the above reference to “Ulysses” as evidence that even future drafts don’t have to make sense. I have no idea whether anyone will ever like, let alone produce, my newest play. It’s just a matter of getting it down on paper.

Whenever I struggle with a new project, I always think of the great Anne Lamott phrase. No, not “Bird by Bird,” though that’s a nice sentiment. She has an even better phrase in that same book that keeps me going: the “shitty first draft.”

That’s the goal of any project: Get the first version done, no matter how shitty.

All too often, I have resisted this idea. Maybe I spent too long in newspapers, writing copy on deadline that had to be publication-ready the first time because revisions are a nonexistent luxury in the crush of daily deadlines. Writing a 600-word column, or even a 1,200-word story, is a far cry from a full-length script whose story comes from the writer’s head. A long, multi-week project like that gives the inner editor plenty of time to fester and grow. The real challenge of writing a longer play — or a novel, or any other work that takes more than one session to complete — is not just the endurance of crafting a layered story; it’s the challenge of making sure that inner editor stays out of the way long enough to finish.

It’s so easy to tune in the inner editor we all have. So easy to give into the doubt that little voice engenders, telling us that it’s better to quit while we’re behind, that other people have told this same story better, that now’s a great time to watch all three seasons of “White Lotus.”

But you don’t have to silence that voice forever; just for now. Ignore them and push through until you get to your “End of Play,” whatever that happens to be. When it comes time to make revisions, that inner editor can be a powerful ally. But their job during the creation is to STFU and let you finish. If you can do that, you’ll find that finishing a daunting creative project — like a full-length play — is a great feeling.

Until, of course, you need to break out the red pen and start editing.

For now, I’m glad to rest. I’m especially glad that in the next two weeks, I get to work with actors on one of my TWO other full-length pieces: “Hero Work,” a play set (perhaps not surprisingly) in a newsroom. It will get a public reading on May 29 in Reading, Pa., so if you are in the area you should check it out.

I will close by saying that there’s a time and a place for that inner editor: When you need to start revising. I lied earlier when I said I killed my inner editor; I just kept him dormant so he’d be ready for other projects.

In the meantime, I’m going to start working on a new full-length this month. With any luck, by the end of this year I’ll have as many full-length plays as “Simpsons” characters have fingers.