How to Write a Book
The end is near, but also really isn’t the end
It’s weird typing — THE END.
I’ve finished writing my fifth novel, Migrant. It’s my first foray into a book with a more serious tone than my previous four. I don’t know how long it took to write. I wrote the book during the pandemic. Almost right from the start, right when I realized it was getting serious and there was no way I was going to shoot my movie in June.
I was going to be shooting that movie in June, come hell or high water. I had the money. Most of the crew set up… and then life happened. So instead of feeling sorry for myself, I started writing Migrant. Well, maybe I felt a little sorry for myself. For like a day. Okay. Maybe a week… and I may have wanted to break stuff. And cry. I may have done both.
I feel lucky though, that I can write novels as well as be able to write a film and direct it. I don’t need a crew to write novels necessarily. Just the friends and family who read my stuff and tell me how bad it is, and then proceed to try and correct all of my mistakes. But correcting my mistakes is like clearing a wartime minefield. They are well hidden and there are many.
People have already asked me how long it took to write Migrant. I don’t know, to be honest, because it’s like you don’t really just start writing. You sort of do though, and it feels like a long time before it ends… it’s a transitional thing. For me, something you break into stages and accomplish in parts. And, even after writing, THE END, it isn’t really over. Most of it is. Good job! But not all of it.
Without further ado…
How to write a novel
Idea Generation (2-4 weeks)
Before you write a book, you must know what you want to write about. What to spend this time on. Migrant was like the other novels in that it was one of the ten stories that fought be told at the time. It simply won the fight. Once that main idea makes itself clear, I start writing blindly anything that comes to mind on the topic. Any new ideas, research, characters, any further notes, etcetera…ANY book details can and should be written down! That takes weeks. Maybe a month…ish.
Story Shaping & Character Development (2 weeks)
I take what ideas I've written and give them some shape. Write down some dialog between characters and really focus on developing them. Your characters will reveal themselves to you over time, but you need to start thinking about them now. Now why did that character have to say that? How does him or her saying that change the story? Those types of things. There’s a few weeks of that.
Retrace, edit, additions (1-2 weeks)
I really beat that out. I start from top to bottom on the ideas and story I’ve generated so far in just some sort of paragraph form. As you re-read, you look to see if a story is really there, why it’s there, and why it needs to be told (by you). You will continue to bridge the gaps in your story and between your characters by filling in the blank spots…and deleting the flat spots. Flat sucks. Maybe a week or so of that.
Outline (1-2 weeks)
I use 3x5 cards. I keep it simple with each card so that way they can be built upon later or erased altogether. 1-3 sentences on every card. And then I tape each one of those cards to my wall, forming a wall of cards. They stare at me until I get the story done. Slowly, as incorporated to the story, I remove the cards from the wall and store them neatly away in a folder. Migrant had 50 cards in the outline. There turned out to be 80 chapters. I like to outline loose and see what comes out. Things like to come out. They don’t like to be forced. I let them. A week or two of that.
Gain Feedback (at least one conversation)
This ones important and shouldn’t be skipped…like the others steps. You might not feel ready to share, but what that means is it’s the perfect time for you to receive feedback on your story and your ideas. I call my little brother, Ian. He lives in Texas, I live in California, so it’s a bit of a commute. He’s good with story intuitively. That’s why I call him. I’m smart like that. I tell him the story from start to finish while looking at the 3x5 cards on the wall. We talk about it. He gives me ideas. He has good ones. I make changes. An hour or two.
Then I call him back and we do that again. If I can tell the story and keep his interest the whole time, we’re good. He may have more ideas. Depends. Maybe not. If not, I start writing. One or two hours.
Novel Writing
I write a minimum of one thousand words a day of actual novel writing. Good or bad. Sometimes more. Never less. 1000 words a day. One thousand. Words. A day. Your number doesn’t have to be one thousand, but you should have a number. If I can write more, I will. I will do this seven days a week. Tired. Sick. Hungover. Mad. Happy. Cranky. Sad. Dying. I will get that thousand words. Eventually, over time, that part is done. It just ends. It’s finished. There’s nothing left to say. You type, THE END… I’d like to say the angels sing and the gates of heaven open. But they don’t.
There is a release though. It’s hard, this writing gig. It ain’t easy. It’s fun. But it’s also a hard kick in the nu…secret spots. It’s like a fight. One you do every day. I imagine that’s the same with anything that you are trying to get better at. That amount of focus. It just wears you down while energizing you at the same time. So when it’s done, it feels like you sailed around the world by yourself, and just arrived home. You are relieved it’s over, but at the same time, you miss the adventure. The waking up everyday to read what was written, often not remembering what you wrote and hopefully being surprised by it.
I’m beginning to think that writing is not creating, but a whittling away, like a sculptor chiseling at a rock. More of a revealing the story, than building it. It’s odd not feeling apart of the process and yet your entire life informs the entire story. But you know it isn’t you. Not on a conscious level anyhow. It’s so without thought that it defies reason. Your best bet is to just get out of the way.
Writing the book is only the beginning.
I know the process of completing the book is just the beginning. First, it will go out to some family and some friends (as I’m doing with my next release, Westgate). And hopefully they will tell me what sucks about it. Or where it falls flat. Where it got boring. How something didn’t make sense. A lack of logic here. Something was over the top there. I hate when people say it’s good. Next…and if you’re especially interested in an article like this please comment at the end of this posts…NEXT comes the MARKETING. As a self-published author, I can say that this is probably not going to be the fun part, or it is, depending on the type of person you are…sane or insane.
Good = Shit
Finally finally, I will stew on it. I’ll tell myself how bad I suck and how I should have just got a real job like everyone else. Get a paycheck. Spend weekends with football and hockey on the tube. Yell when my team doesn’t win. Eat food. Die. But that quickly passes because I just can’t do that. I have to write. I think you do too.
So, to wrap things up, I usually start cutting. Usually it’s not that I needed more. I needed less. I needed to whittle away. Watch the form take a better shape. Polish it. Sand it. Whittle some more. Kill a few darlings along the way. Wow, that paragraph was the best thing I have ever written…delete. All that could take months. Then there comes a point where you just have to release it into the world. If you try and make it any better, it’s just going to get worse. It has to go out there and fight for it’s own life, like that teenager off to college. Just cut the damn cord.
The end is near.
So I just recently typed THE END on Migrant. I was so exhausted that I wouldn’t even drive a car. If I didn’t get in an accident, I would have driven the wrong way. It was really strange because I had so much energy leading up to it, just typing like a maniac on that last chapter. I was flying along, the words flowing out like well ordered flock of geese, everything pointing in the right direction. But when I typed THE END and hit return… BAM! I was toast.
I felt really alone. And not in a bad way. Just maybe aware of myself. That I existed. In a real way. And not an abstract way. I don’t know. It’s hard to place it. I think I sighed and started wondering what I was going to write next. I don’t want to write, as I’ve recently told a friend, I have to. So I’m already outlining my next book. The notes on Migrant will start coming back soon enough. I will pause on those days to read and maybe make some changes as they come in. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll wait until they all come in. Throw them all against the wall and see what sticks. Grind out as many drafts as it takes.
Good = Shit
As it is, it’s time to dive into another world. See what’s happening in that place and time and to those characters who live there. They want their story told now. I have to let them. They’re like screaming children. Sometimes you just have to acquiesce. It’s easier than fighting with them. They always get their way. I’ll wake up tomorrow with stories. Maybe even a little something tonight. Get something down. Something great, hopefully. Let it do what it wants. It eventually will anyhow. Keep going until I write those two words again and then start all over the next day. Yeah, there’s no arrival. There’s no finish line. Even though we wish there was.
The end is never really, THE END.