Noveling isn’t linear, and I see mine as being in no way similar to anybody else’s. I’m not saying it’s better or worse. It just coincidentally works for me. It’s messy and maddening and unpredictable and sometimes ridiculous. But it’s the only way that I’ve been able to find of getting the stuff in my head onto paper.
It starts with a vague idea. Sometimes it’s a momentary vignette, a “what if,” or a long-winded character who refuses to be quiet. These occur to me at the worst possible times—during television time, reading a lyric in a song, or lying awake at 2 a.m. because my mind refuses to shut down. I don’t sit on ideas forever. If they take, I start sorting them out as soon as possible. If not, they sit on a shelf. I’ve got a drawer (or a file on my computer lol) full of half-finished outlines, scenes, and initial pitches rotting to either perish or come back in the future.
My outlining is a general guide, not a master plan. I do need structure, especially on thrillers, but not to be rigid. I’ll write out major turning points, character arc, and the ending, but everything else is free for the taking. Characters evolve. Subplots appear. The story takes off in ways I never intended. I’ve never had a finished book match the original outline.
The first draft is all energy. I write fast and do not stop to tidy up. That’s the work afterwards. I try to get 1,000 to 2,000 words in a session, but sometimes it’s more and sometimes much less. Sometimes all I can do is a line or a scene that has its feet firmly planted on the ground. The process is to just keep writing whatever rubbish you’re producing. It usually is most of it.
Once I’ve completed that initial draft, I set it aside. When I come back to it, work begins. I rewrite extensively. I fix pacing, flesh out characters, and try to make the plot function. My characters come out in the drafting process, so I typically have to revise and maintain consistency with them. That means switching around names, timelines, places, and whatever else buckled under stress.
Then the editing. I become nasty at this stage. I remove scenes that are not vital to the story. I refine dialogue. I remove anything that is dragging pace down. I aim for clean, crisp, readable writing that tightens tension from page one to the end.
After I’ve done the best I can for myself, I submit. A handful of beta readers and my editor work over the draft, and they inform me where I’m doing it right and where I’m doing it wrong. Some of them are painful. Some I disregard. I don’t want to write a committee book. Some things I leave well enough alone because they are personal. But much of what they catch does help the story.
When I’ve done all of those last-minute revisions, the book is one last time proofread after stepping away from it for a short break. And then it’s just formatting, cover design, and preparing it to be published. I start posting bits of it online, revealing people behind the scenes, and trying to make some noise before publishing.
This is life. Writing is not a jolly spree. There are days I love it. There are days that I’d like to up sticks and never touch a keyboard again. But I write because I have to. These books won’t let me be. I write for myself. Whether people read the books or not, I’ll continue to write them.
If you ever believed that the moment had arrived to sit down and write a novel, just sit down and do it. It will not be pretty. It will likely not be what you had in mind. But it’s the only way to have it done.
