"Oh, you're writing a novel? I've always been meaning to write one about blah, but I've never found the time." 

Above is the sentence most despised by novelists, second only to perhaps "So, what's your novel about?" Not only is it ludicrously condescending (try replacing 'novel' with 'symphony', or 'design document for a satellite probe' and you'll see what I mean. Good writing requires skill, talent, and a million words of practice. Three million is better. No, I'm not kidding. But that's a whole 'nother post, there) it completely ignores one of the most crucial aspects of writing:

If you're trying to "find" the time to write, give up now.

Writing is, in one sense, incredibly easy. You sit in your chair, and make stuff up. It's also incredibly hard, because it's just you sitting in your chair, making stuff up by yourself, and nobody cares if you sneak downstairs for that fourteenth biscuit, or daydream about what life would be like if everyone could dispense chicken sandwiches from their eyeballs, or indulge in hours of "research" on you-tube and wikipedia. There isn't anyone to lean on when you can't think of a better excuse for your Huge Important Character Development than "it was a good idea at the time", or when your plot is so full of holes it's dribbled onto the floor, which is probably why a lot of novelists mutter to themselves as they write. Why not, nobody else is listening.

There isn't anyone to tell you to get back to work. Which is a good thing, because sometimes daydreaming about chicken-sandwich-dispensing eyeballs is verifiably essential to a writer. It's a 'productive pause', where the brilliant idea is born, nurtured, sent to playgroup, scolded for drawing roadmaps on the walls and finally squeezed into his best Story for graduation in time for the writer to get to their keyboard. But a great majority of would-be writers never get out of the daydreaming stage, and fall into procrastination instead. Which is when the lack of prodding is less than good.

Rule one: you have to make time to write.

Writing isn't something you can squeeze into your life between your tennis meeting and your archery club. It''s not a hobby you can drop for three years and pick up, expecting to be no worse off than you were. Your writing-brain is a muscle. It needs regular practise, or you'll find when you want to use it, it'll pull a hammy three minutes in and limp over to the bench to sulk. If you want to write a novel, there will be sacrifices.

Look at your schedule. What could you live without? Do you really need to meet your pool buddies three times a week? Is it absolutely essential that you watch (and go count them, now) fifteen hours of TV a week? That you read each and every post on failblog.org? Most writers find the thing that goes on the block first is the social life (often without much regret; it takes a certain kind of introvert to be attracted to the idea of sitting along with a blank page all day, after all.) That may or may not work for you. But something has to go, believe me - as someone who has tried and tried and tried to just 'fit' writing in with the million other things she wanted to do: it doesn't work. You have to make the time.

Rule two: you have to respect what you're trying to do.

Once you've carved out that writing time - even if it's just fifteen minutes a day - keep it sacred. Nothing is allowed to touch it. If your favourite movie is on, put a tape in. If your friend calls, tell them you'll call them back (better yet, let it go to voice mail). If your children are hungry, leave frozen dinners and instructions for the microwave. This is your Writing Time.

If you were studying law, or astrophysics, you wouldn't just revise some notes when you felt like it, and maybe turn in an assignment or two if they looked interesting. If you were managing your investments, you wouldn't throw your money at something with a snazzy name without researching. You'd put the effort in out of respect for the personal investment you have in the project. You've put in effort and time in learning laws or building up your portfolio, and invested money, which is just another kind of time (if you don't believe money buys time, hire a cleaning service. See?) and those investments should be treated as things of value.

Your novel also requires a great investment of effort and time (and money, if you want more time). Why should this time and effort have any less respect than the time and effort for your law degree or your share portfolio? Short answer - it shouldn't. Even if you feel your novel is drivel (which everyone does), respect what you've already sacrificed for it, and don't waste those efforts with half-heartedness.

Rule three: you have to keep your promises.

One of Heinlein's rules for writing (I believe it was Rule 4, actually): Finish what you start. It ties in with respecting your work: three quarters of a novel is like three-quarters of a university degree. You've spent a lot of time and effort, but have nothing to show for it that anyone cares to see. It doesn't matter how bad it is - above my desk, written on an index card is "You've already written the worst novel you're ever going to write". And I have. It's full of explosions and stuffed in a filing cabinet. But the point isn't that it was bad. The point is that it was finished. 

There are no 'outs'. There's no "unless it's really really bad", or "unless I get bored," or "unless I think of something better", because all those things will happen in the meantime. You will hate the novel midway through. You will question where it's going, why it exists, and why you ever thought you could do this. Neil Gaiman has blogged a number of times about these moments - and also how, when they happen, his editor calmly reminds him that he said exactly the same thing about the last book, and oh look, it won the Newberry. If you don't make the commitment to finishing it, no matter what, then there's little point in starting it, because you won't get to the end.

Rule four: if you break these rules...

Try again. All you're spending is your own time and effort (and money, if you hired that cleaning service). If writing is something you enjoy (and if it isn't, what are you doing? Go read reddit  like a regular person.) then you've learned a valuable lesson. You've learned one set of techniques that doesn't lead to you reliably producing a novel - you'll know not to try living on reheated shimp pudding. You've written (well, I presume you've written something, even if it's just "It was a dark and stormy night"), which adds to your three-million total (I really wasn't kidding about that). And - I hope - you're about to learn that when you fail, you're willing to try again.

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Comments (1)

• |2011-08-04 23:17:49 keracim
  Very good. Just what I needed - I am printing this and keeping it.
  Reply

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