My ego dies at the end.

Things I've learned (so far) from writing a novel

1. You can’t fix what doesn’t exist.

   

“I’ve often hesitated in beginning a project because I’ve thought, “It’ll never turn out to be even remotely like the good idea I have as I start.” I could “just” feel how good it could be. But I decided, for the present, I would create the best way I know how and accept the ambiguities.”

-Fred Rogers

This quote lives in my head - what is it the youths say? - “rent-free”?

I can’t tell you how many writing projects I’ve put off because I imagined what they could be and, consciously or not, my fear of not being able to create the beautiful thing I envisioned paralysed me.

I don’t know what made me finally get over it - maybe, what it was, was reaching that point where keeping the thing inside of me became more painful than letting it out. Where not writing became a scarier prospect than writing something not as good as I wanted it to be.

Before I devoted myself to writing the novel I’m writing now, I heard two different authors I like and respect (Jami Attenberg and Emily Henry) say this exact sentence: “You can’t fix what doesn’t exist.”

They were both talking about the importance of the shitty first draft - the draft we have to vomit out in its rawest, most terrible form, before we can ever make it something good.

I always knew I was a writer, but when I went to Journalism school in 2005/6, I discovered that I also really like editing - molding something that already exists into something better. Understanding that I had to put something, anything on the page before I could turn it into something beautiful opened a door inside of me and took the pressure off for the first things I wrote to be perfect.

The words of my first draft are the clay; they’re the raw material of the thing that will become something - no pressure, no second-guessing myself.

Finding the freedom to just move without the pressure of first-pass perfection leaks over into other parts of my life - sometimes we have to just start, to move, to take the first step. Because in work, in love, in life: we can’t fix what doesn’t exist.

2. There are no only bad or only good people.

This is actually so annoying.

Mostly because there are real people I want to think are just villains (I’ll refrain from listing them here). But the truth is, people aren’t one-dimensional, and when I write characters who are just bad, or purely good, they turn out to be pretty boring.

In my novel, I’ve had to think about why the “bad guys” act the way they do. Not that it excuses their behaviour but like, what’s their motivation? What are they so afraid of that they manipulate and judge and control?

Equally, when it comes to my protagonists: what are their weaknesses? Where do they have growing to do? Where does fear or uncertainty or immaturity cause them to make less-than-great choices?

Three-dimensional characters are way more compelling than angels and devils. And okay, fine, in real life I guess the same thing goes.

3. Inspiration will only carry you halfway.

Almost every day for the last two months, I’ve written at least 1000 words. On some of those days, I’ve been for a walk beforehand, listened to the playlist dedicated to my main characters, and sat down with my head full of so many ideas, my fingers couldn’t move fast enough to type them out.

On more of those days, I’ve sat down having no idea where my plot was headed next, or feeling fresh out of inspiration.

A few times, I’ve started writing something I feel little to no certainty or creative fire about, and it’s turned into something that surprised me, some of (maybe) my best work. I’ve also written more than a few scenes on those inspiration-less days that I’m 97% sure are going to end up in the trash can.

Inspiration gave me the original idea for the book, but inspiration only takes us part of the way - just showing up takes us the rest.

4. Rest is productive.

Back in May, I committed to writing 1000 words a day, but there did come a point where I felt I was spinning my wheels. My brain needed a break, so I gave it one. I took a week off, did other things with what was normally my writing time - walked a lot, practiced yoga, had coffee with friends, did laundry, read books.

After a week off, I felt fresh again and came back with some new ideas. I went back and read the last scene I’d written and I jumped in from there with clear eyes. When I finish this first draft in the next couple of weeks (fingers crossed), my plan is to walk away from it for at least two weeks before I come back to revise.

Sometimes, when we have problems we can’t solve, we really do need to just step away for a minute - to see the whole world again, so that we can come back to the problem with a new perspective.

I recommend this approach with literally almost any life problem.

---

Overall, what I think I’m learning is that this is a learning process. I’m glad I started something that I feel so out of my depth about. I’m leaning into my lack of expertise, trusting the process, and - hopefully - letting myself be humbled by it.

And I fully expect to be humbled 100 more times before the process is over. I’m predicting:

1. Reading through some parts of my first draft and thinking: “What the heck was I thinking here?”

2. Probably having a meltdown at some point in my re-writing process and wanting to trash the whole thing and start again or give up entirely.

3. Starting to pitch to agents and having terrifying, sickening imposter syndrome.

4. Being rejected 300 times.

5. Definitely receiving some very humbling feedback.

But I won’t quit this time. I’ll let my ego die again and again and again, because - honestly? - I’ve had some things I was really scared of happen to me, and I’m still here. I’ve died a hundred times before and I keep coming back as new versions of myself.

So will you hear me out? And give up on being perfect or even close to perfect, and just show up with me? Can we choose, together, to see the beautiful vision - whether it’s art or something else - and not let the gap between it and what we think we’re actually capable of be a roadblock to our trying?

I know I’m not as convincing as a Mandalorian, but I think this is the way.

xx

Faith

PS - Hey! Do you like reading Porchlight? I really like writing it, and I’m so glad you’re here. If you’d like to support me so I can keep doing this work, you can do that by 1) becoming a paid subscriber or 2) sharing my posts or forwarding my emails to your friends.

PPS - Yes, England lost last night. I’m sitting with the disappointment, but I’m proud of them and - let’s be honest - Spain is very, very good.