Writing From A Place of Fear
By Catherine McKenzie | April 9, 2015 |
photo by Kelsi Barr
A couple of months ago I received an email from another writer who was looking for advice. Her first book had been almost-published—that half-tortuous state where editorial wants to publish your book but sales/marketing says no. So she knew she had it in her to get a book to market, she just didn’t know what her next step should be. She sent me a couple of synopses, two new considered stories, and asked me which one I thought might be a better first step in her writing career. Would one of them pigeonhole her in the women’s fiction category? Would the other, higher-concept, be a harder sell?
As I read both of the pitches, I admit I was conflicted about what to say. I perfectly understood her position. While I’d published my first book (Spin), it was considered chick lit/women’s fiction; I thought I was writing something in the vein of Nick Hornby. And not that there’s anything wrong with chick lit (I swear I mean this), only it’s certainly a category that once you’re in it’s hard to break out of. If your book is successful, then there’s this thing called your “brand” see, and apparently, fans want you to keep writing to that brand.
Now, I’ve never understood this. I read all kinds of fiction: literary, commercial, mystery, suspense, and yes, chick lit. If one of my favorite authors wants to take a foray into another field, I’m happy to follow them there if the new story is as well executed as their other books. I read for voice and story—isn’t that true for everyone? Well, no, according to my publisher at the time, it isn’t. What readers want is: more, please.
All this to say, I wondered if I should give my friend advice on what to write, from a commercial perspective. And then I thought: fuck that.
This is what I told her: Write what you’re scared to write. Write the story that keeps you up at night. (Or something close to that; I don’t think the original response rhymed.)
It surprised me for a moment that I’d forgotten this advice, even though it was advice I’d given to myself in the past. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t consciously given it to myself. Let me explain:
After my third book was published (Forgotten), I felt frustrated, mostly with myself. I love all my books equally (you have to say that, right?), but I felt like I was in danger of repeating myself. I felt like I’d written myself into a box, and I wanted to blow the box up. So I decided, petulantly, perhaps, that I’d take away the possibility of a happy ending right from the beginning of my next book. And that I’d tackle a male voice for the first time. And that I’d write it from three points of view, instead of one. And that I’d write about the possibility of infidelity without having an opinion about who was wrong and who was right.
Oh, I set myself so many challenges with this book, it nearly broke me. I’d written the first draft of my other books in six to nine months; it took me 18 months to write Hidden, even though I was writing it on a publishing deadline. I even asked for a one-month extension, and I never ask for extensions for anything. I kept having difficult conversations with my agent—I remember more than one where I was in tears after we hung up thinking she hated the book and I could never make it good enough. When I turned it in and she finally told me I’d done it, I was so relieved I almost didn’t believe her.
That’s not the end of the story. My former US publisher decided not to pick up Hidden, and there were what felt like a million more rejections (okay, at least 10) before it was. But even though there were more tears and nerves and deep down dark thoughts about what the hell I was doing, I didn’t regret writing that book. I didn’t regret doing what made me afraid, rising to the challenges I’d set myself. I can’t say with certainty that this is why Hidden has been my most successful book to date, but I’m sure it’s played a large part.
So that’s my advice. To myself. To you.
Write what scares you.
Write what you’re afraid to write.
Worry about whether it will sell afterwards.
A graduate of McGill University in History and Law, Catherine McKenzie practices law in Montreal, where she was born and raised. An avid skier and runner, Catherine is the author of 11 bestselling novels, including HIDDEN, THE GOOD LIAR, I’LL NEVER TELL and YOU CAN’T CATCH ME. Her most recent novel, SIX WEEKS TO LIVE, releases in Canada April 20 and the US May 4, 2021.
Ahh, yes, yes, yes. Thank you, Catherine. I needed this today!
I keep journals of the fear; I fight this battle with every scene.
What makes a lump in my stomach – that is what my subconscious makes me drag out before I’m allowed to actually write the scene.
I use it as a signal that I’m not finished preparing; it doesn’t make it any less painful – but at least it gives the fear a useful job.
Catherine–
Question: what do you think would happen if writers stopped ringing their hands over which genre to write in, and set about writing the books that would not leave them alone?
Yes, this is a rhetorical question, and I’ll answer it for myself if not for you. I think what would happen is this: fewer derivative, formulaic novels would be written, and more good novels inspired by imagination would see the light of day. And who can say how many success stories like your book Hidden would be the end result? Maybe the only way to play this game is to first make money in the conventional way as you did. But I praise you for using that capital in the marketplace to take risks, face uncertainty, and write what was waiting for the midwife.
I SO needed to hear this. I put off a contracted book to write a book close to my heart in a different genre. Took a big chance. I poured everything into that book. It’s my favorite to date, and I think, my best.
My dream publisher was ‘eh’. Got an R&R. Which I’m doing, because my agent’s suggestions will make it better. But it was a big hit to my confidence.
The best news though – I love writing again. Even if the book gets rejected, I have that.
And I have options!!!!
Thanks for a super post.
I enjoyed reading your piece, Catherine. Perhaps it’s foolish of me, but I’ve never really considered the market during the conceptualization of a novel. It’s hard enough without thinking about who might read.
May I add to your theory that the place of fear you mention can be found in an existing project? I found that I had to go to places that felt frighteningly revealing in the revision of a project, in order to take it to the next level. Thanks for sharing your advice to yourself. Congrats on the success of Hidden!
Wonderful advice, Catherine.
Write for yourself. Always. On this road, self satisfaction is the greatest reward.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Thanks Catherine,
I have finished my second book and made a daring leap in the story. I decided this is my story and this is the way I wanted to write it! When it comes out, I’ll see if that was a good decision!
Sheri Levy
http://www.sherislevy.com
Catherine: If only we knew which book would sell, right? If only our agents knew. If only our publishers knew! It’s all an educated gamble. Your suggestion that we have to trust our own guts as strongly as we trust anyone else’s down the line, and listen for that thing we fear, makes sense. So great advice. But even more: I loved the way your voice was so apparent here, and your vulnerabilities, and your heart—that makes this post also a great piece of writing!
Catherine, yes. Our lives and hope perfectly expressed in this one line.
Write what you’re scared to write. Write the story that keeps you up at night.
Catherine-
I really enjoyed Forgotten and loved how you handled some of the trickier aspects of the story, like handling the Africa back story and reincorporating characters. What could have been a somber books was a pleasure to read.
Fear is not just something to overcome, it’s a tool and a guide to what one most needs to do with one’s fiction. Feeling safe only leads to safe stories. Fear takes you to the territory that we all really need and want to journey through. Looking forward to your latest.
When I decided to take the dual career route of indie and continue my traditional pursuit, I was surprised to see the same branding-mantra coursing through the ranks of indie writers. Seriously? I thought one of the joys of going indie, besides getting excited over one sale per day, was the freedom to write whatever the hell you pleased. Alas, it is not so. Some indies have two or three pen names just so they can write different genres. I’m sorry, it’s hard work to build up all that love and adoration for Ron Estrada. I refuse to start over, not even for my Amish-dino-erotica series (Plain T-rexxxed). While it makes perfect business sense to stick with a narrow sub-genre, it just ain’t no fun. If any of us had business sense, we’d give up this silly persuit and be Wal-Mart greeters. The pay raise would be awesome (and I think we get an employee discount on trade paperbacks).
I’m 48 years old. That’s 196 in Hollywood years. I’ve got about 30 good years of writing left before all that stuff I did in college catches up to me. I’ll write what I want and see if it sails. Of course, if T-rexxxed takes off, you’ll only see me in those plastic wrappers in the Love’s Truck Stops. But it’s my choice. I say we write for the love of writing. Forcing ourselves into a sub-genre for the sake of marketing is a complete reversal of why we first picked up the chisel and stone.
Look for T-rexxxed under a mattress near you! And sign up for the newsletter–Old Bones and Wive’s Tails.
I had such an emotional response to your piece today. Like Katrina, I’m saying, yes, yes! This is what I need to do. This is what I needed to hear today.
Writing is a passion AND a business, and for those who choose to think in terms of a brand and a commercial, marketable product, that is absolutely a valid choice. I envy them the success of multiple books with a theme and a following. But after writing two how-to books, one published and one set for release this year, I’m so ready to tackle the genre that scares me, that feels too hard, too personal and will take too much of me. And because it is all that, I’m afraid it will bomb and feel like failure, of my ability as a writer and as a person.
Thank you for this timely post.
What did your friend do with your advice?
HI, Catherine:
I heard this same advice given by Don Winslow at a writers’ conference a few years back, and it hit me like a jolt of lightning. I thought: Of course.
And Don Maass’s remark above that fear is a tool is exactly right. We have to reach for something that might just lie outside our grasp to engage everything within us. I’m scared to death of the next book, which makes me realize I’m really on to something.
I try to remind myself: fear is just an opportunity to demonstrate courage. And I do what I can.
IN today’s market, an infield hit isn’t good enough. You have to swing for the fences, and hope you connected well enough that the ball sails out of the park.
Lovely post. Thanks so much.
This is great advice for writers in every genre. All writers battle a mob of terrified voices in their heads every time they sit down to write. If you make writing decisions based on any of these voices, you won’t write your best.
If you’re afraid to write that high-concept book because the agents/editors will say, “I love it, but I’m afraid I can’t sell it,” write it anyway. What agents and editors think is “sellable” changes every day. Chick lit is in; chick lit is stale. Epic high fantasy is hot hot hot; epic high fantasy is so overdone. Where’s my next John Green? What’s with all the John Green copycats? Trying to write something trendy is like trying to photograph a hummingbird in flight.
On the other hand, if you’re afraid to write that sci-fi thriller or historical romance because the critics will look down their noses at you, write it anyway. I wish English teachers would stop convincing talented young writers that anything less than Tolstoy is trash. How many future Ursula Le Guins and Stephen Kings have been nipped in the bud because they were afraid of being called derivative hacks?
IMO, it’s much more important to love your story than to pick a marketable genre, because you’ll make a much better product if you’re enjoying yourself. Readers can tell if your heart isn’t in it.
Thanks everyone! And for those who were asking – last I heard, the person who asked for that advice is writing a completely different book :)
My thoughts and appreciation for ‘Hidden’ are on record in any number of places. You know and the WU crowd should know how much I loved this story and how it shines so brightly amongst your other novels.
Now I know why it was so different and so remarkable. Please continue to tackle those ideas and thoughts that scare the hell out of you. You’re dam good at turning those fears into extraordinary prose and such great stories.
There’s a wonderful appendix to Gilbert Sorrentino’s Mulligan Stew purporting to be an exchange of memos among the author, editors, marketing people and lawyers of the publishing house. Ultimately, as I recall, it’s the lawyers who have the final say about the novel’s literary quality. No mention at all of libel or other lawyerly concerns.
I have to respectfully disagree here, a little.
I think people will follow their favorite actors (and, for nerds like me, their favorite directors) in whatever kinds of movies they make, but I think most readers will maybe, but maybe not, follow their favorite writers into different forays.
The key here is where you wrote “I’m happy to follow them there if the new story is as well executed as their other books”. But there’s the rub: your example aside, most people (and publishers, apparently) believe that most writers simply do not produce well-executed works outside of their established genres. I probably wouldn’t buy a Dan Simmons that was chick-lit, for example. (When he went Dean Koontz with Flashback, it was terrible!)
Books are like comfortable slippers for many readers. When you’re wearing comfortable slippers, why try on a different pair?
Thanks, Catherine! Stepping out of your comfort zone is always a challenge and writers should do this all the time. You have to remember that writing is a constant struggle with your fears and doubts but it’s also what you love to do so much!