For an aspiring writer, there are few sweeter, more reassuring things than learning about how the authors you admire have struggled.
When I discovered that the Indian-American writer Akhil Sharma spent twelve agonising years writing his exquisite novel Family Life, I was delighted.
And even though I’ve never read her, I was perversely pleased to hear that it took Booker prizewinner Arundhati Roy 20 years to write her latest book.
On the other hand, when Caitlin Moran told Kirsty Young on Desert Island Discs that she published her first novel at 16 and doesn’t ever run out of things to say, I was furious.
My novel is 16,043 words long so far. It’s rubbish.
I spent about 10 weeks writing the opening page.
I’ll probably scrap it for something I write in a 10-minute burst of inspiration.
Failed word-count goals recorded in my little green notebook
In January I set myself monthly word-count goals, all of which I failed to meet.
I wrote a plot outline. It didn’t work.
In March, I had a few unexpected days off work. I wrote a couple of thousand words. All of them are thanks to Lisa Cron, who wrote a very helpful book called Story Genius, which I stumbled upon online.
Her approach uses neuroscience to describe what a story is and how to lure readers inside your characters’ minds.
It was exhilarating to re-evaluate what stories actually do. I was filled with a fresh sense of purpose.
The wave of enthusiasm did not last long. I worked a lot in April. A mixture of early and late shifts, along with a host of out-of-work commitments, meant I didn’t even have the time to try – and fail – to write.
It made me feel restless and discontented.
I finally managed to get back to it this past weekend. I scraped together a few hundred words.
I’m not allowing myself to re-read them until I write some more.
For whatever reason, writing a novel is a desire that eats away at me and punishes me when I fail to submit to it.
I am under no illusion as to how painfully slim the odds are but perhaps, someday someone else will come across this post and smile with resolve as they return to their own blank page.
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