My thoughts on the writing process while working on my novel, The Eden Rose

TLDR: Writing a novel is hard, but I’ll get there. Send tacos.

The Reality of Novel Writing

The difference between a professional and a hobbyist is persistence. It’s as simple as that, even though that statement is swollen with nuance. That truism translates to every profession, and writing is no exception.

It took me years to publish my first novella, and in its wake is a trail of incomplete and disturbingly bad manuscripts. Seriously, it’s a scorched earth of novel carcasses. But the lessons I learned along the way not only made me a better writer; they mentally and emotionally shifted me from dreaming of writing to becoming a writer. 

Publishing and marketing is a different side of the same coin. I crashed and burned with independent and traditional publishing, and I made every mistake a person can in that arena. 

I was the gladiator who lost most of his battles, but I survived, and now I’m the seasoned gladiator ready to win in a bigger arena rather than the hundreds who won small battles only to then fall to stronger or more skilled opponents.

My Evolving Writing Process

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve learned some important lessons along the way, and those lessons have molded me into someone much more prepared to not only write and publish, but to do so with confidence. 

I inherently know the difference between shitty and polished drafts. I can just tell, but I’ve gained that intuition through years of practice, intense research, trial and error, and persistent study of the craft. 

So, here I am, starting over in a brand new genre, doing all the writer things. It’s at this point that I should feel lost. Anxious. I should be in a state of constant self-doubt, but I’m not. 

“My point being that I’m not a novice, so I shouldn’t act like one.”

As I read the books in my genre and research conventions, tropes, and so on, I find myself making only random, mental notes. Why? I know this stuff. I’m simply applying a trained skill in a new context. But I’m confident, not cocky. I do now and always will have a lot to learn. My point being that I’m not a novice, so I shouldn’t act like one.

Writing A First Draft

I can’t tell you how many methods I’ve applied to novel writing. 

• I’ve gone all in, hair on fire, flying by the seat of my pants with no plan or end goal in sight.
• I’ve also destroyed my muse and the joy of writing with endless plot outlines, character maps, and scene spreadsheets.
• And…I’ve been in between, back and forth, upside down, and in every other direction.

None of those things are wrong. I’m currently in a bit of a wandering, oft-meandering mode of planning with my current work in progress. That’s because I’m keenly aware of those past mistakes. I mean, look; I’ve got a whole new set of mistakes to make. I don’t need to muddy the waters with past fuckups, too!

So I’ve done a LOT of writing but haven’t written a single word. Yet. 

The Good Stuff Sticks

When I read Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, I was surprised to find out he doesn’t (at least he didn’t at the time) use notebooks. He’s not someone who jots ideas down.

Why was I surprised? Because neither do I? I’ve tried that, but I always felt it was a waste of time. If I take notes, they’re soon forgotten. King says, “the good stuff sticks around,” and famously pissed a lot of people off when he said “the writer’s notebook is the best way to immortalize bad ideas,” but I trust his judgment. The ideas I forgot because I didn’t write them down probably weren’t worth a damn anyway. 

*side note: You and I are not Stephen King, and nothing is accomplished by comparing yourself to him, me, or any other writer. Trust your instincts.

My method is more of a chaotic conversation with myself. I have a random idea sparked by whatever (and it’s different every time) that gets stuck in my frontal lobe and sits there, driving me insane like a popcorn kernel stuck in my teeth. So I work the idea like a tongue to the teeth until the bastard comes loose, and it either has roots or it doesn’t.

There is no magic or secret recipe. I just live my life, and ideas interrupt it. They are, most definitely, annoying little fuckers. 

But…once I get a hold of that kernel with roots, I’m like an obsessed mad scientist. And scientists, even the insane ones, generally follow a method. The method, however, depends on the experiment. And so, I might plant my kernel in soil to see if it grows or throw it in the microwave to see if it’ll pop me some more popcorn, or maybe I’ll toss it into a centrifuge to see what spins up.

Stick With the Good Stuff

Back to that gladiator who’s had his ass kicked in most of his fights but who’s still around to keep getting his ass kicked. Oh, and let’s remember that gladiator is also a mad scientist whose been working at that damn kernel stuck in his teeth.

The gladiator is now experienced, battle seasoned, if you will. He knows how not to get his ass kicked. And that scientist might be crazy (and if you’re a writer you’re at least slightly off your axis), but he knows how to science and whatnot.

*whispering: By the way, I’m the gladiator and the scientist, in case I didn’t lay out those metaphors well enough.

So, basically, I know there are some foundational things I need to do for this book to be successful, and I know which method should be applied to this writing experiment–and trust me, friend: all writing is an experiment.

The Foundation of A Novel

I once wrote a novel that required a significant amount of research. I did some of the research prior to writing the first draft, but I didn’t look at maps of the area for my historical setting. When I finished the first draft and then did more research, I quickly realized that I would have to rewrite everything.

The plot fell apart. The character motivations all changed. Nothing worked without going nuclear and throwing the whole thing out. There wasn’t a shaky foundation. The foundation didn’t exist!

Fast forward a few years to my current novel. I’m still frustrated over that experience, so the foundational pieces of my novel are at the forefront of every thought. Lesson learned. Insert the hard way here.

The Time Commitment of Writing a Novel

The foundation matters because it’s what the story is built upon, but it’s also about learning to value your time. Whether you’re the tortoise or the hare of drafting, you’re going to be spending a significant chunk of time on this book. I promise if you realize a lot of that time was wasted, you’ll feel dejected, and the failure monster will be on your shoulder.

So right now, I’m taking the time to build the blueprint for my novel. I don’t think I’ll do an extensive outline, but before I write word one of an actual draft, I’ll have a clearly defined genre, structure, character arc, theme, subplot, and so on.

Think of it like the gladiator sharpening his sword before entering the arena or the mad scientist laying out his lab equipment before hooking his monster up to a car battery.

The Messiness of Writing a Novel

Let’s be honest. Win or lose, the gladiator is going to get cuts and bruises. The mad scientist will probably destroy a part of the lab and get some chemical burns.

Listen, friend. You can’t build a house without cutting boards or digging a hole. Building is messy. Creating is messy. Embrace the mess. Accepting it is not enough. You can’t dig the hole and then keep filling it back in because you’re bothered by the dirt pile. 

My word processor is a disaster right now. I’ve got notes to myself all over the place. That’s good. It means I’m making progress. The gladiator can wipe off his sword and take a bath when the battle is over. The mad scientist can clean the counters when he finishes the experiment.

I’m digging the hole for the foundation of my novel right now. 

“Let’s be honest. Win or lose, the gladiator is going to get cuts and bruises.”

The Framing of a Novel

At the risk of breaking all the rules and failing to “circle back” to the beginning, let’s switch metaphors, shall we?

Yes, writing a novel feels like a battle, and yes, it feels like you’re conducting an insane experiment, but what you’re actually doing is crafting something. You’re creating. Building. And that means process, and it means following some principle guidelines.

Most house building analogies go from foundation to walls to ceiling. I would caution you against buying any house built that way. I grew up in an old 19th Century farmhouse. It was old as hell and came with all the ghosts conjured by leaky faucets, creaky boards, drippy ceilings, and hollow walls a kid could never want.

We froze in the winter and sweated our asses off in the summer (imagine my culture shock when I moved from Oregon to Texas and discovered central air and heat). One year, by the grace of a county order, the owner of our should’ve-been-condemned rental home installed insulation.

The ceiling was fairly simple. They went into the attic and tossed three inch thick fiberglass blankets of Pink Panther wherever it made sense. The walls, however, presented a different problem. They had to drill holes and spray the insulation in. Much to my teenage horror, they chose to drill on the outside of the house.

All my friends saw my poverty on full display, but a writing lesson was born. 

The Structural Integrity of A Novel

If you’ve never seen a house being built, you’ve missed something valuable. The steps (as observed by the uninitiated) go somewhat like this:

• survey the property to ensure there is adequate space
• lay the foundation and allow it to settle
• frame the house, including the beams that hold it together
• install the wiring and plumbing
• put up the walls, ceiling, roof, etc.
• insulate and seal it

Obviously that’s a very general overview, and I might have some things out of order. We watched our home being built, but I don’t remember exactly when the lights and appliances were installed. I digress.

The point is, if I would have driven by to check the builders’ progress and seen that they’d put up walls without frames, I would have (pardon the technical term) lost my shit! Any idiot would know a person needs a skeleton, and you should probably put the wires and pipes in before you seal the walls of a house.

Framing and Wiring A Novel

I’ve come a long way from that teenager with figerglass shards on his clothes in the closet and holes drilled into his house. My home isn’t rich, but I’m warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Why? Because this house was built with a plan.

So before you go all Leroy Jenkins on your word processor, maybe think about the structural elements of your story. Now, you might be a died-in-the-wool discovery writer (a “panster” if you insist upon being crude), and the thought of outlining makes your skin crawl.

Have no fear. For one, I never said you have to outline. Second, this can all be done mid-process or in revisions after you’ve written the first draft. Surprise! You’re writing a novel, not building a house. You get multiple attempts. The home contractor doesn’t.

But I’m not talking about outlines. I’m simply saying you need to know what the foundation of your novel is, and you need a solid frame to hold that story up. Moreover, you need the wiring and plumbing safely installed, or your reader is going to have a very uncomfortable experience.

A Breakdown of Structural Elements:

• The survey is your research. Know your genre. Read the books, check out reviews of popular novels. Find out what’s working and what could be improved.
• Your foundation is a story worth reading with characters worth spending time with. 
• The frame of your novel is a clear plot with major and minor story beats that keep the reader invested.
• The plumbing of your manuscript is a satisfying character arc with relatable themes.
• The wiring and lighting of your story are the subplots, questions that get answered by the end of the book, interesting supporting characters and so on.
• The insulation of the novel is all the things that make reading comforting, like familiar tropes, universal truths, relatable experiences, and settings that transport us from a hard day’s work to a cozy couch.

Conclusion

Writing a novel is hard work. So is building a house, conducting a scientific experiment, or fighting a battle. It takes knowledge and skills, practice. Trial and error, failure. 

It’s going to get messy, and you’re going to get tired. You might want to quit once or five hundred times along the way. Hell, you might actually quit. Shit happens, and there’s no judgment here. Just know that’s all valid and incredibly normal.

But every setback and misstep is a lesson you need to complete your journey. Every artist is a bit tortured, a bit haunted. But the only way your demons win is for you to stop wrestling with them. 

So wrestle. Fight. Experiment. Build. Get your hands dirty.

Get your butt in the chair and read, read, read. Then write, write, write. 

Like, now. Go. Get to work! Wait. Share this with someone who needs it (or someone who doesn’t). Then get to work.

*Update: Since the original posting, I have moved on from the novel I was writing in favor of something I was more passionate about. My current work in progress is The Teacher: A Cade Black Story. Be sure to join my mailing list for updates about when you can read it!