Writing has been difficult lately.
I am writing but the words I write are blah. I get all the way through a picture book draft, read it over, and know I can do better. I’m working on a novel and am completely in the weeds. I am not sure about the main character’s voice or what she wants, and I definitely don’t know most of what happens in this book.
I have sent manuscripts out to people and the feedback is that they are good but not great. Not done.
I feel lost. All the writing feels hollow.
Except: then I remember that this is how it goes.
I remember how many of my books I’ve had to work on for years before they got a book deal. I remember how many I’ve worked on for years, and they haven’t gotten a book deal. Amount of time doesn’t guarantee a published book, but it does make me a better writer.
I feel whiny about it, though. All this time! All this work!
One problem right now is that I have a pile of manuscripts, a pile I’ve written in 2022, none of which are working. All of them need work. Which means that what feels like a problem with myself as a writer is actually a timing issue. I’ve hit a season where all I have is a pile of not-done. And so my inner critic says, “look at that, it looks like you can’t write good stuff anymore.”
Oh, poor, sweet inner critic. She’s scared, is all. My inner critic only knows how to voice the fear. The fear of failure, the fear of writing terrible stuff, the fear that I’ll never again figure out how to make a story good.
Luckily, on the other side of my brain (which is a crowded place) there is a full chorus of supporting voices, and they are the ones who remind me that this is how it goes.
Did you forget that writing books takes work, and time?
Did you forget about all those books you’ve written that took years and years to get right?
Did you forget that this is the process?
Did you forget that it’s your job to comb through the tangles of these manuscripts until you can plait the story into neat braids?
Did you forget that the process is supposed to be messy? That the process involves catching wisps and glimpses flying by on the wind until you’ve gathered enough to tell a story?
Did you forget that it takes time to grow a plant from a seed, time to bake a cake, time to learn to play an instrument, and during all that time you have dirt on your knees and flour on the counter and discordant notes ringing in your ears? Why would writing a book be any different?
Did you forget that if it was easy, everyone would be writing best sellers?
Did you forget the name of your own newsletter: Do the Work?
Reader, I did forget. The problem is that twice (Snappsy the Alligator (Did Not Ask to Be in This Book) and Two Dogs in a Trench Coat Go to School) it was easy. The writing flowed. The books had structure. Everything clicked. And so there is a bratty, whiny part of me that is annoyed when the process is work. When it’s hard. Even though that’s how it’s been for the rest of my books.
That process was fine too, because I still made a book in the end.
It’s all fine as long as I remember.
And then I remember something else. The reason I have a pile of manuscripts in need of revision is because I have written a ton this year. Two-and-a-half novel drafts, nine new picture books in various stages of completion. Of course I have a lot of manuscripts that need attention: I have a lot of new manuscripts. That's how it works. That's how it has always worked. My inner cheering chorus reminds me: this pile is not evidence of failure, but evidence of work.
There is a tendency to compare ourselves to others, and the Internet has made this unpleasant pastime easier and more fraught, because we're not comparing our work with someone else in person who can explain how they did it, we’re comparing our work with one thousand people's shiny finish lines. Maybe they've been working on that book for a decade. Maybe they had to write 30 trunked novels to get to that one. Maybe their personal life fell apart and they had to save themselves by writing. Maybe their personal life had a great success that doesn't apply to you, and they were able to take that invention money and hire a personal chef.
It’s not about them, it’s about you. You are the one who has to write the books, and you are the only one living in your life, and while you can listen with curiosity to what worked for other people, in the end, what works for you might work for only you. The fact that there’s only you, living your life, and that your process is your process, is also the reason you need to write the book. No one else can write the book for you. But it’s your book, and it needs to be written.
Someday, maybe someday soon, you’ll be the one with a finished book.
Someday, maybe someday soon, someone will be comparing themselves to you (make sure you remind them that your life might not apply to theirs).
Someday, maybe someday soon, people will resent you or envy you or wonder how you did it, and maybe you’ll notice, or maybe you won’t, because you know that all that matters to your creativity is your creativity, and you’ve already started in on the next story.
It’s hard, it’s messy, it can be exhausting but also a lot of fun. Writing is a real pinball machine of emotions. And the important thing is not to forget. Remember that this is the process, and then you’ll know what you have to do.
At the county fair a few weeks ago, we ended up in the antique tool barn, and I keep thinking of these:
Yes, I know that a boring machine is a machine that bores holes, not a machine that is boring. Still. These are hilarious machine names. What I want, as a writer, is to not be a boring machine. There is a certain machination to creativity, an idea moving down the assembly line to draft to revision to final book: KACHUNK. The work, the mess, the flow of writing great books is to keep pushing, KACHUNK, KACHUNK until the story is done. Do not think you are a boring machine. You are not a boring machine. You are an interesting machine, as long as you remember that the process is often a total mess.
Thoughts and Links
I’m a fan of Ratha Tep’s site Max’s Boat and her insightful interviews with picture book makers, and am honored to be part of this interview where we ask her questions, for the publication of her debut book, Wally the World’s Greatest Piano-Playing Wombat (illustrated by Camilla Pintonato).
I love this conversation between George Booth and his daughter Sarah about cartoons and humor (among other things), and I keep thinking about this bit of wisdom: “Something out of place is always funny.”
We watched Vengeance this weekend and I loved it. It’s a good study in a story that’s thought-provoking and deep with complex characters and plot twists, and is also really, really funny.
This portrait in of a professional stone skipper is fascinating. I’m curious how an obsession and mastery can alleviate other demons. And I can’t stop thinking about telling a journalist that a planned meetup won’t work because I need six months as a “psychic recovery phase” and “I need this time for mental health…and that has to be me alone.” I’m too much of an extrovert to spend six months all by myself, but I’m in awe of this guy setting these boundaries and saying what he needs. Rather than being like “let me rearrange my schedule to accommodate you and I’ll bring muffins! Tell me if you have any dietary restrictions!” Probably somewhere in the middle of those two extremes is the place to be.
Thanks to Jenny Rosenstrach for linking to these cotton candy monster cupcakes, which are hilarious. I know we don’t want to think about sugar right now after Halloween, but I’m filing these away to, as Rosenstrach says, “win the bake sale.”
Substack recently posted an interview with Marlee Grace, which led me to their newsletter class, which I enjoyed a lot. That class led me to Notion, which I had never heard about, but am now obsessed with. Not since I learned about Scrivener have I fallen so immediately for a program. It’s like a prettier version of Evernote and Google Drive. And, just like with Scrivener, I was immediately out of my depth and had to get someone to guide me. I took Notion 101 for Creatives with Michelle Pellizzon and it was great and super helpful and had all the information I needed to set everything up. I’m using it to keep track of my writing, both fiction and for this newsletter. In the future I might add more to it.
Books I read recently and loved
Disclosure: book links in this newsletter are affiliate links to Bookshop.org, a site which supports independent bookshops.
As usual, you nailed it, Julie.
I don't remember where, but I remember hearing before that each story you write teaches you how to (eventually) write...that one story. So while every writer gets better over time (muscle memory-style), we're also relearning so much from scratch each time, too. 😂 And, of course, the more honed your excellent taste in writing gets, the harder it is for you to exceed your own high standards. Le haaarrrrruuuumphhh. <--that's a fancy French-sounding sigh, said while smoking an imaginary cigarette, gazing into the distance and probably, like, squinting through thick lashes
I'm in the weeds on a couple of manuscripts, too. I'm learning what you already know, though, that I can't "make" things work by doing x, y and z. All I can do is to try. And try. And try again. It's like trying to build a house of cards with cards that you have to make yourself, with scissors and paper that you also have to make yourself. Some days, that's fun! Other days..."uh, boy, there's a lot that needs doing to even get started here."
Hugs, Julie! I love your honesty and grit. Still, even though I know you'll find your paths on all your stories, I also hope you catch a break on one sooner rather than later, because of course, that is more fun. :) And you deserve that.
I loved this whole post. It’s full of so many good reminders. This line stuck out to me because it is me often too: “I feel whiny...All this time! All this work!”
I think what’s so hard is that writers don’t get paid until the job is done. Yes it’s hard and work is hard, but we don’t get paid during a lot of the hard points. I think about when I worked in design. I got paid when I showed up and brainstormed a new site layout, when I did the design, when I saved out assets, when we pitched new clients or had phone calls. It was hard, but I was compensated for that hard work.
If we writers were paid a yearly salary, I think we’d all feel differently about the work. It would still be hard, but at least we’re bringing something in for our efforts! Of course, that’s not how the industry works, sadly.
All this to say, I relate! I am constantly scared about spending a year on a novel that doesn’t sell. It’s rough, and exhausting. 💗