My first draft wasn't too small. It was too full.
That happened with both of my TEDx talks. I'd sit down thinking I had one idea to explain, and somewhere in the writing I'd realize I actually had twelve. Every sentence pulled another thread. This connects to that, which reminds me of this other thing, which actually explains the whole point better than what I'd already written.
A TEDx talk gives you eighteen minutes (I recommend 9-12). And that constraint does something writing without a deadline never does. It forces you to stop collecting ideas and start choosing one.
I've spent years on improv stages, and improv teaches you to let go of ideas fast. You walk in with something you think is funny or smart, your scene partner says something else, and now your idea doesn't fit anymore. You drop it. Not always easy to do, but necessary for a good scene.
Writing my TEDx talk was harder, because that trick didn't work. Every idea I had was a yes, and. They all fit. They all built on the last one and made sense with where the talk was going. Nothing was obviously wrong or out of place. So letting go wasn't about spotting what didn't belong anymore. It was figuring out what wasn't needed, even though it was good.
I see this with almost every speaker I coach for TEDx Buckhead Ave. They come in with a talk that's really five talks stacked on top of each other, and every one of those ideas is good. That's what makes it hard. My job isn't to help them think of more. It's to help them figure out which good idea actually needs to be there.
This isn't just a TEDx problem. It shows up every time we communicate. We add another supporting thought, another example, another angle, hoping it'll make the point land harder. Usually it does the opposite. The point gets buried under everything we added to protect it.