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Bun in the Oven: The Gestation Period of a Novel

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According to Discovery.com, the female frilled shark carries her babies for up to 3.5 years before giving birth. As someone who was throw-uppy for the duration of my pregnancies, I think the frilled shark’s lengthy gestation sounds miserable.

On the other hand, as someone who is gestating a novel (and has been for the past 4.5 years), I find the details of the frilled shark’s gestation rather comforting. Since I am only 25% through a draft of my manuscript (and already a full year slower than the frilled shark), I am hopeful that, once complete, it will be even more appealing than a frilled shark baby. Frilled sharks of any age make Hammerheads look like pageant queens. They have three hundred teeth. Arranged in 25 rows. I won’t post a picture of a frilled shark because you might feel scared. (But here’s a link.)

I feel sheepish that I write at the speed of sloth, but what’s even more humbling is this WIP’s metamorphosis over the last 4.5 years. When I started, this book was about “the friendship between an American boy with albinism and an African girl with albinism.”

You probably noticed there’s no plot there. There’s no hook or even the whiff of a conflict. But I, green and ridiculously optimistic that a conflict would emerge, plowed ahead. And then I came to a dead end because plotless stories always come to dead ends. I learned this from WU’ers James Scott Bell, David Corbett, Lisa Cron, and Donald Maass.

So back to the drawing board went I, and another draft emerged, one that involved albinism and Antarctica. Dead end. After that, another draft that focused on war and Antarctica. Then a shut-in wife who never left the house and her husband, a serial soldier, who liked war more than he liked his family. And that evolved, somehow, into a story about two kids, Caesar and Sylvia, and it took place in Antarctica. It was cleverly titled, CAESAR AND SYLVIA IN ANTARCTICA.

(I am literally cringing as I share these plotless novel ideas with you.)

Then I jumped ship and started another version where Sylvia was named Desdemona and was not a child but an adult. And then another in which Cameron, who had previously been called Caesar, became adult-Desdemona’s ex-lover.

Did you know that dogs can have false pregnancies where their bodies mimic the symptoms of true pregnancy? I now see, that with each of these silly drafts, I was only falsely with book-child. In fact, I was experiencing a long series of false book-pregnancies.

Thank goodness my agent, as well as my two critique partners, are patient. They are willing to be my doula, my midwife and my OB. They believe that this third book will be the first one to sell. They believe we are close.

I would be lying fetal in a gutter without them.

Another focus of my gratitude? David Whyte, a poet, who shares these words of comfort: “A wrong-headed but determined direction is better than none at all.”

I do wish I could have avoided these years of wrongheadedness, but some of us, I think, need to wander in the desert for a few years, chasing plot mirages, in order to arrive at the real pool of water.

So, while Stephen King writes a book each season, while Sara Gruen wrote Water for Elephants in four weeks, while Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit 451 in nine days, there are many other authors who take far longer. Donna Tartt apparently spent ten years writing The Goldfinch. J. D. Salinger also needed a decade to write The Catcher in the Rye.

Why does it take some writers so darn long?

Let me answer by way of a question: Why does an opossum give birth after only 12-13 days while the frilled shark’s gestation is 1oo times that? Who knows! It’s a mystery.

It takes me a while to find my way because story-building does not come naturally. I hope that over time the skills shared by craft gurus here at WU will become natural, but for now, making sure a story contains turning points and tension is about as easy as birthing a porcupette. A porcupette is a baby porcupine.

I also find that it takes me forever to get to know the characters in the story. I look at it this way: I’ve been married for 20 years, and just the other day, I learned that in high school, my husband dropped honors English and enrolled in regular English because he wanted to get an “A” so he’d “have a shot at being Valevictorian.” That’s right. Valevictorian. My husband somehow became Valevictorian of his high school without ever realizing Valevictorian is not actually a word. How victorious!

All this to say, it takes a while to get to know someone, and that’s true for romantic partners, close friends and fictional characters. We have to take the time to learn our characters’ backstory, their deepest desires, their most urgent needs, their darkest secrets. We need to learn just how far they will go to conceal these secrets and fulfill their desires. We need to learn the lies they tell themselves and the lies they tell others. We need to learn their quirks and their Achilles heels. We need to learn their unique voice and how to convey that voice through their diction and syntax. It takes years for me to truly know these imaginary people; it takes years before I can speak my characters’ language; it takes years before I can trust them to do their thing and move the story forward.

It’s OK, then, that it takes a long time to write a novel?

It’s irritating and frustrating to work for years with false pregnancies and no income, but as you know, very few writers can make a living solely by selling their fiction. So we juggle other jobs, and this juggling takes away from our fiction writing time, which means it takes forever to complete a book. It also takes many thousands of hours to create a strong and sturdy story.

I once had an agent tell me, “Good is better than fast.” In other words, don’t sacrifice quality by doing a rush job. Don’t underestimate the importance of strong and sturdy stories.

Giraffes, with their lengthy 460-day gestation periods, don’t sacrifice quality for speed, and that’s good because a giraffe mother gives birth standing up, which means there’s a fair bit of falling that takes place between the giraffe’s uterus and the grassy brush of the Serengeti. The baby needs to be sufficiently strong to survive such a fall.

Likewise, when a writer births a novel, that story must be tough and developed enough to survive delivery. If the story’s legs are too spindly, they will break as they fall upon the hands of readers and the eyes of reviewers. We must take the time to strengthen the story’s bones and muscles, edifying the creation with the knowledge shared by the aforementioned craft gurus.

Good is better than fast.

While some writers may be natural story-crafters, those of us who aren’t must spent months and years if we want to create strong-enough stories that can survive in this overpopulated world.

What about you? Can your creative process be hurried along, and if so, how? A baby has all of his or her fingerprints by 9-12 weeks in the womb … was your WIP’s unique identity solidified in the early weeks, or does it look nothing like its original story seed? Are you a cheetah or a snail when it comes to getting a complete draft of a story, and what qualities or skills (or lack thereof) most impact your speed?

Thank you, WU’ers, for reading and for sharing!

About Sarah Callender

Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her husband, son and daughter. A crummy house-cleaner and terrible at responding to emails in a timely fashion, Sarah chooses instead to focus on her fondness for chocolate and Abe Lincoln. She is working on her third novel while her fab agent pitches the first two to publishers.

Comments

  1. Your “false pregnancy” image is wonderfully resonant! I am making the rounds of my WIPs and asking each: “Are you a false book-pregnancy?” You may have saved me several years. Thanks!

    • Thanks for weighing in, Anna.

      And isn’t that the rub? We *think* these are all viable. At least I do! But yes, I will start asking that very question, mostly because it’s a wise one; also because it cracks me up. The question itself reminds me of that children’s book, “Are You My Mother?” How fitting!

      Happy writing to you. Thanks for the empathy!

  2. I am learning to write a novel by writing a novel, so I definitely fall into the snail category. But my latest version is the one. Every day day a new idea pops into my head, making the story, the characters, the plot truer in every way. I’d love to be speedier, but I have to say the process of becoming a writer has been a fascinating and wonderful experience.

    And if this book isn’t publishable, well, the second one is burning to get started.

    • Your comment is delicious, Jill. Thank you! It also inspires me. For those of us (me and perhaps you?) without an MFA, I really do believe writing a novel’s the best way to learn how to write a novel. Just like most other things … riding a bike, teaching high school English, staying married …

      And your enthusiasm is contagious. You’re right about the stories simmering under the surface. There’s nothing better when one pops into our heads.

      Thank you for reminding me of my enthusiasm instead of allowing me to focus on the slog.

      :)

  3. Sarah-

    I’m in a gestation period, too. A novel. Naturally. The other kind of gestation, let’s admit, would be unnatural.

    David Corbett will be pleased. (See his post yesterday.) My WIP started with an image: The top of a Ferris Wheel, where a girl tells a boy something that will happen to him in the coming year. She sees the future.

    Yep. Nice image. Like the Ferris Wheel, leading nowhere. It spun in my mind for years, but no plot arrived. I needed another way.

    What I did was determine the Big Question I wanted my story to answer for me. By looking inside myself, I found that question. As well as some secondary questions. One of which is kind of cosmic.

    Next, I thought about what could happen that would answer the Big Question. Also, why the girl and boy were on the Ferris Wheel to begin with. Plus, what would have to follow if she indeed has second sight.

    Then, the boy’s inner journey–his change–and his traveling companions. Who, in turn, have stories of their own. Plus, the antagonist. What does he want? And how does all of that lead back to the Big Question, the Cosmic Question and others?

    Questions. They’re the lanes painted on the highway. They show me the direction I’m going. The most helpful questions in creating plot events, I have found, are these: “How could this happen?” And, “Once it does, what will have to happen next?”

    It has taken a while for the plot pieces to come, but now I have an immortal arsonist, a girl notorious for foreseeing but who is also a fugitive wanted for murder, plus the boy who searches for her and for answers–to everything.

    Oh, and a burned witch’s angry descendent. A cult awaiting the end of the world. A militant underground of abused girls. A boy beset by extremely improbable occurrences. A Faustian taunt. And the answer to the Big Question.

    Thus, for this particular project it has been less helpful to try to think up plot, and more helpful to pose questions. Hope that’s useful.

    • This is a brilliant comment, Benjamin, and you are absolutely right about the big question that needs to be answered. Thank you so much for adding that reminder and insight.

      It is crucial!

      That’s a good thing to ask other WU’ers today: What’s the BQ? My first two had BQs. Maybe my third is still lacking. I’ll noodle on that. Maybe others can too!

      In fact, let’s do that. WU’ers: write the BQ 4 your WIP below.
      :)

      I am grateful for your presence here!

    • The Ferris wheel is like the wheel of fortune. The trick is to find your center and let it ride without holding on too tightly or fighting it.

  4. Thank you for this post Sarah.

    I’m in a similar spot, working on new stories while one is out on sub to publishers. I remember boasting at one point last march that I could have a new manuscript done by june. It must’ve been a false…(what’s the guy equivalent of pregnancy?) …a false guypregnancy-they’re super awful believe me.

    I worked on one story for over 3 years and ended up shelving it. My next attempt was better and landed me an agent. So it’s like kids, each new one turns out better than the last. (No, No, books aren’t like kids what am I saying?)

    ;)

    • Yes, Jim! (Though first of all, congrats on having a manuscript out on submission–isn’t it fun and terrible?) I have savored every bit of thoughtful and encouraging rejection I have received, but rejection’s still rejection! Where’s the submission epidural!?!

      I do think that we (ideally) get better as we go. We should get better … so much of writing a novel–and more than one novel–is about tenacity and the willingness to fail, learn and mature.

      That said, as the oldest kid in my family, I like to think that the firstborn is my parents’ finest work. (ha ha).

      Keep us all posted about your publishing adventure! Know that I am sending encouragement and hope your way!

  5. Hey, it’s fun getting a peek into the brain of Sarah Callender and I love the word “porcupette” and will definitely use it in a story. I find P, K, sounds funny. And that frilled shark–amazing!

    AJ Cronin’s Adventures in Two Worlds is a memoir of a country doctor. He had a patient who insisted she was pregnant and had all the symptoms except for the actual baby. At the end of 9 mo, she passed wind!

    I am primarily a short story writer; novels take agonizingly long to mature and that is why I work on multiple projects. I don’t know what I would accomplish if I focused solely on the novel but I’m going to give it a go in Nov. Finishing up a few shorts this month.

    Thank you for the peek and the porcupette. Porcupette. Porcupette. Yes, I like it very much indeed. If ever you are blue, all you have to do is think of a porcupette in a shoe.

    • Hi Vijaya,

      I agree 100% about the word (and the image) of porcupette. And more good news: porcupettes are born with hair rather than pokey spines–even more cuddly and far easier on mom.

      My brain is 80% fun and 25% scary and 10% addicted to chocolate. I hope you found yourself in the 80% or the 10%.

      And good for you for trying NaNoWriMo (I assume that’s what you are doing next month?) I am friends with Chris Baby, creator of NaNo, and he’s a lovely guy who, like us, finds writing very slow and very difficult, especially with a toddler and a full-time job. It’s good to know we are not alone.

      I’ll be so curious to hear how it goes for you! And will you please write about a porcupette in a shoe for those of us who are feeling blue? I love that.

      Thanks for your words, Vijaya. Have a great day.
      :)

  6. The problem with figurative language is that it restricts our thinking. A novel is not a baby and writing is not giving birth. Sometimes it can feel that way whereas other times it feels like you’re constipated and everything would feel so much better if you could just get your shit together. Maybe it’s because I’m a man I resist thinking of novel-writing as gestation and prefer comparing it to digestion. It’s not as pretty a metaphor but it’s as meaningful and by that I mean it’s not especially meaningful. Writing is its own thing. One day it’s easy and one day it’s not. No two novels are alike. I don’t simply mean the end process but the writing process. My first two novels came together with embarrassing ease, about a month a piece; the third took four years with a two year gap in the middle and then another gap after which I grafted in another 10,000 words. The fifth I scrapped after 10,000 words and began again from scratch. Again there was a long gap in the middle of that one.

    When I get an idea for a novel I never assume it’s going to go the same way as any of the others or be like any of the others because every one is different: what I want to write and what I need to write are two different things. My sixth and seventh books ended at the halfway point and by that I mean they were novellas; all that had to be said had been said and so I stopped. I’m not criticising your article because I’ve written similar. We all want to understand what kind of writer we are. Sure, we’d all like to be Proust but there was only ever one Proust. I love reading article about writers’ routines and writers’ rooms and wish I was a different writer to the one I am. Probably everyone does. Maybe Stephen King secretly wishes he was Proust.

    Just because you can write one novel doesn’t mean you can write two. And just because you’ve written two doesn’t mean you have a third in you (Larkin, for example). And just because you’ve written seven don’t think you understand how this writing malarkey works because I certainly don’t. There is no right way to write a novel. There is no best way to write a novel. The only thing I learned from that first novel was I had it in me to write a novel. That came as a surprise since I hadn’t even intended to write a novel having spent the previous twenty years thinking of myself as a poet.

    If I have learned one thing it’s that a book doesn’t need a plot but it must have a point. The point comes somewhere along the line. You don’t start off knowing that the point of your book is. Once you do, however, what you’re doing will start to make sense. Telling a story is not the point. That’s merely the means to making your point.

    • Hello Jim,

      I love your ideas here. And yes, I imagine the metaphor falls flat to more than a few folks. Speaking of falling, do you fall into a bit of a funk (or whatever you might call it) when you complete a novel or any other major writing project? I do. It’s weird, and if I wanted to irritate you, I might say it’s akin to postpartum depression. But I would never want to irritate you. :)

      Enough with the metaphors, Sarah!

      I like your idea that a story starts with a point. Did you read Benjamin Brinks; comment above? He says that a story starts with a big question. I think we can look at it either way, though one suggests we (the writers) have figured out the answer to the big question and the other suggests we are exploring the possibility of an answer. At least, that’s how I interpret it.

      Thanks for sharing this other truth: there is no single way to write a book and each book is different. I love that. It also makes me crazy. That’s what keeps us on our toes though! It keeps us growing. It keeps us from getting bored and complacent.

      I’m so glad you weighed in, Jim. And jeepers, I am impressed by your literary fertility!
      Happy day to you, sir.
      sarah

  7. Mmhm. I have not yet landed on a reliable process for story. There are great ideas out there, and they can help to some extent—and they clearly work well for others—but they don’t take this horse all the way to the water. I do think it’s partly about how long it takes to get to know a character. One might argue that the first draft could/should be about getting to know them, but I hate wasting time on exploration-via-full-draft and so I resist it. (But if I gave myself over to it, I would potentially waste much less time!)

    I also think it depends on the type of story you write. I had an interesting experience while writing my first novel, which began as something close to romantic suspense in the early 2000s. When I decided to write it a second time as women’s fiction, focusing on a long arc of character growth for this one woman, I suddenly felt I didn’t know the protagonist well enough to do the story justice. And it was essentially the same story and essentially the same protagonist, but I needed to go deeper to make the story ring true for the market. All of that digging takes time, and effort. And sometimes we dig ourselves straight into an errant minefield, and have to work to find fair ground again, and it is hard work.

    All this to say, I feel you, fellow snail. And I can’t wait to read this story, whether it’s about Desdemona or Sylvia, or even valevictorious porcupettes.

    • Hello friend!

      Every word of this resonates … I, like you, resist anything that seems to be a time-waster or a process-slower. And probably my resistance results in time wasted and a slower process. Or maybe it’s not wasted time? Maybe it’s practice? I agree completely that writing a full first draft for the sake of exploration seems inefficient … yet somehow, I end up writing thousands of pages of exploration and that’s a good use of time? Sheesh. Maybe I am stubborn and need to follow some advice from Dr. Phil that he shared years (maybe decades) ago: “Oh yeah? How’s that workin’ out for ya?” In other words, we do the same thing over and over and then are surprised and frustrated with the result is no different. Sigh. We are all Works in Progress!

      I loved your example from The Last Will … and how it surprised you that in fact, you needed to learn even more about Maeve before you could write her story. I loved her story. You nailed it.

      Happy writing and digging, Therese!
      :)

  8. I found great comfort in your post today, Sarah. I, too, have taken a long long time to write my first novel (a prequel to the first three, so of course, in the wrong order!) This is my learning curve. My multiple thousands of hours trying to internalize the gazillion facets of writing fiction (as many as the teeth of a frilled shark!!) I’ve had one plot-intervention (as in after 600 pp. I was told I didn’t have one), the realization that I wasn’t really sure what a plot was, then the devastating shock of being told that plot and story were two different things. But the story was in there, kicking and keeping me up nights. I truly love the pregnancy metaphor. When there’s a viable life inside you, waiting to come out, you don’t have the luxury of bailing. You labor. You pant. You push. Thanks for this!

    • I loved your comment, Susan. It made me laugh out loud … the plot intervention. Isn’t it so humbling?!? This entire process teaches (forces me to learn) humility, patience, trust, and diligence.

      And how to keep a gazillion plot elements in my head at once? Impossible.

      I so admire you for your tenacity, and your ability to hold four novels in your head. It’s a rather magical process.

      Keep going, my friend! Let me know if you stumble across an epidural. ;)

  9. Sarah, I read this with a smile on my face the entire time. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe it’s because I’m about three years into my first novel and have spent the last several months putting the finishing touches on it. I’ve tried to rush this process, but it just hasn’t worked. Even when I found the time to write (between a day job and freelance work) on the evenings when I insisted on pushing, I’d end up staring blankly at my screen. Not fun.

    I am not officially in the plotter camp and spend a lot of time thinking about characters and story before outlining. I believe my second novel will be completed at a faster pace. Then again, who knows what’s gestating inside there. It could be another frilled shark. ;-)

    P.S. I loved all of your story concepts.

    • Oh, thank you for the thoughtful words, Grace. You have a complete manuscript! Including the finishing touches! Amazing. Make sure you make time to appreciate and celebrate the accomplishment. And now, you can no longer say, “I’ve always wanted to write a novel! You see, I have this idea …”

      Good work, lady!

      And as other WU-ers have commented, every book is different. Some are possums and some are frilled sharks (though those creatures are both so unattractive). As my kids’ preschool teacher would say, “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” It’s a good reminder.

      I am sure you will keep us posted on the phases of your writing life … do you have an agent? Will you be querying? Or, are you going a different route?

      Regardless, celebrate!
      :)

  10. I took comfort in your comments about gestation and birthing. I was just this AM brooding about how I am only 2/3 done with my mystery novel and I started almost 2 years ago.

    I planned a mystery (my first foray into fiction after writing 3 memoirs) to take place in the Aleutian Islands (where I worked for 7 summers). Almost right away, I stumbled across a little known tragedy from WW II and decided that it would be the key to solving the mystery. Lots and lots of research just about swamped me (or acted as an excuse not to write), but I’ve got plot strands galore. Maybe too many. Working on characterization. Too many passive observers to the huge historical events. Not enough individual action. Will report back…
    Thanks for reminding us that a good novel takes time and that the time is well worth it!

    • Wow, Margaret. I love the story seeds you have sprouting already! I am curious … my two writing partners both write memoir (they each have one traditionally published one, and one on the way, arriving fall 2018). Do you find fiction very different from memoir? More challenging? Surprisingly similar? I’d be curious to hear your thoughts.

      And yes, research. Just yesterday I was researching the Antarctic Treaty, and I get so excited about how and where to include these details. It can be such a time suck, but it’s also so important. Sometimes I have to force myself from The Google searches because I know I am procrastinating and avoiding the harder work of actually writing.

      I imagine with memoir, you had to do very little research. Are you enjoying the research involved in writing your novel?

      I admire you for your prolificness!
      Happy writing to you, Margaret.

  11. I found this post both hilarious and comforting. I have spent months, years, struggling with the various iterations of a concept, and I always feel as if the world is charging ahead while I am mulling over my newest attempt for endless hours. The process never seems to get more efficient, no matter how many times I tackle it. Perhaps for some writers that’s just the way it is. Onward for us snails and sloths, and thanks for the encouragement, Sarah!

    • Absolutely, SK.

      As I’ve gotten older, I have really come to value the power of empathy. And while almost every craft book I have read has value, I get discouraged that the authors make it sound so easy. Like, voila! Just do XYZ and don’t forget ABC, and there you have it!

      What they say makes perfect sense when I read it, but transferring the idea into reality is so hard for me. That said, I’ve never heard anyone say that writing a novel is easy. Some may come quickly, some may seem to arrive with a list of operating instructions, but easy? I have never heard anyone say that.

      So here we are, doing this hard work together!
      :)

  12. Hi, Sarah:

    As someone who has suffered professionally for being too slow — in the crime genre, one book a year is not just expected but demanded, more if possible — I agree that the book comes when it comes and as it comes, but it’s not a risk-free strategy. Deadlines do tend to focus the mind, but that doesn’t mean they improve the end product.

    I worked with editor Tom Jenks who told us: “If you’re going to go to all the trouble to write a novel, why not try to write a masterpiece.” This absolutely froze Andrew Greer, who could only succeed when he put that seemingly impossible challenge behind him. I took it to heart. Andy’s an international bestseller. I am not.

    My agent, who represented only one crime writer — me — also, given her literary instincts, believed books appeared when they were ready. My editor at RH said he wasn’t sure, despite her total belief in my talent, that she served my interests as well as she might.

    But your process is your process, and it may well be that writing faster is like trying to be taller. Or maybe that’s just an excuse.

    Aren’t you glad I have all the answers?

    Wonderful, candid, thought-provoking post. Thank you.

    • First things first. If you had all the answers I wouldn’t want to spend any time with you, not even online time. So there.

      And it seems to me like you have the most important answers of all: Writing is difficult. We are all different in how (and how fast) we assemble a book. It’s never healthy to compare ourselves to others.

      Thank YOU for your candid response.

      In writing this post, I did a bit of research (obviously animal research) but also a bit of research on this question: Can we speed up the creative process?

      I have never felt like it was possible to speed up, but I, like you, wondered if that was a cop-out. In fact, there are articles stating that, yes, the creative process can be hurried along, usually with added discipline and goal-setting. I didn’t much like those articles. Then I read one about the guys at Pixar who wholeheartedly believe in the importance of failure as part of the road to success. Their mantra (paraphrased)? Fail and make mistakes, but do it quickly.

      I loved that.

      This part of your comment struck me: Deadlines do tend to focus the mind, but that doesn’t mean they improve the end product.

      And maybe that’s the kicker. Perhaps we can hurry the creative process, but at what cost? If you can figure that out, that’d be great.

      I hope you have not been affected by the fires. I grew up in Orinda, right next to Berkeley, and several of my high school friends have lost their homes. Terrible to imagine.

      On that note!
      I’m so glad you are here, David.

  13. Oh, Sarah, you’re such a comfort with your humor and candor. I write at the speed of a glacier (I didn’t make that up, but wish I had. I stole it from someone else whose name I have forgotten.) So writing glacially, changing POV several times, switching tense from past to present and back to past, researching ad infinitum, and finding the exactly correct/right/accurate word has produced 20 years of my novel in the oven. Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but my baby has taught me everything I know about birthin’ novels. However, my friends and family have given up asking me when the baby is due. That’s because my answer to them was (in my best suave Ricardo Montalban voice): “I will sell no wine before it’s time.”

    Thank you, Sarah. Hopefully one day we’ll hoist our glasses over the birth of our babies.

    • I would love to hoist glasses with you, Lorraine! And I love that you “write glacially.” That’s brilliant.

      Regarding the various iterations of your WIP made me think about my own … and gadzooks! How many times I have changed tense and POV in my own drafts? Too many to count. It IS embarrassing, but once we admit it to others, then we see we’re in such good company and things get a lot less embarrassing. Yes?

      Twenty years. Good for you, woman!

  14. I can’t stop laughing at “valevictorian.” (The rest was good, too, but that’s hilarious.)

    • I know! It totally cracks me up … I just informed him that people were enjoying the story (he had approved it before I posted) and he said, “Well, tell them I wasn’t the only one. There were 13 Valevictorians in my graduating class.”

      Sounds like an overabundance of Victorians to me!

      Sigh. Thanks for the cute note, Anne.

  15. Loved this post, Sarah. I have been writing professionally for many years beginning with magazine journalism. Turning to books at the turn of the century, I’ve found that my pace has definitely slowed down. I can’t imagine writing two or three books a year!

    • I know, Dianne! (And I love your use of “turn of the century” … it makes you sound at least 103 years old.) :) It’s hard to imagine writing two or three books a decade! We all have our gifts. Mine is not speed.

      :)

      1

  16. Thank you so much for writing this article! I have been trying to plot my debut novel, a historical mystery. Like you, I changed the plot so many times. Then I realized the major problem was that my story was at least 2, possibly 3 or more stories. No wonder I was so lost! I changed the POV as well. I have been brainstorming this novel for 3 years so far. So many times I wondered if I was a fraud calling myself a writer. What was wrong with me? Was I just too inexperienced? I’ve had some college and writing classes, but no degree. I doubted whether or not I could really do this. I am still obsessed with this story and the characters. I am happy to hear that this is normal and I can really do this.

    • Dear Rebecca,

      Maybe it’s because I do not have the experience of an MFA or anything fancier than a few local fiction-writing classes, but my opinion? The best way to learn to write is to write. And study craft. And be willing to receive helpful (as opposed to hurtful) feedback. It has taken me more than ten years to feel OK calling myself a writer. My husband loves to garden; he’s a gardener. My friend, Erika, cycles in local races; she’s a cyclist; I knit really simple things; I am a knitter. Also a nitwit. You write fiction; you are a writer.

      Now that we have established that fact, I’ll say this: you are totally normal. I don’t know any other writer who hasn’t felt exactly like you do. In fact, a wise writer (whose name I cannot remember) said that you know you’re a “real” writer when you feel, pretty much all the time, like an impostor.

      So? Happy writing, writer!

  17. Sarah, I am a slow fiction writer, and even with that careful plodding (if not plotting), I’ve birthed a couple of fictional frilled sharks rather than compelling button-eyed babies. It is peculiar what weird bursts—the perfect sentence!—and retreats—today I will eat a half-gallon of ice cream, and do nothing—happen with writing projects.

    I worked on and off (and often the “offs” were extended) on a novel for 7 years, and after slapping it awake again this year, decided I’ll indeed self-publish it, because it looks good in shorts and slip-ons.

    We are all so very different with our pacing and our progress. But I think your “good is better than fast” is a fine mantra, and not sharky (or snarky) at all.

    • Did you ever see that Oprah show when she announced that no woman over the age of … some age … should EVER wear shorts? Yeah. I knew you had seen that episode. The good news? A Tom Bentley novel looks great in anything! Just avoid shorts and boots, especially UGGS.

      Please self publish your novel. Or traditionally publish it. Just publish it. Sure it needed to be slapped awake, but you’d never attempt to resuscitate a novel that was crummy. Just as you’d never wear shorts after age 33.

      Happy day, my virtual friend!

  18. Hi Sarah, thank you for sharing your struggles so candidly. I think it’s safe to say your struggle is universal to most writers and it’s great to voice this so it can be heard over the barrage of success stories and how-to formulas that make us feel like failures.

    One thing I appreciate about your metaphor of child birth beyond what you covered: not only does gestation take a long time, but birth is inevitable and messy and our baby is coming into the world whether we are ready or not. Like you, I’m about 4.5 years into gestating my book and it’s gone through many drafts (which all started with simple statements much like yours, just a starting point for the digging). Now I have a publication date looming and I’m under intensive editing direction and expect several drafts before it’s ready. I’m losing my mind doing everything I can to invest everything I have because even then, there’s still *more* I can do. Like a mother, I want to be sure my child doesn’t just make it safely into the world, but is strong, will grow up to be amazing and live on long after I’m gone.

    That’s a tough order. No wonder we take so long.

    All being said, what’s the rush? I much prefer the wisdom of Treebeard, and as far as I’m concerned, when I’m sitting in my writing chair for my daily 2 hours, before the sun has risen, I’m having an Entmoot. There’s no point in saying something unless it takes a long time to say it, as the quote goes. You’re so right about needing time to discover our characters, spend time with them, and in the process, discover deeper levels of conflict, plot and subplot, setting details, voice. We are archaeologists when we go in and write stories, and as any archeologist will know, the layers only go deeper, and the truth that unfolds is richer and more beautiful.

    Today I’m sending you all my happy energy — here’s to you and all of us who are lovingly gestating, and who will give birth to great stories that endure.

    • I loved this, John. Thank you! When I was in labor with my first, I decided, pre-epidural, that I “didn’t want to do this anymore.” I was in such pain that part of me really thought I could just call it a day, and check out of the hospital and forget this whole pregnancy thing had ever happened. Ha! Does a publishing date remind us that the baby is coming out, and there’s only so much control we have? Maybe so. Thanks for that reminder.

      Your comment about anxiety and wanting to do as much as we can before the birth also resonated. I think it’s a matter of trust. As book parents, we can do what we can do. At some point, we have to trust that we don’t and can’t control everything … so much easier said than done!

      I know you’ve had many adventures on this road-to-publication. I’m so excited for you!
      Happy early morning writing to you, mi amigo.

  19. Great post, Sarah. As usual.

    The truth: my process for my last idea going from “glimmery what if” to “holy crap I’m actually outlining and I never outline” was SIGNIFICANTLY accelerated by Lisa Cron’s Story Genius this summer. I know it has saved me an entire draft where I would have “discovered” all of the pertinent backstory information (eventually) and it has given me crystal clear direction for where I want to take this story.

    I highly recommend it for shortening gestation.

    • Yes! I’m so glad you brought this up … Lisa’s book has also changed my writing life! Her words and ideas about the importance of backstory are probably the most helpful I have ever received. So practical and wise. I only wish I had discovered it (or that she had written it) a few years earlier. But maybe I found it and read it at the right time for me … so easy to be overwhelmed by tall of the craft books. Hers, however, is unique.

      I’m so glad you feel the same!
      Happy plotting. :)

  20. Thanks, Sarah, for such a refreshing post. I always thought of the time I took to mull over different plotlines and getting to know my characters as a “gestation” period. Never fast or easy for me (so I guess I’m a snail). It’s easy to compare ourselves to other writers and come up short. With age, I learned to be more patient with my own process. The book I am most pleased with is a paranormal that took me three years. After finishing a first draft, I was inspired with new ideas to incorporate in the story, and it all worked out in the end.

    Sometimes I think of Gone with the Wind, a novel that I read at least three times, and that it took Margaret Mitchell a full 10 years. Does it matter? I’d rather write something I’m completely satisfied with than to speed things up and write poorly.

    Great topic!

    • Hi Thelma. Yes, isn’t it wonderful to get to the age where it’s easier to accept where (and who) we are? Can you imagine the fiction glut if we were all cheetahs? We’d drown in fiction.

      And thanks for the reminder about Gone with the Wind! It’s always so comforting when we know that others, especially successful others, have walked a mile (or a decade) in our shoes.

      Thank you for taking the time to comment, Thelma!
      Happy day to you.
      :)

  21. I gave birth to a first novel first draft with so many problems, I put it aside to draft a new story. And two months in, I’m still planning. Some characters have been dropped, I’m thinking the progtagonist has changed. The story is morphing. I hope to have a frame work I’m comfortable with to make a push during NaNoWriMo. I’ve definitely felt the steep learning curve but I’m picking up steam. Hope so.

  22. Very cheering to a sloth-paced writer like myself! I’ve just finished the last proof-read for my novel that I’ve been working on for several years (handwriting the 160,000-word first draft may have had something to do with this).
    On the one hand, it’s depressing how long it’s taken. On the other hand, I’m so glad I didn’t try to force it, because what’s come out is much richer for having stewed so long.
    Still, I’m hoping the next one will be much faster – after all, I’ve learned so much since I started this one!

  23. Really enjoyed your post, Sarah. And thank you for the frilled shark. I’d never seen a photo of one before and I love it. What a wonderful world we live in!

    I’m only half way through my most recent mystery novel after 2 years. Lots of excuses, or should I say distractions — everything from a spouse’s heart attack to wildfire evacuation to politics — but “no plot” isn’t one of them. I guess that’s why I love murder mysteries: the plot is already built in, more or less. However, the characters are still evolving as I get to know them better, so I seek comfort by telling myself that the novel will be better for it in the end.

    Best of luck with yours!

  24. Fabulous post, Sarah! In many ways, you’ve captured my own journey; although I have clocked many more years than you in birthing the current WIP. So, I won’t race you to the finish line, but I’ll be delighted to meet you on the other side when our stories allow.

    Often when I start to beat myself up over how snail-long it’s taking me to get to the next level of the writing process, I think of Somerset Maugham. Malcolm Cowley asked, as many did, “Why did he write one book that was full of candor and human warmth? Why did he never climb back to the same level?”

    Maugham’s response— “Because I’ve only lived one life. It took me thirty years of living to possess the material for that one work.”

    And with that nugget of wisdom, I’m always happy to get back to the page.

    Happy writing!

  25. Great Post, Sarah, but I win the SNAIL Award, having not even read your post until this morning. My apologies. If you do see this, I loved every word, and the David Whyte too, and your husband’s desire. We all have them. Writers are full of desire and yet sometimes that seed does take a very long time to grow. I’ve been working on this novel for over ten years. It was totally written and read by friends early on. Now it is totally changed and not read by anyone (well almost) I have shared some with two people. The gestation has taught me how to write a novel. Reading Writer Unboxed helps also. I admire anyone that can birth a baby in a taxi. But as a former L&D RN, it might be better to make it to the hospital. So my novel has been ensconced in a labor room for a few years. No pitocin yet, but lots of love and true labor. THANKS.

  26. I needed this post today! I’m not the fastest at producing novels myself, and I feel guilty for it, because it’s not like I’m writing capital-L Literature. My writing tends to be more of the fun, beach-read kind, but even fun, seemingly-effortless books take time to put together.

    Thank you again for this post!

  27. This really resonated with me, especially the part about a plotless story. I’m meandering my way into original novel writing via fanfiction, a genre in which you can write a literal 600,000 word serial opus and have followers that love the slow burn nature of your story. Novel writing is a different beast and I learned that the hard way when I tried to take one of my monster fics and originalize it.

    Yeah. Not possible. At least, it wasn’t possible to simply change names and have an original story (even with an alternate universe setting that doesn’t relate much to the fandom’s canon). I started the fic over two years ago and am just now getting a grip on how to re-envision is as an original, novel-length story (with a more appropriately-paced plot, even!).

    But it’s so easy too compare my progress to others who seem to write a whole lot more quickly, and it’s nice to hear I’m not alone on being a tad slow while finding my footing. In the end, I don’t expect my final original product to look much like its fanfic predecessor, which is probably a good thing. It’s amusing to think of how much longer it’s taking to write something so much shorter in length, but your gestational model makes sense in that respect. Left plotless (or largely serial), it’s taken me time to develop something that moves with purpose.

    Thanks for this awesome post.

 

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