Seven Things I Learned From Wrecking My Novel
By Julia Munroe Martin | August 28, 2017 |
Photo by Francesco Mazzola Maurizio via Flickr’s CC
My most recent novel sits finished in a file on my desktop. It’s the culmination of a couple of years of work. 91,535 words now, at one point over 120,000. Hard work. Yet after honing and rewriting and editing some more, it’s still not ready to be sent out to my critique partners, let alone to agents.
The truth is, I’m reluctant to let anyone read it. My husband read an early draft—he’s always my first reader—he said he liked it. A couple of writer friends have read the first chapter or excerpts of others; they had mixed reactions but looked forward to reading more. But since I finished the last round of edits, the final round, it just doesn’t seem ready for anyone else to read it. And I’m not sure it ever will be.
So, What Went Wrong?
Surprising (to me), I feel okay with letting the file sit, untouched, on the desktop—it’s been about a month since I’ve opened it. I made my final decision to abandon it a few days ago. My main feelings are disappointment and ambivalence. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. Why did this happen? More importantly, what next?
Although I know I won’t be able to (completely) objectively assess what went wrong—I want to. I feel like I need to. This isn’t a decision I came to lightly, and my biggest fear is that it will happen again. What made this project end in abandonment, incompletion? After all the work I put into it I’m not moving on to query or self-publish like I have with the other novels I’ve written, and I want to know why. And what’s to keep the next project from following the same course?
Here are seven things I’ve learned.
1. Don’t ignore early warning signs. The idea for this story came to me after hearing a podcast about a rare medical condition. Granted, it’s a fascinating condition with many repercussions that could drive a storyline, but I’m wondering now if it was too thin an idea that I didn’t develop well enough into a whole-story idea. As I wrote, I found myself grasping at straws as I wondered how to infuse the idea into a whole character (not just a syndrome) and expand the idea into a whole story.
2. Think things through. When I started this novel, it was for adults, then I switched to YA, then back to adult. At one point I described it as The Wizard of Oz meets The Breakfast Club, but toward the end I realized I’d started it as a literary novel which became a romance… then a thriller… then a muddle. I waffled back and forth about audience and number of main characters and voice and setting.
3. Be true to who you are. I wrote this novel without too much forward planning (obviously, see above). Usually a plotter or a “hybrid” writer, this is the first novel I’ve written completely as a “pantser.” Late in the project, on a push to finish, I wrote a scene-by-scene plan, but it felt forced, and I rarely looked at it. Although in retrospect I see reasons why I plunged headfirst into writing without planning, I learned the hard way I’m a plotter at heart.
4. Don’t be impatient. It took longer to write the first draft of this novel (than it’s taken for me to write any other). This was due to life events that by necessity took me away from writing, but once I felt freer to write, I found myself rushing and pushing myself harder to finish faster. I think it would have been better to allow myself to take the time I needed, to think things through. I realize now that sometimes things take longer than I expect them to. It’s okay and not necessary to rush or push when there’s a lot of other things going on. Take as much time as it takes.
5. Listen to yourself. Trust yourself. I shared (and over-shared at times) my story with writer friends, trolling for advice and input. I was looking outside for the motivation I should have felt inside. I needed the support and push, but it backfired. It did motivate me to write, but I think it also made the story feel less my own, less special to me, and it made me question my judgment and ideas at a time I should’ve felt confident. A few times I decided to make changes based on others’ suggestions, even when I wasn’t sure of those changes, and I also let “market considerations” get into my head.
6. Follow your passion. This is the first project I’ve worked on that I questioned almost constantly. Almost every day when I sat down to write I wondered why? Why was I writing this? What was I writing? There were parts I really liked, but I felt little enthusiasm for the project as a whole. Most days I felt like I was plodding through. I certainly didn’t feel passion like with the other novels I’ve written—they were like love affairs. I couldn’t stop thinking about them no matter how hard I tried. With this novel, I felt none of that passion.
7. It’s never too late to jump ship. I’ve abandoned novels after a few chapters, even half way through; I’ve also put novels in the drawer after querying for a while, but I’ve never finished an entire novel and decided to walk away. I suppose I could’ve continued to work on this one, but (at least right now) I can’t see how to fix it. I also don’t want the frustration of querying a novel I’m not one-hundred percent proud of. And I’d rather spend my time working on something I feel completely invested in.
So, What’s Next?
As I was writing this post, I found a NY Times article by Dan Kois, “Why Do Writers Abandon Novels?” I’m in good company, with the likes of Michael Chabon, Junot Díaz, and Jennifer Egan—all who “wrecked” novels (Chabon’s description)—Evelyn Waugh going so far as to burn his unpublished first novel. This made me feel better, relieved, that I will find my way forward. I could relate to how Chabon described feeling the “Hand of Dread” when he sat down to write his abandoned novel, wishing he’d heeded its grasp.
I, too, felt the grasp of the “Hand of Dread” and wish I’d heeded it. Maybe if I had, I’d be querying a new novel instead of writing this post. But maybe there’s also some element of working through… something… that if I hadn’t written this novel, I’d never have discovered as a writer. After all, I strongly agree with the philosophy that there are no wasted words, that I learn something about writing from everything I write. And although this novel may never live as a standalone book (I never say never), parts of this story or characters or writing style will undoubtedly show up in other stories I write. Maybe in decisions I make.
Meanwhile, I’m looking at new ideas. One has some real promise. Perhaps understandably, I feel cautious, protective. I don’t want to get into another project like I just got out of. I’m carefully researching, plotting, and outlining—spending time thinking critically about what I want to work on. I’ve written a synopsis and although optimistic, I’m not letting down my guard and I’m not sharing. And this time when I sit down to write, I won’t ignore the “Hand of Dread” if I feel it on my shoulder!
Have you ever abandoned a finished project? Why? What did you learn? And what advice can you offer?
[coffee]
Julia Munroe Martin (@jmunroemartin) is a writer and blogger who lives in an old house in southern coastal Maine. Julia’s other passion is photography, and if she’s not writing at the dining room table or a local coffeeshop, you’ll likely find her on the beach or dock taking photos. Julia writes The Empty Nest Can Be Murder mystery series as J. M. Maison.
I didn’t abandon my last project. I finished, finally, after two long years, but I never looked forward to the writing. There was just no passion behind it. And now, it sits, its little icon visible every time I start my computer. I got hooked on a story line about a famous painting found hidden away in a cottage. And I thought, yep….good story here. But no, it was a hodge podge of lifeless characters and a questionable plot.
So you understand, Joy! Yes! “I never looked forward to the writing.” I think we have a lot in common with our experiences… “hodge lodge of lifeless characters and a questionable plot.” Yep. Here’s to happier and more productive and more passionate writing days for both of us.
Julia, this is so helpful to know other writers have these stories that don’t seem to gel or get muddled. I tend to put my stories like this to sleep for a while, rather than abandon them. I find that writing organically (panster approach) is a process in honoring the story itself as a mechanism that evolves. Time works with the story, not against it. I can’t force it forward with pushing the plot or insisting on answering story questions and outlines just plain fail. I expect that maybe the story needs to stay inside the womb until it can breath on its own outside. Or, in some cases as you point out, the story isn’t really a whole story at all. Maybe just a seedling. I put it away in case I find that character, theme, or story line handy for another project some day. One never knows what inspirations or passions will emerge down the road.
I’m glad it was helpful, Paula. I agree, one never knows the inspirations or passions that may emerge down the road — probably why I would be reluctant to never say never about this novel. Still, muddled it is! I love how you say that “time works with the story not against it,” and I wish I’d heeded that as I pushed myself! Thanks for your helpful comment!
Just pulled out a manuscript I finished 5 years ago, struggling all the way. I finally abandoned it. Now I can see that it was all tangled up, but still based on such a good idea! I am going to start all over again and try to not to even look at what I wrote before. Different setting, different protag, but same premise. Motivated!
That’s so interesting, Anne! Your description: “all tangled up,” fits my manuscript as well…. as does “based on such a good idea.” Maybe some day mine will be pulled out, too. Thanks for the very encouraging comment! Here’s to a good writing day!
Thank you, Julia, for sharing these seven things you learned from wrecking your novel. Your transparency–putting the details out there of what you’ve been through–is an encouragement for all of us. In similar circumstances, my tendency may have been to consider the experience (make that me) a failure. You cast it in a much more meaningful light.
Appreciate this nugget of wisdom as well: “…there are no wasted words…”
Trusting we will learn about your new endeavor as time and process, fueled by a generous measure of passion, hold you in good stead as you stay true to being you in all that you write.
I’m glad you found it encouraging, Micky, and I truly appreciate your very kind comment. It was tough to make the call, but I’m very glad I did. (I do feel a bit like I’ve failed, but that’s okay. I do think coming to terms with a failed project and how I go forward is important, too.) Thank you for your encouragement, too. I love what you say in your last paragraph. Thank you!
Julia–As Bill Clinton would say–whether he meant it or not–I feel your pain. But I do mean it. In answer to your question, though, the answer is no, I’ve never totally abandoned a finished manuscript. I’m too anal for that, committed to rescuing or transforming as opposed to abandoning.
Early on, I invested a lot of time and effort in writing an action-filled, fast-paced science fiction novel. To this day, a great sense of relief comes with knowing I am the only person who ever saw it. But I was able to salvage lots of it, to be used later in the first book of my suspense series.
One other thing. In describing your failed project, you say “I shared (and over-shared at times) my story with writer friends, trolling for advice and input.” When I read of writers sharing their work, seeking “advice and input,” I’m inclined to think the real reasons are different. In the end, the writer alone will be responsible for every word, every choice on every page. So, what exactly is the writer actually seeking? I think it’s validation, support, a pat on the back, etc. Or, the writer seeks to spread the responsibility among advice givers. A professional editor is something else entirely. Editors are not our friends or our enemies. They are paid to tell us the truth, not to buck us up, or share the burden of responsibility.
Anyway, that’s my guest viewpoint. Thanks for a thoughtful, useful post.
I love the idea of salvaging parts of this novel, Barry, and I hope I’ll be able to do that as I move forward (even if it’s what I’ve learned in the process). You are so right that I was seeking validation — probably because I felt unsure of the idea and direction — and I agree about an editor being different. I have used editors in the past, and I know I will again, but to be honest, I don’t think this ms was ready even for an editorial eye. Thank you for your suggestions and thoughts, so very appreciated!
Barry, I love your ‘rescuing or transforming.’
Paula, thank you. But it should also be said that my inclination to rescue and/or transform might be another form of self-deception. Refusing to acknowledge that something written shouldn’t have been is potentially a form of denial, or vanity: It’s just not possible that I was totally mistaken for hundreds of pages–something like that.
On Point Seven, It’s Never Too Late to Jump Ship. I suppose it is possible to abandon an effort too soon. How does one distinguish between the usual doubts and struggles and ‘the hand of Dread’? I’m halfway through a second draft of my fifth novel. I confess I’ve been close to declaring time of death and calling the coroner several times.
I’m trying a different genre and I suspect the issues that shift is raising are strangling my passion. My instinct is to finish this draft and see if I can identify what’s missing, or what’s there that shouldn’t be. If I still can’t feel enthusiastic about the product, I can consign it to the darkest corner of the hard drive. Does that make sense?
I think your comment makes more than perfect sense, Frederic! I think one of the main things I learned from my experience is that I need to follow my gut. So although this “wrecking” worked for me, I know it’s not for everyone. It sounds like you have a solid plan and know where you’re heading. That’s all any of us can hope for! As for abandoning ship too soon, I also feel confident in my decision because if I did jump too soon, I can always go back! Such a good point you make!
I think one is almost bound to get bored with writing a novel for longer than a year or so. I can’t imagine committing any longer than that to a single novel. Life is too short!
Hi David, thanks so much for your comment! I’m not sure boredom was as much of a reason as “not sure where it was going,” but I was so curious after reading your comment to find out if there is an average amount of time to write a novel. So I Googled it. Of course it’s widely variable but one thing I read on HuffPo said a novel “can take” from 6 months to 10 years to write (based on interviews with writers). You raise an interesting point… we writers think about things in different ways based on our own perspectives and needs. Thanks for your thought provoking comment!
It’s funny that you say that because most of the stories I write take a month or two to get the first draft out, less than a year if I edit until I am happy. But there is one story that I’ve been writing since I was fifteen (I’m nearing forty now) which I still love but don’t think I will ever be happy enough to release. I put it aside for a while then go back (at one point pulling out half of the novel, the part I added to make it more marketable and it was much better). It’s interesting how differently people work.
Too often we view our writing as having two outcomes: success and failure. I’ve come to believe there are at least three: finished, marketable story; lesson learned; and worthwhile experiment. I have three novels that I’m excited about that I rotate between editing. In-between, though, there were others.
There was the romance that began its life as an experiment and nothing more, showed promise to become more, and then became a discarded experiment again after completion. In other words, it was worthwhile experiment because I got out of it what I intended. There was also the fantasy novel I drafted last month that went off the rails so fast it barely had time to start rolling. That was a lesson, for like you I ignored all the warnings going in. I also learned that there were parts I’ll no doubt utilize in some form later.
What’s vital is viewing all my output as valuable for one reason or another AND to always learn. If I was always tossing stories over my shoulder and never learning I’d never approach a working lightbulb.
The “lessons learned” teach me much about writing, but even more about myself. When I combine those elements I move forward. My “experiments” are intentional teaching tools, but they’re also liberating because I’m giving myself permission to head off into the unknown.
This is such a valuable point, Christina, one that I came to myself. I especially love that you took it one step further and learned something about yourself. I can see how that would be very liberating, and I’ll definitely be thinking about your “lessons learned” thoughts carefully. I need some liberation just about now! Thank you so much for your comment!
Thank you Julia for your honesty. I certainly have felt some of your pain when I’ve laboured too long on a novel and passed it by too many eyes. Too many drafts and incarnations later, I found my way back and published it.
With time, you may want to revisit what you have. And as you go through it, your gut will tell you what works. Throw out what you can’t stomach and keep the gems. If you do re-visit this story, I’d love to hear how you make out.
Thank you for your encouragement, Diana, and for sharing your experience. I will definitely let you know if/when I decide to revisit — I agree that I will need to have that “gut check” (once I get back in touch with it!)
I’m giving the trilogy I wrote ten-years-ago, a facelift. I’ve designed new covers, found a better title, and the tangled chapters are being reshuffled and rewritten into a more coherent story. A story, I’m happy to say is even more exciting to me now than it was the first day I conceived it.
I learned much from that first publication and the six subsequent novels that followed, and now I’m able to give the original story new life.
It deserves a better chance. And I’ve gained the experience to perform a heart transplant.
That’s awesome about your trilogy facelift! And how wonderful that the story has stood the test of time and that by learning from experience you can perform that “heart transplant” (love that!). I’ll be keeping that file on the desktop in case I decide to do the same… thank you for your insight!
Julia, thanks for sharing what could not have been an easy decision. I abandoned two full blown novels, both for the same reason. Both stories featured an African American protagonist and I felt I could not as a white guy express credibly what an African American thinks or feels or how he sees the world. I loved both stories. I thought about enlisting an African American co-author to review and revise the two manuscripts, but it seemed like too much work. It is a frustrating experience, but I feel that no writing we do is truly wasted if we learn from it. Thanks for sharing your insights.
Hi Chris, You’re right, this was not an easy decision, but a clear one once I distanced myself sufficiently. Wow, that’s quite an interesting story about your two finished novels. I can well imagine how frustrating it would be since you loved the stories (I was at an advantage there since I only love part of my story). Truly not wasted time, I agree. Thanks for sharing your thoughts!
Oof, that’s a hard lesson. I’m sorry, Julia. But I admire you sharing what you learned from it here, so we can learn too. “Take as much time as it takes.” <– That's been one of the hardest truths for me to learn myself, and I relearn it over and over. I do believe it's true that there are no wasted words. I hope you find stronger footing on your next WIP, whatever and whenever that may be.
Thank you for your encouragement and support, Annie — so appreciated. I’m glad to hear that you, too, have had to relearn the time truth… that really makes me feel better knowing how prolific you are. I hope I’ll find stronger footing with my next WIP too; here’s hoping.
As a writer, I understood everything you said. I still laugh and call my first novel a “typing lesson”. There are more than a dozen projects I’ve started and rejected.
But what I want to say is as a reader, I applaud you. I read constantly. With writing, reading is my passion, but I have found far too many novels that should have ended up only as a computer file or a box under the bed. More writers need your courage and your insight to see something isn’t right and for better or worse, it’s not going to get right.
The work that is published, even self-published should be professional quality and it takes a professional to recognize that.
I love that you call your first novel “a typing lesson.” And I thank you so much for your very kind and supportive words — I totally agree that all published work should be of the highest quality. And I wouldn’t want to put anything out there that I wasn’t 100% proud of. Thank you, Betsy!
I’m in the same club you are. I wrote a novel, which was a project I loved deeply. When I shared it with a few trusted readers, they pointed a dozen flaws, all fatal. I hadn’t learned my craft. I didn’t know how to write, how to frame a scene, how to develop characters. I wrote great dialogue but committed the sins of telling more than showing, of leaving emotions on the sidelines.
Three published novels later, I’m ready to read it with a more critical eye. If I can recast it into something I’d be proud of, I will jump back into the waters. If not, I have other projects.
I am never without a project that excites me, turns me on, and keeps me writing for hours on end.
Hope you find your way back to the keyboard soon.
Thank you, Betsy, for your kind comment and encouragement. I am envious of your excitement for your projects, and I hope I’ll find my way back soon, too. And that you are successful in recasting your project — thanks for understanding!
Hi, Julia:
I think your point about listening to your own misgivings is one that often gets short shrift. It may not necessarily mean you should chuck the whole thing overboard, but it certainly means you need to sit back and take the time to let it sink in: Something isn’t right. What is it?
I’m currently going through this with my own WIP. I actually think the concept is right, the characters are strong, and the story has promise, so there’s plenty of reason to proceed. But I also think I’m rushing the actual writing, wanting to accumulate pages, and instead I need to sit with myself and do the “non-writing” stuff of fleshing out my concept and theme, thinking and feeling deeply about what these things mean, letting all of that affect me deeply so that the core problems of the story and the characters are in my bones.
In particular, I’ve come to see that the main female character is not fully realized in my own heart and mind yet, and I’m now trying to rectify that, doing more work on backstory and lettnig myself intuitively meld with her.
Actually, as I’ve written this, I’ve come to realize that many of your points are interconnected. You need to trust yourself enough that you can step back and take the time necessary to think things through (which covers items 2, 4, and 5). Also, I too am a plotter and I’ve tried to pants this one and it doesn’t feel right (item 3). And the reason I’m not giving up is because the book very much speaks to my passion (item 6) — so much so it’s rather intimidating, and that may be the reason for the lack of certainty and confidence I need to proceed.
Thanks for the candid and very, very helpful post.
I think that the
Thank you for your really thoughtful comment, David. I’m glad you found the post helpful — I found your comment helpful as well, particularly this:
“But I also think I’m rushing the actual writing, wanting to accumulate pages, and instead I need to sit with myself and do the “non-writing” stuff of fleshing out my concept and theme, thinking and feeling deeply about what these things mean, letting all of that affect me deeply so that the core problems of the story and the characters are in my bones.” << This is perhaps the essence of what happened to me as well.
I definitely had trouble sitting with myself with this book, for many reasons. BUT I also think I lacked the passion for the project that you clearly have (which I'm very envious of!)… I hope you'll give it a chance and work through it since it's clearly important to you
And who knows, maybe I'll take the time away from my story and be able to connect with it more, let it sink in, as you suggest. (Although truth be told I'm a little afraid that I won't ever have the passion or feeling of connection with another story.)
Glad to know I'm not the only one! Thank you for your helpful comment!
Hi Julia,
Sending you an abundance of thanks for this post. As a novice at this craft, it’s been four years of wrecked stories and frustration. I bought a new laptop last spring, so I now have two hard drives littered with false starts.
But…I recently took an online short story course using one of those false starts as my writing project. By the end of the course, I had—for the first time–a completed story (well, the first draft of one). But, the most important thing I learned from this course, albeit inadvertently, was ruthlessness.
Because our submissions were limited to 1500 words, with the completed story limited to 4500 words, the first thing I had to do was cut–a lot. The “false start” I was using was almost 9800 words.
I was able to make those cuts because I wasn’t thinking of them as permanent. I looked for places where could take things out, and the story still make sense, fully intending to put it all back in if I ever wrote the “real” story. (Okay, all you experienced writers can stop giggling now.) As you’ve guessed, most of those cuts will not be restored.
Reading that completed draft a few weeks after the course ended, it was shocking to discover how much I still liked this once abandoned story. I realized that by making all those cuts, I had found, or exposed, the “real” story, the story I had been excited to write. The trick now, as I work on this draft, is to keep in mind what I’ve learned about the undisciplined way I tend to write so I can stay focused on the “real” story.
Again, thanks for sharing your experience. It gives me another flicker of hope to follow through my wordy wilderness.
That’s a really encouraging story, CK. It sounds like that class was an incredibly valuable experience! This is something that I, too, can bear in mind:
“The trick now, as I work on this draft, is to keep in mind what I’ve learned about the undisciplined way I tend to write so I can stay focused on the “real” story.”
Such helpful advice — thank you! Here’s to staying focused on what we’re really trying to write (and figuring out what that is!). Thanks again for your comment.
“…but I’m wondering now if it was too thin an idea that I didn’t develop well enough into a whole-story idea…”
I think we all have this problem. I have a whole file of ideas, most of which seem fantastic, but probably wouldn’t fill an entire novel. One of the last novels I wrote had the same problem, so I took the idea and added it to another idea, et voila!
I’ve abandoned novels before, lots of them, but over the last year or so, on the writing advice of some novelist, I’ve decided to finish everything I start, even if I hate it half way through. I find it a challenge, a lesson. I have no problem having a bunch of stories I don’t actually like sitting on my computer, so long as they never see the light of day. Sometimes I write just to write, because I love it, not because I think it is ever going to be good enough for publishing (so far, according to publishers, neither is the stuff I’ve sent them! :) )
This really resonated with me:
“…over the last year or so, on the writing advice of some novelist, I’ve decided to finish everything I start, even if I hate it half way through. I find it a challenge, a lesson.”
And I wish I’d mentioned it in the post. That’s the express reason why I’m very very glad I DID finish this novel. There had been a year (before I started this project) of finishing nothing. And I became afraid I may never again. So you really hit on the head a reason that I’m very glad I finished. In the finishing (of the draft and the final draft) I accomplished something regardless of deciding not to pursue (right now) beyond that.
Thank you for your very helpful reminder and comment, Samantha! I agree wholeheartedly that at least sometimes it’s important to remember we can finish!
The poet, David Whyte writes that, “Work, among all its abstracts, is actually intimacy, the place where the self meets the world…The essence of work…is an intimacy between two seemingly opposing poles:…the ability to sustain an alchemical, almost lover like relationship that touches both the concrete essence of the present and the longed for mystery of the future to which the work leads us; the essence of the work lies in the practiced, imaginative love of this far horizon, combined with the practicalities of the here and now, including especially, the physically felt, close-in invitations that first draw us, sometimes helplessly, to our calling.” (in his book of essays, CONSOLATIONS)
We grope toward making meaning through our writing. Even if we say exactly what we mean, the writing may still mean something very different to each reader. And the choice to put it aside has its own meaning, not the least of which is providing the opening for this conversation, a conversation which lets all of us in this solitary endeavor know that we are not alone.
Thanks, Julia.
Thank you, Carol, for understanding, for sharing Whyte’s quote, and for your support and conversation. And absolutely yes that the writing may mean something different to the reader (that definitely went into my decision…) So glad I’m not making this journey alone.
Several years ago, I abandoned a novel about 2/3 of the way through. I really couldn’t see my way through it. Maybe I’ll go back. Maybe I won’t. I’ve hardly thought about it since, so that’s pretty telling.
I think you really expressed my feelings, too, here… “I’ve hardly thought about it since, so that’s pretty telling.” Here’s to moving forward! Thank you for reading and for your comment!
Julia, you are not alone. (As is also evident from the comments on this post.) Back in February I started the second book in my women’s fiction/contemporary series for my publisher. Twice I got half way through and started over before I found the story I needed to write. I can’t imagine writing 95,000 words or more not to do something with it. My novels are that long as well. After all that hard work, there will be something you can use from it at some point.
I’m also working on a shared world anthology with three other authors. Our deadline for completion of book one is November 1. I tried to start that novel, but had to trash it. I had heard of an incident that I thought would make a great meet-cute, but it wasn’t enough to build an entire novel around. Back to the drawing board I went and found a much better story I could write and hopefully make my deadline. At least I now have a full fledged outline. No pansting for me. I’ve written myself into too many holes that way.
Again, you are not alone. We all walk the path of uncertainty when it comes to writing. But I can’t imagine doing anything else. I believe I’m partly insane. Wink!
Thank you for your really encouraging comment and for sharing your story, Stacey. It truly makes me feel less alone. I can really relate to this: “but it wasn’t enough to build an entire novel around.” I am sure that’s one of the main things that happened to me with this project… and another of your points, that you have written yourself into too many holes by pantsing. Same here. Still, like you, I can’t imagine doing anything else, either. I love writing, too.
This is a beautiful, heart-felt post, Julia.
I am currently in the midst of the opposite WIP problem; I am so utterly invested and emotional, I worry the details will overtake my ability to write the damn thing.
Your points, in this regard, are equally valid. In fact, I think I need to pay close attention to the lessons you have learned, so I don’t find myself in a similar position down the road. I need to welcome the investment, shed the fear and self doubt, and focus on what feels right in my gut.
Thank you for that, Julia, for offering some sage advice.
Dee Willson
Award winning author of A Keeper’s Truth
First, thank you so much for your kind words, Dee. And second, perhaps needless to say — having been in the utterly invested and emotional position you’re in — I’m quite envious. That said, WOW. I had never thought of it from your POV, that maybe my observations aren’t just for those of us who have wrecked a ms (or are in danger of that) but also for all of us as we forge ahead with projects. Thank you so much for your comment and your sage advice. Your thoughts will stick with me!
I’ve abandoned a few novels, all at different stages. One was completely finished (60k words), one was halfway done, and another almost halfway done. Eventually, one of them was rewritten and published, but the other two are dead forever. And you know… it gets easier. I’ve taken bits and pieces and used them to fit the holes in my other works. So all the work you put in really does mean something, and really does help you grow, even if you can’t see it right away.
Also, after scrapping one novel I was working on, I came back stronger and wrote my best one yet. So, good luck :)
Thank you for your encouraging words and for sharing your experiences, David. It makes me feel better knowing other writers have been through scrapping novels and have become even stronger after! I appreciate the support!
Julia, I’m currently revisiting the first book I wrote nearly a decade ago with hopes of making it my next novel. I loved certain parts of it at the time but felt in my bones that something was “off.” Um…yeah, Lordy me, it’s a mess–all 500,000 words of its various iterations.
But I’ve had enough time and distance now to let go my darlings, and grown enough as a writer that I can see much of what I was missing. Fingers crossed, but I’m close to settling on a much better core conflict, which makes it fascinating to see how I can reuse certain plot points and settings while utterly changing the story.
So yes, I think you’re exactly right to listen to your gut and trust that the purpose for what you have done will be revealed in time, even if it’s only for you to get better at hearing your gut.
Good luck, darlin’!
Thank you, Jan!! This is so affirming and positive. I love the experience you shared and it makes me even more hopeful that someday this novel will see the light of day again (and if it doesn’t then writing it was still truly useful). Such good news about your own “wrecked novel,” here’s to a successful revisiting!
I’m quite late here. I’m reading my way thru the blog (something I don’t do often enough) and this post grabbed me.
I’m sitting here right now with my zombie book. Not about zombies–that actually might make it more interesting, tbh–but the book I keep pulling from the dead, thinking, “Maybe THIS time it’ll work”. (For the record–nope, not this time, either!) I hate it, I’ve hated it from day one (several years ago) and I feel like a complete failure. It’s infected my writing to the point I don’t write much anymore. And that’s bad. All the energy I’ve put into this book–ugh. If only I could get it back.
So instead of allowing myself to wallow in the failure of a wrecked book, I’m going to heed the lessons it’s been trying to teach me each time I resurrect it, the main one being this is no longer the type of book I want to write. Instead of looking at it with frustration, and panic, I’m going to look at it with gratitude for the gift I’ve finally grasped from its cold zombie fingers–I didn’t fail. I’ve changed.
Thank you for the perspective shift. I needed it.
I’m so glad you commented, Amy! I truly can empathize with your entire comment – and I love that you call it a zombie book! YES!! “It’s infected my writing…” Double YES. Exactly how I’ve felt at various times in the last few months. Here’s to gratitude for what we’ve learned and for moving forward. I am doing just that, and while I can’t say I’ve found the exact type of book I want to write right now, I can say I’ve moved ahead with positive writing projects. I wish you the same. Thank you for reading and commenting! Julia