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The Time It Costs to Write

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The most common question I’m asked about my books is, “How long did it take you to write them?”

The second most common question: “What is your writing routine like?”

I usually hesitate to answer either of these questions because I suspect they’re another way for a writer to compare him or herself to others, which is never helpful. Sure, there are probably tips and insights to be gleaned from learning that it took me nearly seven years and countless revisions and rewrites to finish my first book, or that I often go months without writing at all, and then spend months writing daily…

But that’s just me.

And I know that really, at the heart of this question is an unspoken plea for the answer we all seek: how do you find the time? On the flip side of that plea is a guilt and almost-shame of not having (or making) the same amount of time as other (perceived) successful writers.

Sometimes people gasp in surprise. Sometimes they seem to sigh in relief that the second novel took less time than the first. Some just stare wide-eyed and say wow. A few times, I’ve had people suggest that surely this means the next one will take less time. Perhaps they imagine our craft is like that of a swimmer’s, in pursuit of a faster time.

It happens with enough frequency that I’ve begun to wonder, why this question? Not, what is your book about? Or, what is it called? But, how much time did it take?

Which, if you think about it, is actually how much time did it cost?

This is not so much about time being money as it is about time being all we have. Writers are always seeking it out, longing for more of it, waiting for a window of its uninterrupted bliss to present itself, or chasing it in tiny bits, catching whatever we can of it, in hopes of making what we can with it.

We get the same advice drilled into us from countless writers: make time to write every day.

We seek out accountability partners to keep us on track.

We apply for residencies to get away from the pressures of daily life, stealing time from our jobs and families in order to spend it with our stories.

When we can’t do that, we wake early or go to bed late. We are not miracle workers. We cannot make more time. We simply have to use it for one thing instead of another.

We (wrongfully) equate long stretches of time with quality while things that came to be quickly are assumed to be lacking in thoughtfulness and thoroughness.

Time to write, then, is not only currency but a luxury and a privilege. It is more easily attainable to some than others. Consider the mom who only has time if she books a hotel for a week to finish a draft, having both the financial means and child care support to do so. The adjunct professor who struggles to pay the bills but has the flexibility in his schedule to accept a fully-funded fellowship for a summer writing residency. The writer whose multiple jobs provide health insurance and a roof, but barely an hour of rest between shifts. The MFA student who is carving out two years dedicated entirely to their craft, and accumulating student loans in the meantime. The writer on food stamps whose main access to books and the internet is the library.

We make it work somehow. We have something different to say because of it. We forget that time is not just a ticking clock but a life constantly filling with experience that we bring, like gifts and offerings, to the page.

So this month, whether you’re dashing towards the NaNoWriMo finish line or taking weeks to craft one paragraph just like so, relish it. Relish the words, the story, the process. Be kind to yourself and your fellow writers. It costs so much to write, and for each of us it costs something different, but we keep doing it because we are proven, time and again, that it is worth it.

Question for you all: what’s the longest amount of time it took you write something? The shortest? 

About Natalia Sylvester

Born in Lima, Peru, Natalia Sylvester came to the U.S. at age four. A former magazine editor, Natalia now works as a freelance writer in Austin, Texas and is a faculty member of the low-res MFA program at Regis University. Her articles have appeared in Latina Magazine, Writer’s Digest, The Writer, and NBCLatino.com. She is the author of Chasing the Sun, named the Best Debut Book of 2014 by Latinidad and chosen as a Book of the Month by the National Latino Book Club. Her second novel, Everyone Knows You Go Home, is forthcoming from Little A in 2018.

Comments

  1. The longest is five years–and to be honest, it took that long because I waited for inspiration a lot of times, which didn’t come, so no writing happened. Or I eeked out a couple hundred words on the weekend. Then I revised the story twenty times.

    My most recent one was three months, and I hope to improve on that. One of the keys is not to write sloppy because this just leaves work for later–and sometimes work that causes more work. That’s why I revised the five year one twenty times.

  2. I loved your essay. One thing I’ve always been aware of is time marching on with no concern about whether lovers having only hours before parting or being lost in music that is so heavenly, you think time has stopped, only to discover that time marched on, and you missed the bus, or the test, or …. I tell my kids that of all the things they have–money, possessions, friendships–time is the great equalizer. To not squander it. Because time lost is lost forever. And of course, I have to tell this to myself too. I’m always telling my kids things I want to remember :)

    I have a little novelty book TEN EASTER EGGS with fewer than 100 words and it took 10 years and dozens of iterations before it was just right and picked up for publication. We joke that I wrote a couplet every other year or so. But just recently, I wrote a story of 150 words in the space of a few minutes. What I did is pull the heart out of a story I wrote 15 yrs ago and Wow! It was accepted that same day.

  3. I once wrote a novel in ten weeks. It was short. It was also not very good. It got published, which in the great scheme of things I do not believe was entirely beneficial for the world, forests or me.

    Nowadays I don’t think or writing in terms of time. I am law abiding, and my writing breaks all kinds of minimum wage standards. Better not to think about it.

    The way I measure cost nowadays is in satisfaction. A project that challenges me, and from which I learn, is well worth it. Other projects are frustrating. That’s usually because I haven’t started with a strong enough purpose. Those projects cost.

    I do not pay to write, not in hours. Writing pays me, by making me ever more whole.

  4. Thank you for this post Natalia.

    I spent four years working on a manuscript before shelving it, but I don’t consider that time wasted. I learn more when I fall on my face than when I walk a tight rope the first time.

    • Absolutely! I also spent three-four years writing my first novel, which never sold. But it helped me write the first one that got published. Worth every second spent on it. And one day…maybe when enough time has passed and I’ve become the writer ready to write that story, I’ll go back to it.

  5. My latest novel has so far taken me about two years, and it’s only at 57,000 words. In the past, I’ve been able to complete a novel in about a year. (I’ve got four out in my mystery series.) I’ve gone months at a time in the past two years without writing at all, but I keep trying to find my writing mojo again.

    It seems that other things in my life are more important right now, even if they aren’t all productive or financially rewarding things. Or maybe I’m just lazy. ;->

    Good post, Natalia. And it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who steps away from a manuscript now and then.

    Ruth

  6. Thanks for the thoughtful essay. Time is indeed our most precious resource, and I think most writers struggle with letting their craft consume so much of it when the financial rewards may not be forthcoming.

    The longest – and the shortest – time it took me to write a novel is 3 years, which always involves at least three drafts (must be something about the number 3).

    I’m with Benjamin about measuring the cost in satisfaction. I’d rather write LESS and find more satisfaction in what I’ve done than to be more prolific and produce something I’m not happy with.

    I have come to the conclusion that non-writers will never understand why our writing is so time-consuming, or why we’re so consumed by it.

  7. If you count my first NaNoWriMo effort, 30 days. I tend not to count my first NaNoWriMo effort, as it was a dead end and will not be revisited. In terms of what I think are drafts ready to be shopped to agents (or, now, editors), I tend to operate on a year to a year-and-a-half. I was a little disturbed to recently to realize that the project I’m revising for my agent yet again was started just a hair over two years ago. But, it takes as long as it takes.

  8. 12 years and counting! It’s done, but needs revision. I do think once I get past this one the other ones will go faster. Not lightning fast, but not 12 years either. I don’t have enough years left of life to spend 12 years on each book because there are at least a dozen I want to write. LOL!

  9. I’ve definitely noticed my time to finish a novel has gone down. First one was two years, then about a year and a half, then eight months, then (the one I got an agent with) was about six. Three more at about six months apiece, but that’s from initial draft to completed edits.

    The thing I really credit the most, honestly, is fanfiction. I started writing Sherlock fanfic because I love the characters, but about a year in I realized I’d written ~500K words in just over a year. And my writing improved TREMENDOUSLY. I’m much better now about being able to estimate how much plot I’ll fit in a 70K book, and can plan that before I start so I’m a lot more efficient at not having to delete whole chapters.

    The other thing I think gets lost is, not all time is created equal. If it takes you ~15 minutes to get into the right creative frame of mind, eight 30-minute chunks a day would only yield you two hours of useful writing time. If you can make that two two-hour chunks, then suddenly you have three and a half hours. I can’t do more than about two hours at a go, but blocking out the time (and sticking to it) helps a LOT.

  10. Natalia, I tweeted about this post already (shortly after you posted it) and now I’m rereading it and sharing lines from it with other writer-friends. There’s just so much wisdom here. Thank you.

 

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