I’m in the homestretch of finishing a new middle grade novel, which will mark the sixth novel I’ve written, in addition to two nonfiction guides.
With nearly eight books under my belt (five of which are published), one would think I just crank them out now. I don’t.
And here’s something that’s struck me every single time: How utterly daunting it feels when you’re just getting started and how mysterious it feels when you finish.
The beginning really does feel like staring up at a massive mountain that you know you must climb. You can’t even see the top. You have no idea how you’re going to get there. You are rather sure you don’t have the right supplies. And yet you have to put one foot in front of the other on faith alone and struggle your way to the top.
Every novel I’ve ever started has felt like something I could scarcely imagine finishing. It doesn’t matter how many I write! And when I reach the finish line, I’m just as confused as ever about how I ever got there. When I start the next one, it feels just as impossible as the last.
Sure, I chip away and chip away and chip away. I block out my weekly time for writing and creativity. I keep putting one front in front of the other.
And I have learned a few things along the way, such as knowing I’ll feel utterly stuck in the middle and struggle to imagine why anyone would possibly care about this book. So at least now I can go, “Oh yeah you always feel this way.” (Which doesn’t help very much).
And yet. And yet!
It’s all still a mystery to me. You keep going. You muddle through. You write when it’s flowing wondrously and you write when it’s a painful slog.
And then, one day, miraculously, you’re finished. You’re at the summit. And it feels pretty, pretty nice.
Am I alone on this one? Let me know in the comments!
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Art: Chimborazo by Frederic Edwin Church
This nails it, absolutely. I’ve published two MGs, four PBs, one graphic novel, and have been a part of some amazing anthologies. And yet. Every. Single. Time. It feels like I’ve climbed Mount Everest, then can’t breathe because I (over)think.
And finally I find a new agent (my fourth, so I’m a bit nervous anyway). And they’re perfect. We just received word that an editor is interested in my new MG, contract coming. And, I sent agent another MG, and a pitch for another project. Holy smoke. What if they think it’s silly? What if it’s not good enough?
Does it get any easier?
Exactly. I write mostly short stories and plays. Transitioning to the novel has been difficult. A mountain as you say.
Oh, no! Not alone at all. I’m tempted to cliché on you with “welcome to the club” but I won’t. Heh!
It’s a place full of so many opposites competing to pull you apart. You have a love/hate/I could not care less/I can’t live without this mess relationship with… who? Or what? Once I couldn’t go a day without writing something. Now I’ve gone for 18 months staring at an unfinished manuscript that I was madly in love with, knew exactly how it ended, both glad and sad for it making me this way.
So. And so. It’s me. Welcome to the club, Neil
How on earth did you know that I completed my fifth novel…today?
It’s a joy to read your post from the summit. 🙂
I needed this today! I’m in the beginning chapters of my fifth romantic thriller and my critique group isn’t thrilled with what I’m reading. Knowing I’ve been through this before helps. Thanks.
I’ve only written four, but my feelings are quite different. To continue the mountain metaphor, I spent a few years wandering to the top of the first one, spending part of the time lost, but in the end meeting a pair of wise hermits (the Story Grid and Dramatica) who convinced me to be better prepared when I climbed again.
*That* I’d climb was a no-brainer. Smell that air! Look at that view!
Since then I’ve become a mountain maniac— I can’t wait for the next ascent. I plan the expedition carefully, and once it’s begun I savor every step. Unlike my first slow and aimless ascent, I now always know where I’m at… but the allure of the mountain is such that, despite all my planning, I still do often find myself inspired to blaze newer, more challenging routes than the ones I’d mapped out.
Now. Does it sometimes go awry? Oh, yes. Have I jumped back in terror from the edge of some crumbling cliffs? You bet! Avalanches, bears, storms, they’ve happened to me. But I know they’ll happen. I’ve done the safety drills. I have a plan. And I know I’ll make it— because it’s *writing a book*, not really climbing a mountain! I might be powerless against actual nature and actual danger, but by golly I know how to make stuff.
That last part is my secret. Truth time: I’ve been an illustrator almost my whole life. Creating stuff on a deadline and having everyone stare at it is, for me, not a novel (!) experience. How wonderful, then, and how joyous that writing still feels like an adventure.
GET OUT OF MY HEAD. This is my process, exactly. 20+ books, still hadn’t changed. I’m sharing it with my long-suffering husband…