“How’s that novel of yours going?” an acquaintance asks at the little coffee shop by the harbor. “I gutted 1,500 words in Chapter 23 this morning.” She gasps, “No!” And spills her coffee. “Part of the process,” I say.
And what a process it truly is. Not long after I left the classroom, I outlined the first draft, unwittingly whipping up a recipe for high anxiety. Within the next year, I accepted a 100-Day-Book challenge with The Write Practice, which set my novel writing in full motion. Then, several months later, my husband and I began construction on our coastal home. In my efforts to streamline two of the largest projects of my life, I only managed to create a collision. It’s never the perfect time to write a book.
It took nearly a year to finish our house. It’s taking twice that long to finish my novel.
Writing the first draft is not extremely difficult. Refining that draft, and the drafts to follow, is an entirely separate issue. When I struggle with rewriting a scene, I conjure up the image of a classic novelist.
Take American author F. Scott Fitzgerald, for example. He spent two years writing The Great Gatsby, partly due to his obsession with perfection. Here’s what Fitzgerald wrote on the art of writing:
“While I have every hope and plan of finishing my novel in June, you know how those things often come out, and even if it takes me ten times that long I cannot let it go out unless it has the very best I’m capable of in it, or even, as I feel sometimes, something better than I’m capable of.”
I don’t know a single writer – and I know more than a handful of them – who plans to query an agent before a manuscript is as refined as possible: the absolute best representation of his work.
I also think of Ray Bradbury, who wrote a prophetic novel on a rented typewriter in a library at UCLA. He completed Fahrenheit 451 in less than three weeks. And effectively destroyed every myth that years of writing/editing are required to turn out a meritorious work.
Simply put, writers need time and space to carry out their goals; some need more while others need less.
As I excitedly close the gaps in editing The Phantom Wife, I acknowledge how much I’ve learned. For anyone interested in writing, my first nugget of advice is this: you need guidance. From Day One. The publishing industry has changed, is changing, and will continue to change. By the millisecond. So, you have a great idea for a book. But it may not be a concept readers will appreciate. Or buy. Your expectations with traditional publishing, even independent publishing, may need to be updated, too.
Here’s the second nugget: join a writing program. If not for the professional support provided by bestselling author Joe Bunting and his crew at The Write Practice, I’d still be staring at a blank computer screen. Instead, I’m on my way to publication.
After you join, follow the advice offered by fellow writers and editors in your group. If a member of your circle tells you a backstory dump is living in your dull dialogue, listen! And edit it. Plan to meet weekly writing deadlines, and post your work on the program’s website. You cannot receive a critique if you don’t submit the chapters.
I won’t lie; this commitment requires an act of faith. Now, your story is real. You’ve opened yourself to criticism and that is precisely what you need. The writers in your group may very well be published authors with more than one short-story or novella making the circuit. Be prepared for them to catch your point-of-view, dialogue, structural, and grammatical errors.
Their level of craft will impress you. You’ll step back a bit as you watch them blend genres and break literary barriers. Take the opportunity to connect. Imagine skyping with an author who’s waking up in Malaysia when you’re ready to dim the lights on the Gulf Coast. So many opportunities await.
Writing a novel is a big enough challenge without attempting to do it alone. So, don’t.
