My editor started earlier this month. After almost three years. I can barely believe it. And with the end in sight, I’ve hit pause for a few weeks and it has allowed me to reflect on the journey. It started with a heavy dose of naiveté that seemed to be warranted when I finished the first draft in six months! “Heck, I’ll be done in a year!” I uttered sincerely, with no understanding of the bumpy road ahead. So how did one-year become three? And the most terrifying question of all. Was three years enough time to completely finish my novel? 

A novel is like Rome. Neither was built in a day but layer upon layer, over long stretches of time. The first draft more resembles a hovel while you strive for the Domus Augustana in the final one, but the day when you can put down the hammer and nails, always seems in sight, before the building inspector arrives and finds things that you missed, crafted poorly or, flat out, did wrong.  This played out for me many times and three years later, am still nervous about calling the novel ‘finished.’ 

The first year was all about getting the major pieces right. But even a ‘plotter’ like me has to don his pants and fly by the seat of them from time to time, to let the story run away and gain some independence. For me, the second draft proved to be the perfect place to do this. With the pressure of finishing a ‘complete’ manuscript over, I could relax a bit and write with more abandon. Like a great flood, the second layer washed over the first one and covered it with fresh creative sediment. New ideas, twists and spontaneously generated characters swept over the old mud-brick plot and built upon the structure of the old village. It was the most fun part of the whole process. Like a toddler playing on the beach, you get to dump a bucket of water through the sand castles, laughing and giggling, and marveling at what remains when the water carves through.  

But then…  

The glee is stifled by a sobering reality – no one will buy a muddy castle and washed out moat, even if the new causeway that now runs through the town center resembles an elegant boulevard, and the small lake nestled outside the battlements would be the perfect place to build the summer palace. And so, the hard work begins to take stock and build it up again but not before fear and panic take over. Where do I go from here? Where shall I start? Should I wipe it all smooth and start over again? The best advice I gave myself was to simply write and fail… early. 

Fail Early.

‘Fail early’ is an adage commonly used in the corporate world.  It means, if something wasn’t meant to be, you will find out over time, but time is the enemy that robs the business of opportunity, so act with urgency and if you’re destined to fail, do it fast, so you can quickly try something different in the hopes of a better outcome. Writing is the same. Spending too much time, only to write something dreadful, can play on one’s resolve and undermine that reliable stream of passion required to finish it. Nothing saps your energy like pouring your heart and soul over months on end, only to find a consensus of undeniable negative feedback at the end. So instead, fail early. But how? 

Run Sprints.

 Failing early means to write your book less like a marathon, but rather, in a series of sprints. My soon to be release novel, The 13th Vote, borrows from my work in the IT industry. Within it, there is a concept that guides the building of applications called ‘Agile’ software development. Simply put, instead of trying to write a huge monolithic application from start to finish, choose specific feature sets that you can complete, test and approve as ready and incorporate them together in the final product. Using an Agile methodology in writing has allowed me to identify a specific area that I need to nail down and so, I can put my entire attention on it. It could be things like – I will thoroughly research the finer points of the craft and write this next bit with sound style and structure, or delve into key questions like – how do other authors approach dialogue so I can write naturally sounding scenes, or even – how can I nail scene building in this next go around? Or, it could simply be – I want to write a scene that I have had in my head for so long, even though I am not even there yet,  or – I need to hone my craft on character introduction so readers instantly identify with them. As a new author, it was important for me to isolate my weakest elements and – practice, fail, practice fail… and so on, at the start. As I became stronger, the rest of the novel did too. I failed many times early, so I had less editing to do later. Goal setting and feedback acquisition is an integral part of writing at this early stage. The more negative feedback I received here, the better I could retool and run that next sprint with more wind at my back. And so, my editing experience became much more enjoyable as I applied what I learned each subsequent draft. There’s nothing worse than trying to edit without a goal and some construct of what constitutes good writing. 

Edit, Edit and Edit more !

I’ve lost count of how many top to bottom edits I have done in what amounts to just over 250 pages of single spaced MS Word. But I know this, if I would’ve known in advance, I wouldn’t have started the journey. I’d estimate at least 10 times, maybe 15 if I include spelling/grammar sweeps. And what’s more frustrating is to truly know, whether or not it is enough. Even feedback from your Beta readers can be an unreliable guide and potentially misleading, particularly if you have few, and among them are those that would never my novel in the first place. Think about it, have you ever picked up a commercially popular novel or widely accepted literary masterpiece, read a few pages, only to throw it down in distaste? I am certain you have. So why internalize feedback from such a source? The idea is to ignore it and work like hell to find Beta readers that already are readers and like your genre and style. Alas, easier said than done. I have little to comment on this matter as I have failed miserably here. I invite those of you who have found the secret to reveal it in the comments. 

So let’s put it all together shall we? Who in their right mind would set out on a trip: 

1. Not knowing how long I will take to get to your destination; 
2. Uncertain of what path you will take; 
3. With whatever constitutes success ambiguous at best; 
4. Soliciting advice from people that may have no interest in seeing you arrive safely; 
5. Uncertain as to if anyone will meet you at the end? 
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Foolish right? But that’s just it. Writers are fools. Like the entrepreneur who creates a business solely for the passion or the inventor who forges ahead with an idea and a prayer, a writer has a screw loose. How else can you explain it? Writing a novel is a fool’s errand when taken as a whole. So don’t. Take it step by step, as a series of layers and sprints, with the confidence that only fools possess, with failure as your teacher and humility as your strongest virtue. You’ll be fine. In time. 

Cheers! 

BG ​