On Writing What is Technically My 8th Novel

8th times' the charm

Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash

Technically, the book I’m currently writing is my 9th novel.

But I’m not counting the one I wrote in middle school, filling four wide-ruled composition books with my furious scribbles. I used to climb into a tree to write, perching on the slope of the trunk until my back grew numb and my hand cramped. Sometimes, I wonder if a tree bow is actually the ideal writing desk, but the older I get, the more I seem to need lumbar support and air conditioning.

In high school and into college, I wrote four novels, a fantasy series that I half-published through a vanity press that turned out to be run by embezzling CEOs who liked to prey on the dreams of adolescents. Actually, it wasn’t all a terrible experience, and I’m grateful for what it taught me about art and book marketing.

After college and through my graduate program in creative writing, I completed my first adult novel. While that one was on submission, I started work on another novel. And while that one was on submission, I started work on yet another novel. You can read about all three of them here, and find their first chapters on my home page.

None of those three novels, which I consider my best work to date, have been published. Yet. I’ve written about these journeys and the delicate balance between hope and delusion on this Substack too.

I’ve reached a point in my career at which I’ve begun to question the efficacy of writing novels at all, especially ones that no one is reading. I’ve wondered if maybe the problem is that I don’t stay with one novel long enough—if the reason these stories aren’t getting picked up is because I haven’t revised them thoroughly enough. That said, I also fear that I could spend a lifetime perfecting a single book and never see it published.

Recently, I was expressing these fears to some dear friends, telling them that I had a new idea that I was working on with a kind of tentative hopefulness.

“I’m worried maybe I shouldn’t be working on it,” I said. “Maybe I should just be revising my other novels or focusing on getting them published.”

“But if you have the idea you should just write it,” said my friend Matthew (who, by the way, writes the wonderful Substack, Stonechat). He encouraged me to keep putting in the hours to tell the stories I felt called to tell.

So I took his advice. I’m almost 80,000 words into my latest novel. It’s perhaps the strangest one I’ve written yet, about two abandoned children who takes refuge in a sentient tree and the young woman who tries to rescue them and becomes dangerously entangled in their fates.

Here’s what I’ve learned in the process of writing it thus far.

There is Muscle Memory in Novel Writing

In one of his writing courses, author Brandon Sanderson says you shouldn’t pursue publication until you’ve written your third novel. I can’t find the link for it at the moment, but he argues that you won’t actually know how to write a novel until you’ve done it a few times. I think there is some wisdom in this advice, especially because the novel-writing process is such a personal one. Some writers obsessively outline. Others let inspiration drive the first draft and outline afterwards. You can’t actually know what your approach will be until you’ve tried it out and seen what works for you.

As I draft this fourth adult novel, I find myself recalling the tactics I used in previous projects. I tend to write as inspiration takes me until I find myself obsessing over the characters. From there, I begin to envision the climax, the point at which each character achieves (or doesn’t achieve) what he or she wants. I usually apply a loose outline as I continue drafting. The first revision is where I dive deeply into making sure each plot point makes sense and each character has a full arc.

The muscle memory is helping me draft this novel faster than any of my others. I have a certain confidence every time I come to the blank page: I know I can finish this story because I have finished other stories before.

It Still Helps to Pretend No One Will Read It

When people ask for writing advice, I often tell them to draft like no one will ever read it. Put another way: let go of your inner-critic. To get the words on the page, you have to stop second guessing yourself. Only then can your writing take on a kind of flow.

This time around, I’ve been battling this advice. It’s still extremely useful for getting words on the page, but sometimes, after a good writing session, a little voice will ask, “But if no one will read it, what’s the point?” This question hits harder when you’re writing your eighth novel; it’s a little too easy to imagine never actually publishing this book.

So while it still helps to pretend no one will read it, I think it’s more important to tell those parts of yourself that express doubt to hold off on their questions. To keep hoping.

Which brings me to my next lesson.

Writing Is an Act of Hope

I’ve always known that creating art takes a certain hope in yourself, in the future, in humanity. But this time, I’m more convinced than ever that creating itself is a way to practice that virtue of hope.

I’m hoping that these words will string together into sentences and paragraphs and chapters that can form a coherent story. I’m hoping it’s a story with meaning and beauty. I’m hoping someone will read it someday. I’m hoping, maybe, more than one person will read it. I’m hoping it can make a difference in their lives, even if that difference is only joy. I’m hoping it will be a good fit for an editor’s list. I’m hoping it can be financially fruitful for my family. I’m hoping the publishing industry doesn’t just implode. I’m hoping the world as we know it doesn’t completely fall apart. I’m hoping humanity will continue to recognize its need for art and beauty in the face of all the disasters that face us.

I love this essay by Marina Brox about coping with the reality that you might never “make it” as a writer. She argues that even if her work doesn’t get published, her efforts to be a better writer directly impact the quality of others’ writing, raising the bar for the literary world in general. To me, that’s a really hopeful perspective.

I Have Certain Obsessions

The more I write, the more I realize how I keep coming back to certain topics and certain types of characters. I frequently write about motherhood, about “bad” mothers who abandon their children and the children who must rebuild their lives in that aftermath. I can never seem to stop writing about generational trauma and using magical realism to delve into the reality of suffering and the hope of redemption. Perhaps because of my upbringing in rural Texas, I love turning setting into a character, and all four of my adult novels take place somewhere in my home state. And while I admit my stories tend to take up some of the darker elements of human existence, I keep coming back to hope and forgiveness as core themes.

For a little while, I worried that if all four of these books one day get published, readers would be put off by the repetitive themes. But my husband, Joseph, reminded me that many authors return again and again to certain topics. From a marketing stand point, you can even argue that these obsessions are really just part of my “brand.”

You Should Follow the Path that Brings Joy

Over the years, I’ve realized I’m happiest when I’m writing. Not submitting. Not waiting around to find out if an editor or agent loves my work. Just writing. Or, maybe, having just written, since sometimes writing makes me feel like I want to tear all my hair out.

I’m happiest when I give voice to the stories that rattle around in my head. When I sit down to write, my goal is to write at least 1,000 words. Sometimes, when the baby doesn’t nap well, I fall short of that number. But even if I only have the time or brain space for a few words, I find that those words make me a better person. I come away more hopeful and that hope spills into other aspects of my life.

Ultimately, I haven’t given up on publishing my other novels. They have all gone through intense revision processes and may one day again. But, for now, this story has stolen my heart and I’m following it to its end.

PS. Thank you for reading! Next week, I’m offering an excerpt of this new project for paid subscribers. Currently, paid subscriptions are only $5/month and every bit goes to helping keep this Substack alive.

I almost never share about the process of writing when I’m in the middle of it and I’m thankful for this opportunity to be more open about the experience.