Why Did I Ever Get The (Insane) Idea To Write Another Novel?

There comes a point for many authors — published or aspiring — when you pause to wonder why you ever got the (insane) idea to write a novel in the first place? It may take a while to reach that point.

Writing the first draft is the enjoyable part of writing your novel. It’s the draft where you get to slap down words on paper without worrying about who’s going to see them. You can write whole chapters with reminders like “insert more here” or “TK” (to come) dotted all over the pages. You don’t stop to look up the spellings of towns, or if Southampton, Long Island is east or west of Sag Harbor, or where the medical examiner for Suffolk County is located. Your plot is exquisitely formed in your head and you’re in love with all your characters.

How Many Drafts????

Then come the second and third drafts, sometimes a fourth, maybe a fifth before you produce a “readable” draft which you can show to those family members and friends on whom you can rely to give you an honest appraisal. If you’re me, this is also the draft you send to a professional editor who can give you an educated opinion as to the commercial potential of your novel as well as presenting you with page after page of suggested edits and revisions. 

As I wrote here last week, I am quite happy with my editor’s evaluation of the plot and characters; less happy (though not totally unhappy) with the prospect of the work which still faces me. It was a good week for looking back and reminding myself of exactly why I had decided to aim for publication of a third novel.

Looking Back

I started by re-reading my first Behind The Scenes/Book3 blog in which I wrote of my decision to mix the joys of retirement with the rigors of producing a publishable thriller in today’s wildly competitive market. The blog, Trying For A Third, appeared on this website in August 2016.         

In it, I recapped my decision to veer into the legal profession in 2002 after writing two novels which were traditionally published. What follows is an edited version of that blog:

“So, off I went to law school, and then after passing the New York bar exam, took a position as a judicial clerk to an appellate division justice in New York State Supreme Court. That lasted for almost a decade until the judge for whom I was working lost his bid for re-election.

I had looked forward to working for the judge for another 14-year term, and had discussed this with my husband.  “But you will be 77 by then,” my husband observed pointedly, and the sub-text was clear. He would be 90 by the end of the judge’s second term. By the time I was ready to enjoy my “golden years,” he doubted he would be fit enough to enjoy them with me.

But I loved, loved, loved my job, and truth be told, I didn’t want to think about “golden” years. I was going to be quite happy if I skipped those years — and expired at my desk. The voters of Long Island, however, didn’t care where I wanted to make my final resting place.

My husband felt sorry for me, but made his point: “It’s a sign that you should retire,” he told me.

Country Club Life

Over the next year, we joined a private club where I played tennis on 136 days. On 67 different days, I played golf, walking the 18-hole course and carrying my clubs. I took tennis and golf clinics. Occasionally, I sunned myself on cushioned chaises at the club’s beach and pools.

The physical activities were important. Tennis and golf dates were scheduled to get me out of bed, into the shower and out of the house.  I knew it was important to have a routine so that I did not end up lounging around in ratty tee-shirts till noon.

The following year, I was asked to play for the club’s tennis team and so played against other clubs. I sucked,  but I played. I sucked at golf, too. I took more clinics and played with friends on the two magnificent club courses.  I discovered that, mostly,  they sucked too because golf is nothing if not the ultimate challenge in retirement.

Writers Never Retire

On the slouch side, I caught up with TV shows that I had never had time to watch while working.  I binge-watched all six  seasons of the Sopranos, all the seasons of  Breaking Bad.  I watched House of Cards on the day it streamed.  I read all the “girl” books: The Girl on the Train, Luckiest Girl Alive , The Good Girl, The English Girl, and of course, Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn’s breakout success.

I re-read my first two novels, Scandal and Delusion  and wondered what might have been if I had persevered with my third novel instead of going to law school.  I started noodling with an idea, and penning an outline for a new novel.  I looked at it a couple of times. I noodled some more, and made additional notes.  I made some revisions.  I worked on developing the main characters.  An idea was beginning to take shape, and I was enjoying myself.“

Still Trying For A Third

In response to a couple of private comments I received after last week’s blog, I am not daunted by the work that lies ahead. I am still enjoying myself. Honestly. All I need to do is remind myself that Gone Girl was Gillian Flynn’s third novel. And, that James Patterson wrote six novels between 1976 and 1988 before his first Alex Cross thriller, Along Came A Spider, established him as a blockbuster, best selling writer. That’s all!