I’ve always wanted to write a novel, that was my end game. Every job I have taken has been for money alone (well almost), leaving headspace for my writing. For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of a writer’s life. Imagined it, fawned over it and waited for the muse to come. It was something sacred, distant, just beyond my reach, yet some day I would get there. When I had my boys, thoughts of writing were initially shelved, all my time and energy given to them. But as they became a little older, patches of time opened up and I began to write again, ideas for novels sparking a fire in my belly, the excitement racing through my veins. Then, a few chapters in, I would lose the inspiration and it would wither and die, along with my enthusiasm. After a few times of this happening I began to wonder if I could write a book after all.
I eventually started to write a children’s novel. I guess it was a test for me to see if I could actually finish something, like a 5K run building up to a marathon. I did finish it and it wasn’t bad, but after a few rejections I gave up sending it out. I was determined to write that adult novel and although this would require a lot more commitment, I was now ready to try.
I had my main protagonist, Anna, a young mum with something important to say. Of course I needed other characters to join her, so I borrowed a few of my favourites I had already created for a collection of short stories and threw them into the mix. But what I wasn’t expecting was that one of these individuals would upturn my plot completely. A force so strong she took hold of my initial story idea and made it all about her. Marilyn, now the heartbeat of my novel (which is exactly where she deserves to be), and Anna and the others (although still important), taking their places beside her. And there, after all the years of waiting for the novel to happen, I was finally writing it. Word after word, the scenes playing out in my head, the plot carefully unfolding.
At first I didn’t write in a straightforward way, beginning to end. I had read that some authors write scenes out of sequence and then join them all together chronologically at the end. This method suited me fine as I wrote in the scraps of time between work, family and all the other commitments I had. So, if I wasn’t up to a big scene that day I would write a quieter, less emotional one, leaving the more complicated chapters for when I had more time and energy. But then, when it was time to fit it altogether to create a flowing piece from all the disjointed scenes, I crumbled. I could make no sense of it. My beautiful manuscript was a tangled mess. Too many characters. Too much going on. Too complicated to fit together. So many different time lines. What on earth was I thinking? So, I hastily walked away from it, my brain buzzing and a sense of failure descending yet again.
After a couple of weeks break I took a deep breath and began work on a simpler story. One main character with only a few extras, not too many voices or opinions and a straight story line written from the beginning onwards. I wrote a few thousand words of this and was happy with the intensity focused on my main character and the calm that ensued whilst writing this paired back narrative. But again there was a quandary. And again it was instigated by Marilyn, a voice in my head constantly calling me back.
‘It needs work, but it is a good story,’ she taunted. ‘There’s a lot going on but it’s colourful and lively. Please give us another try. I want my story to be told.’
I sighed and begrudgingly went back to re-read it with a better perspective. There were lots of strong parts and some good themes too. And I loved the characters. It would take a while to sort out, but with time and patience it could be done. I had something there definitely worth salvaging. So, during a week off work I began the reassembling of scenes. Working out which went where, seamlessly joining parts of the story together and working out what other parts still needed to be written. By the end of the week I had a coherent story to work with and a better idea of where I was heading. I worked and worked at it in the months ahead, the words mounting and the story progressing until I finally reached the end.
Now I'm on the homeward stretch, the first draft finished. I am deep into editing, the adding and deleting of words, polishing and perfecting before I begin submissions in the new year. I already have the idea for my next novel, but will not attempt to start it until this one has flown. I’m only hoping that the second will not take as long, and I think I’ll try the linear approach this time.
Have you written/are you writing a novel? How’s it going? I’d love to hear about your experiences. Please share in the comments below.
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