Last weekend I had a breakthrough. My current work in progress had spent several weeks practically stalled. I knew there was something wrong with it (for the sake of honesty, this was my fourth foray into the first draft - about 50,000 words long) and I’d finally reached the conclusion that there was no point continuing until I’d figured out exactly what it was that was wrong and, ideally, how to fix it.
(If you’re in need of a similar lightning bolt of inspiration, mine struck during the squat track of my Saturday morning Body Pump class - if you’re not familiar, this is the most mind-numbingly boring of the entire 55 minute class because it’s literally just squat after squat, occasionally changing the tempo, for five minutes. Turns out these are the perfect conditions for emptying your mind of all thought and making room for those novel-saving ideas.)
The idea of scrapping 50,000 words is daunting but I’ve written about The House of Fallen Sisters and re-writing the second half several times. This feels like familiar territory - annoying, yet necessary. And it really works. I’ve gone back to the start this week and the flow of the story is so much smoother! The characters feel freer, the words are coming, and I can probably salvage several chapters along the way that aren’t affected by the revelation, just needing small tweaks.
It’s very frustrating that writing doesn’t get easier. I can look back ten years and know that I’m a vastly better writer. When I think about the feedback I received in critique classes on my MA, I know that I’m not making those rookie mistake any longer. I’ve found new mistakes to make, but those errors are mostly because I’ve become more ambitious. For this novel I’m trying a new genre (speculative), I have higher aims for my characters and I still have the research of any historical novel to weave in, keeping the historical elements light while still evoking a sense of the period. There’s a lot to manage. I think I’m saying that the fault is my own…
I’m going to call it an evolution. My first three novels were all built around a dual timeline with the events of the past responsible, to varying extents, for trials and tribulations my characters suffered through in the ‘present day’. Both this novel and The House of Fallen Sisters work without that tool I found so helpful in my earlier novels. Is that why I’ve had so many false starts and revisions?
The truth is, I don’t know. It doesn’t help that I can’t plot to save my life. And it’s not for want of trying. I even had a very rough outline for my work in progress. My agent, after hearing my pitch, told me I’d be mad not to. Yet here I am, having deviated completely from that plan, even changing the decade and location. It seems that if each writer has their method, mine is trial and error. I may as well just embrace that cruel truth and push on.