The Practice Novel
By Dave King | April 21, 2020 |
For the first time, you’ve been caught up in a plot, or a character, or a world of your own making. You give in to it, give our heart to it, maybe you even start dreaming your next scenes. You find yourself dwelling on it when you should be thinking about other things. You work on it for maybe a year or more. You revise it, get friends and family to give you feedback, and revise it again. Then it’s finished, and it breaks your heart because it’s like saying goodbye to your characters.
And then you send your novel off to the professionals, either agents or editors. And learn that you should just put it in a drawer. I have had to gently break this news to clients from time to time. I feel like the police must feel when they tell someone that a loved one has died.
The problem is that novels are huge. They involve moving parts you may not even be aware of and require skills with language and tension building and insight into characters that take years to develop. You don’t just have to master these skills, you also have to develop a feel for how they all work together. And you can’t start doing any of that without investing a large chunk of your life and soul in a novel that is likely to wind up in a drawer.
I know how discouraging this sounds. I know how discouraging it actually is. A lot of writers, faced with the prospect of starting a second novel after shoving their first one in a drawer, simply can’t do it. So they give up writing and take up macramé or bowling or something. That is often a shame, because some of the practice novels I’ve seen show genuine promise. The novel itself may be so fundamentally flawed that it probably won’t ever see print, but there is clearly a real writer at work behind it, one who deserves encouragement. So take heart. The practice novel is almost always the first step that anyone takes in becoming a writer.
Remember, your writing life is about more than just this one novel, even though it’s easy to get the two confused. After all the work you’ve sunk into it, this one, massive project can become the only thing you see. But if you really intend to become a writer, you’re probably going to write a lot of different novels in your life. That will still be true, even if your first one goes into a drawer. Letting go of that practice novel is often the first step in becoming a writer.
And you’re not alone. In the introduction to his first published collection, 1981’s Happy to Be Here, Garrison Keillor describes a summer spent writing his own practice novel – his “shelf novel.”
I’d say that personal ignorance was the chief inspiration of that poor novel, that shelf novel, and was the main cause of its lingering death that summer, including ignorance of plants. In a novel, characters shouldn’t lean against “a tree” – it ought to be a specific tree . . . just as when a character feels bad it ought not to be a vague sense of uneasiness but something definitely wrong and the writer should say what. An impacted molar, too much beer at the ball game, fear of spiders, or what.
In my shelf novel, all the guys were marathon leaners. They leaned against vague vegetation and felt vaguely ill and unhappy, probably the result of their getting no exercise and smoking so many cigarettes. They smoked cigarettes like some people use semicolons:
“I’m not sure, not sure at all –” he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply – “perhaps I never will.”
. . .
What kept me beating on the novel was the sheer size of it and of my investment in it; this was no birdhouse I had screwed up but a genuine mansion, a three-story plaster-of-Paris mansion deluxe designed by me and propped up by hundreds of two-by-fours; a fellow doesn’t walk away from a mistake that big, he likes to keep at it; he thinks that maybe the addition of one more two-by-four will solve the problem.
It’s clear from this passage that Keillor had serious writing chops from the beginning – the collection of stories it prefaces were mostly published in The New Yorker, when that meant more than it does now. After polishing his character-building and storytelling skills through years of bringing us the news from Lake Wobegon every week, Keillor has written nine novels, in addition to collections of poetry, stories, and Lake Wobegon monologues. He eventually got the hang of mansion building and now has a small suburb to his credit.
So if you’ve pushed your first novel as far as you can take it and still aren’t satisfied with where it is, put it in a drawer, gird your loins, and start the next one. You can still find the passion, discipline, and creator’s joy that went into your first one. I guarantee, the second one will be better. And you’ll be a step or two on your way to becoming a writer.
So what are your stories of your shelf novel? What did you learn from it, and how have you progressed since writing it?
[coffee]
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
My drawer novel gained a number of complements from agents about the writing, but the storytelling was another matter. I just kept writing, something new, which became my debut novel (after a lot more work over several years). But I have robbed the grave of that practice novel–stolen the setting, the mood, a few characters–for a novel that will be published in 2022. It was worth every minute I spent on it and I am glad it will never see the light of day.
I think it’s pretty common to strip the drawer novel for parts, Erin. Writers are natural recyclers, and that novel had some strengths to begin with — as your prospective agents told you.
This sentence resonated with me: “The practice novel is almost always the first step that anyone takes in becoming a writer.” Like Erin, I got lots of kudos from editors and critique partners about my writing skills but when it came to the story I was telling in my first novel, not so much. Donald Maass called it my “secret baby story” – said a lot of women wrote one like it the first time out (adoption, child never knew, biological mother reappears, etc). I didn’t want to hear any of it but finally gave in and started over. That “second” novel, with nothing remaining but one character’s name, is called Truth & Other Lies and will be published next spring. And yes, it was part of the process to becoming the writer I am today.
That is exactly how it so often works. And congratulations on finding your career.
My Shelf Novel never went anywhere with agents, but I loved the story world and still do. I want to go back to it for another rewrite but it is in a genre (space western) that is both niche and retro.
It wasn’t the first novel length work I produced, but it’s the one I think of more.
Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Dave. It’s like going into my childhood closet and pulling out the first Lego house I built.
I like the Lego house analogy. And if that space western is still with you, then I suspect you will go back to it. Just give yourself enough distance and experience that you’ll be able to see its flaws. If you do, and start to straighten them out, you may find yourself more excited than when you first wrote it.
It’s always a joy when a story comes together.
After writing four novels and having two nonfiction books traditionally published, I’m back at the shelf novel, rewriting each scene with what I’ve learned during the process. I love the plot, love the characters, and would love to see them enjoyed by others. I’m so glad I have that practice novel!
You’re not the first to come back to the shelf novel. And it’s true, as you gain experience — and the novel form starts to seem less daunting — you can dig back into it.
Good luck.
Dave, a NYC editor who worked for the big publishers once told me that he and his colleagues felt that novelists didn’t “get it” and create a successful novel until the third book.
That doesn’t mean the first two were worthless, as your post points out. They were the training that enabled the third one to succeed. Thanks for reminding us.
Thanks, Ray, and I can believe that. As I said, a novel is a huge undertaking. You’re not going to get it all at once. Or even twice.
My “shelf novel” was actually a shelf short story. It was clumsy and dreadful and will never go out into the world. But I stole one young character from it, complete with his backstory, and in my novel he will be the one to make the critical decision.
I’ve got a couple of those — I was trying to write science fiction before I got sidetracked into editing.
Thing is, a short story is much easier to put into a drawer. It is more a birdhouse rather than a plaster of Paris mansion deluxe. It’s that first novel that’s so hard to turn your back on.
I keep The First Step tied up with string in the back of a drawer, safe from the light of day. On reflection, it was an unwittingly appropriate title
It is. And I’d hang on to it. Once your rich and famous, someone will turn it into a doctoral dissertation on the roots of your genius. Either that, or your grandkids will have a laugh with it someday.
I am uncertain if “fan fiction” is a bad word around here or not. I am working on a story that is very long (220k now, though it’s more like a series). I know it’s a practice novel. There is no expectation of publishing it ever, beyond posting it online and getting reader comments. It is a bit like Keillor’s mansion. I cannot abandon it.
My son loves to watch videos of building demolitions. One was of a tower that had been built on an unstable foundation, a multi-million dollar mistake. But for me, personally, there is no loss of money, just a loss of years. But I don’t consider them a loss. I am learning. I study and read and practice, and I can tell I’m getting better.
I saw writing advice once, to finish everything you start. That way you get practice with endings as well as beginnings. So I will finish my practice novel, and then perhaps write another, and then another. Perhaps someday they won’t be “practice” in the sense of being a first, unpublished attempt hiding in a drawer (or languishing on ao3). But I imagine that they will continue to be practice in the sense of doing a thing with the goal of improving.
I think fan fiction has a place. It allows fans to interact with the characters they love. It gives you practice (as you’re finding out) to hone your writing skills. And because the characters and world are already in place, it eliminates some of the many variables that go into a novel.
Yeah, fan fiction can make a good practice novel.
Also, arguably, Tennyson and Scott were writing Arthurian fan fiction.
I’m essentially writing Arthurian fanfiction too. What an education in history and mythology it has been.
It was actually another piece of Arthurian fan fiction — T. H. White’s The Once and Future King — that inspired me to read Malory’s Le Morte d’ Arthur. It was surprisingly readable, and good fun. I think I teared up a bit at the healing of Sir Urre.
That first novel I wrote, and eventually had to trunk, informed my How-To books. Sounds hard to believe that a murder mystery could be at all relevant to a wine business book. After all, I wasn’t writing about murder and my goal in those books was to strip bare the mystery to make it easy for the reader to embark on their own careers in wine. But what that novel did was to soften the edges of my nonfiction work, give the reader more than Point A to Point B. Reviews of my first book invariably mention that it was “easy to read” and “entertaining”. I have my trunked murder mystery to thank for that.
That’s a remarkable path to publication.
DId you find that, perhaps, the trunked novel built your confidence as a writer and helped you find your voice?
Yes, it really did. Not sure it was actually confidence, but more a feeling that if I could do it once then embarking on the first wine business book was doable. I was compelled to write it in the same way that I was compelled to write the murder mystery (you know the story that runs through your head and won’t leave you alone?). When I started my wine business in 1992, there was no one to mentor me, no books, no internet. I made horrendous mistakes and wanted others to avoid those same expensive potholes. So I gave them every tool I could think of in that first book, along with my cringe-worthy stories and it worked. It also brought me almost every client I’ve ever had, even to this day 9 years later.
Dave, all of my novels (of which there are three) are practice novels, though the first is likely a malpractice novel. I self-published them because I am willful and because some of the sentences tickled me.
Shelf novels undoubtedly, but they do line up nicely. I’m working on a nonfiction book now, and probably still don’t have the sense to keep it to myself. Cheerio!
Yeah, self-publication is an understandable temptation. Though it does have its dangers.
We didn’t pick an easy gig, huh Dave? This goes for writing and editing. It’s a long, thorny road.
Oh, but the wondrous things we see along the way.
Yours,
Dee
It is hard, yes. But there are so many wonderful reasons to write that have nothing to do with publishing. And, ironically, losing yourself in these other reasons makes it more likely you will publish in the end.
Dave, I keep returning to my shelved novel every now and then because it still haunts me. With every iteration, it’s gotten better. I suppose I don’t believe that your first attempts need to be shelved, rather, they need time to mature. Those first things we are compelled to write are full of passion. Some of those first ideas took 10 years to develop before they were ready for publication.
Like Tom above, I feel a bit rebellious and self-published my second novel and I couldn’t be more pleased at how it turned out. See, I chose myself!
I’ve actually read a couple of clients first novels — shelf novels — that haunt me still. One had one of the most skillful plot twists I’ve encountered built into its ending. Another had characters and a world so intriguing they live with me still. As far as I know, neither published, though I did check in with the author of the second novel, and she has published several other books she wrote using what she’d learned working on the shelf novel.
So, yes, keep coming back to it. Shelf novels almost always have serious flaws — it’s hard to get everything right the first time out. But they often have strengths that need to be encouraged.
I’d like to apologize for not jumping into the discussion earlier. The notifications of comments that I usually get aren’t showing up for some reason. Probably some button somewhere on the WU dashboard got reset. I’ll have to track it down.
Dave, my practice, first novel is not in a drawer. I’m pretty satisfied with it. And it’s been sent out querying agents, with response times in the months. You know, as my editor teacher, what I learned writing it. You also know I have a sequel in the works. And I won’t be daunted. Instead, I’m excited to develop the story further with more action, higher stakes, wins and losses. The original story is over, and there are new conflicts and plotlines. I’m taking on another big challenge. Going forward with passion and discipline into this new adventure. Thanks for making the first part of this writing journey worthwhile. 📚 Christine
Go for it, Christine!
Thanks, Dave. 📚 I’ve got this. 🥳
Great piece, Dave. I am working on my first novel. Any advice on how to keep it from being The Practice Novel? As a newbie to the craft of novel writing, I am working with a developmental writing coach, which has been invaluable. I am connected to a local writing community, and I devour what various online writing communities have to offer. And I am taking my time. No rush here. But you are scaring me with your dire warning to be prepared for an impending death!