I did some work on my storyboard for Thing 2 (for those that don’t know, this is what I call the current novel that I am working on, there is a Thing 1 but that is just simmering away on a back burner somewhere) a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been a changed person ever since. Not necessarily changed for the better.
At the start of the month, when I was just plodding along with my story and writing words as and where I pleased (I mean honestly, what is writing a story chronologically?) I felt like the end was nigh. I have always said that I was aiming for a rough draft of about 80,000 words and I was sitting at 65,000. 80,000 sounded like a decent length. It sounded like a novel that should be complete and even though I am also aware that it will take as many words as it will take, I had come to the conclusion that the arbitrary number of 80,000 would be the length of mine.
Then I did some work with the storyboard. In theory that is a complete list of all the scenes that I need for my novel. They are carefully plotted out and they helped make the sticky middle part feel less sticky - although not by much. It gave me the bones on which I could put the flesh (I really mangled the V.E Schwab idea there, but I think I’ve got the point across?). I sat there and ticked off all the scenes that I had and then I realised that although I do have a lot of these things written, there were a whole bunch of scenes that I don’t. In fact, there were a good 4/5 scenes I forgot I had even put on the storyboard.
Suddenly, I was confronted with the fact that I was actually still moored somewhere halfway through and not near the summit as I had believed. Maybe I’m a bit further than halfway but regardless it felt a bit like a gut punch. It inexplicably made it seem like I had no hope of ever actually making it to the end of this first draft. I am just doomed to start things but never quite make it to the end.
For context, I made this discovery on the downward spiral of my cycle where I was craving salt and sugar in equal measure and I was in a headspace where I was just very aware of how shitty my shitty first draft was turning out to be. I also feel like I’ve been writing this particular story for fucking ages now and I don’t know how to pull a one page synopsis together because at this point I just feel like I don’t know what the fuck my story is even about. Oh, and I’m also in my feelings about the fact that next year a book in the same genre and maybe slightly similar vibes and also has nearly the EXACT same title and so I am feeling very disheartened by that.
A thing that I have always been acutely aware of is the fact that writing is fucking hard, but it feels even harder now. The fact that I have so many half written drafts in various places in my digital corner is evidence that it’s hard. And when it’s hard the desire to keep going just evaporates into thin air.
I’ve never truly appreciated just how much of hard ass slog it is to just get words down, forget about whether they are good or not, and just keep moving forward until you can write ‘the end’ (I‘ve rewritten my ending 3 different times now, it’s great…). Then the work comes in the edit. But getting to the edit stage is an actual bat shit crazy feat to achieve in the first place.
There is something to be said for living in ignorant bliss when it comes to writing a novel. If you don’t think about all the stuff that you haven’t gotten down then the finish line seems like a more attainable target. But then you do this thing where you lose track of the plot and key scenes don’t take place because you’ve forgotten all about them.
I mean there is a reason that I spent 2 days just figuring out the storyboard to this whole thing.
But I’ve never really been a very good planner and now that I have the plan I don’t want to follow the plan. Even though I know the plan will be good for me. It is necessary for me to finish this things.
But I’ve seen how many squares in my little notebook (this one - which I hughy recommend) don’t have a red tick through them meaning done and now I’m almsot paralysed.
Paralysed by fear.
Paralysed by inadequacy.
Paralysed by this insane idea that I am actually a shitty writer.
Paralysed by the notion that there is probably someone out there who could write this story better than me.
That last one really makes no sense. I mean the general vibe of the story sure. But the characters that inhabit my version of this story were created by me. They exist solely in my brain. I am not organised enough to actually characterise these people on to a page even though arguably I should because I want them to resemble actual people.
But they are feelings that are there nonetheless.
And maybe it’s the fact that it has been hot for most of this month and although the sun does feel good on my ever tanning skin, it also comes with it a whole lot of ‘meh’, and so my motivation has been underground.
Maybe it’s because it is truly a batshit crazy thing to do. The whole ‘write a book’ thing.
Every time I turn the pages frantically of any book ever, I am floored by the fact that the thing that I am reading is actually finished. The author actually managed to get it finished. Managed to tidy it up and then get the actual thing published. It almost makes me feel bad when I end up devouring a whole book in a day.
Because they spend so much time on it and I get it done in a matter of hours.
But then part of me thinks that’s the dream. To create a book that you literally can’t put down. That makes you feel safe and comfortable and leaves you wanting to get to that happy ending (we are not pulling a One Day in this house).
Because I had planned on finishing this book this month I also planned on swearing off romance novels but as I found myself floundering I came to the conclusion that I needed that to ground me. I needed to remind myself that it was possible. I needed to read in real time getting through the sticky middle. I needed to remind myself how to build sexual tension. To be honest, I’m putting off writing the sex scenes in mine (the advice I was given is to do it when you’re ovulating, if that is applicable to you) and so I just needed to see how others do it and wonder if they feel like writing sex is the shittest of all the shitiness in a first draft because I’ve got one written and honestly…it feels trash, but is probably no worse than the rest of it.
Another thing that I have done to ground me is actually write my goals down. And be hyper specific with them.
A couple of weeks ago I spoke about how I was arguably a deeply unambitious child and I felt like fraud calling myself a writer but you’ve got to put this shit out into the universe. This also applies to my goals.
The ones that I wrote at the top of the year are very broad and very surface level. I know what the deeper meaning of them is, but I’m scared to write them down and commit them to the page. Forcing yourself to confront what you want in black and white is terrifying.
Dreams are scary when you have to start working towards them and putting them out into the universe, even if it’s only for yourself is daunting. It also comes with a certain level of vulnerability which I don’t really fuck with. And accountability.
It really does make you more accountable.
But I am at that stage with this draft where I need to remind myself of why the hell I am even doing this thing. And the whole act of even wanting to put a book out into the word is an insanely vulnerable act anyway so I might as well just get used to that.
And you need to speak the things that you want into the universe if only because speaking them out loud will make them realer then just passing thoughts that somehow take root in your brain.
I’m shooting for 10,000 words written this month and I want to spend my two weeks holiday in October being in a place where I burn the whole first draft to the ground and build it back up for a much better second draft.
That seems doable.
And it is.
Crisis (mostly) averted.
Jumpin’ Jumpin’
What I’m reading - My copy of Honey and Spice finally got here and so I have been reading that. The Secret Lives of Church Ladies - Deesha Philyaw also came into my life recently (thanks Books That Matter) so I’ve made my way through that. Oh and my weekend reads last weekend were Neon Gods - Katee Roberts and The Fine Print - Lauren Asher. (book links are affiliate links).
What I’m watching - I forgot that I had Starz access, which meant that I forgot that I could actually watch Blindspotting (the series), so that is what I’ve been doing. I liked that film and the series is no different.
What I’m listening to - Sabrina Carpenter released an album a couple of weeks ago that I migrated to when I rinsed Lizzo to the point where I almost started hating it. The album is called emails i can’t send. A highlight of the album, because i liked a boy.
Title Inspiration - Crazy in Love. Folks, this title has no real relation to anything, but Beyoncé supremacy always, right? Plus, I’m writing a romance novel and I am finding the whole thing a crazy endeavour and so there is a link…just about. Plus it Beyoncé day tomorrow, so why not get a head start with where it all started for her solo career.