Forgive me for drawing the analogy, yet once again, of writing and raising a baby. After all, add in some engineering and you’ve got about 97% of my daily thoughts covered.

Anyhow, writing books and raising babies are surprisingly similar. Both are amazingly rewarding (at times) and terribly difficult (at times). And just when you think you get the hang of it, everything changes and a new challenge sits in front of you.

It’s like getting our kiddo to sleep through the night. By about 6 months old, he was pulling 9 hour stretches – 12 sometimes. Then we hit 9 months, went on some trips, started teething, and it all changed. There have been nights where he’d cry every 2 hours on the dot. We tried everything and then—BAM—we found teething tablets. His sleep got better, not perfect, but we were happy…and felt like successful parents. Until he got a cold. We got through that. And then after a particularly chilly weather spell, he was waking up sweaty in the too warm PJs we’d dressed him in. And now we’re weaning him and not sure what magic trick will keep him from waking up at 4 AM. (It’s a good thing I find him so dang cute…even at that un-Godly hour).

Sorry for the long-winded example. My purpose is not to complain, but to point out that everything we figure out only works for a while. And I know that when we finally conquer this night-night challenge, some other obstacle will present itself. The saving grace is that we're perfecting our ability to adapt and problem solve with ever-evolving variables.

Both Talia and Veronica alluded to this: Even if the “process” of writing the next book remains the same, there are so many other moving variables which force the entire experience to be different each time. Maybe it’s the pressures of writing book 2 or that you don’t have a hook or, in my case, you suddenly have a baby depending on you. So you may always write from a six page outline or pants it entirely, but every time you embark on a new novel, you may think it’s you that’s starting green.

Remember that you’re only a spring chicken once. With each chapter typed, each metaphor perfected, and each character developed, you hone those problem solving skills. You get better at adapting. And like Veronica mentioned, you gain confidence. The book after this one won’t be easy, but keep in mind, you’ll be able to roll with its punches better.

Okay, the kiddo’s finally sleeping…daddy better go do the same.

Some of the most common questions aspiring writers ask me are about process. How do you write a book? Do you outline, or are you an organic writer? In other words, are you a plotter or a pantser? In other-other words, do you know how to do this, and will you share your secrets with me?

In the interest of time, my answer is usually, “I’m a plotter who likes to rebel against plot.”

The truth is far more complex. The truth is that each book I’ve written has come about in an entirely different way. My process changes with each novel, much the same way I change in course of writing it.

I started drafting UNDER THE NEVER SKY in the spring of 2009. I went into that book having just abandoned two manuscripts I’d written as a pantser—manuscripts that never went anywhere. I was determined to try something different. Actually, I was determined to try everything different.

That was a time of intense growth for me as a writer. I signed up for classes. Read until my eyeballs bled. Attended workshops and studied as much as I could about craft. For UTNS, I wrote an expanded six-page synopsis, which is pretty close to plotting. I had regular checkpoints with two dear friends who mentored me. And I put myself on a schedule, with deadlines for various milestones along the process. Essentially, I gave myself the job of writer, with all its responsibilities, hoping it would eventually be my job.

Another aspect of writing UTNS: it was basically written in a vacuum. No one knew what I was writing. I had an agent and a book deal before most of my family read it, or even knew what it was about. During that time, I was, “Veronica, whose hobby is writing.” Those of you in that phase know what I mean. You have no street cred as a writer until things (agents, editors, book deals) start happening.

The amazing part of writing that book, though, was that anything felt possible. I let go. I threw myself at it. I was fearless about writing it because there was all this wonderful discovery, passion--and safety, being that I was writing with an audience of me in mind. It was an intensely enjoyable experience. I thought about the characters day and night. A love song on the radio would choke me up in the school drop off lane. I lived that book as I drafted it... (I'm tempted to make a bad joke about living with savages.)

To those of you who aren’t published yet, I have to say this: you are in a privileged position. Your writing is yours right now. Take advantage of that and be fearless. Those are halcyon days…. You know where this is going, right?

Book Two. If you’re a writer, then you’ve probably heard about the dreaded book two, which is like a ricochet of book one, catching you unaware, unprepared, possibly leaving you with bits of shrapnel embedded in your heart… oh, wait. That’s Iron Man.

Book Twos are tough because much of what’s present in the writing of Book One (time, innocence, anonymity) is gone. I might become a little dramatic in discussing book twos. And possibly skim through it… Painful, guys. Painful. 

My experience was particularly brutal (or so I think.) I struggled writing THROUGH THE EVER NIGHT. It felt like an ever night. Despite a team that included my editor and agent, I felt lost writing that book. I doubted my ability. I doubted the story. I was in a tsunami of doubt. Try writing a book feeling that way. (See? Just thinking about it makes me sound embittered.) I hopped back and forth between plotting and pantsing. I was Leo at the end of Titanic, hanging onto the fuselage, suffering for what I love, but feeling like no matter what I did, it was gonna be the end of me.

I didn’t know how to write a middle book of a trilogy (it was my first, and it turns out middle books are not easy.) And while writing it, I was launching the first book and learning (or desperately trying, depending on your perspective) to juggle all the peripheral marketing responsibilities of being a writer. All the focused concentration I'd been able to give UTNS was suddenly diluted as I had to consider a website, blog, facebook, twitter, tumblr. Blog tours, book tours, fan mail, reviews, etc. etc. it never ends. I don’t mean to sound complainy about this stuff. I wanted this job. Badly. But then you get the job and you go, wow, this is pretty different than what I thought, busier, way busier, way way way busier. That was surprising. What wasn’t? I love the job as much as I thought I would. Maybe even more.

I’m going on a tangent, which is usually what happens when I talk about Book Two. It’s a subconscious defense mechanism. Hey, have you guys seen Iron Man?

All right, all right. Let’s get back on track. Book Two was hard. It nearly broke me a few times, but I got through it. The lessons I learned were plentiful. I learned the “official” job of writer. I learned how to write outside a vacuum, in a tsunami, with voices weighing in, or criticizing, or praising. I learned how to write a middle book of a trilogy (or so I think.)

In the process of writing it, everything I knew reshuffled and came back together in a new way. I made it through my ever night, and then it was morning. I could almost say mourning, too, because we’re getting to…

Book Three. I came at this book exhausted and scared of a repeat of Book Two, I’m not gonna lie. But guess what? Writing INTO THE STILL BLUE has been a blast. The lessons I learned through Book Two strengthened me. I can now juggle the job of writer fairly well, and I’ve adjusted to writing outside the vacuum. Or rather, I’ve learned to try to recreate that vacuum when I write.

I plotted this book. I let myself deviate from the plot. I knew when to ask for help and when not to. And final books in series? Lots of fun. I hope you all get to write one someday. It’s like the downhill side of a rollercoaster. Not to say it was easy. I have yet to write an “easy” book. But fun? Yes. And sad, which is the mourning part. This ride has been epic, and I'm nearing the end. It's a bittersweet feeling, writing the final words of characters I've spent four years with, and loved.

Perhaps another reason I enjoyed Book Three was my newfound confidence in being a writer. As I wrote INTO THE STILL BLUE, I had two books and a novella out in the world already. “I wrote a book” became “I write books.” For me, it’s an important distinction. I love writing books. I want to write many more. With each one I draft, I might flounder and fumble, but somehow they keep getting written. I see them on my bookshelf, sometimes in bookstores, and it makes me proud. The act of having written books has become self-perpetuating. I want to make more. I want to explore new characters and storylines. I want to suffer through more middle acts and chapter endings and transitions, and somehow, eventually, after floating in freezing cold water for an ever night with shrapnel in my heart, figure it out.

If you read this and were hoping for some tricks of the trade, I hope my message of each-book-keeps-surprising-me and you-can’t-predict-how-its-going-to-go might be a little discouraging. I hope it isn’t. This profession is an uncertain path. But if you walk it with passion, with an open mind and an eager, shrapnelly heart, you will get there. You will learn from each book. The process is as much about you, the writer, as it is about your work. 

So, go. Walk the writer's path, and be fearless. You will figure it out.

Writing a novel is a skill that can be learned.  So logically, it would seem that once you've learned how to plot and write a novel, it should get easier, right?

Right?

Please tell me I'm right.

The truth is that I had no idea how to write a novel when I started writing Silver.  I read a few craft books and a lot of fiction, and then just sat down and tried to tell a story.  My agent was kind enough to give me a crash course in plotting, and I rewrote a large chunk of the book before we went on submission.

So when it came time to write the next one, I figured I was ahead of the game.  I could take what I learned from writing the first one and apply it to the next book I wrote.  My second book, Spies and Prejudice, went much faster.  I wrote it in about ten weeks.

Yeah, I thought I had this whole novel thing figured out.

Not so much.

I had to rewrite the entire book.

But that experience taught me so much about plot and character that surely the next book would be easier?

Yes.  In some ways, Gold was the easiest book for me to write.  I knew the characters inside and out, and the story came together pretty closely to how I had originally plotted it, with a few, mostly pleasant, surprises along the way.  There were revisions and the beginning was restructured, but the main plot and characters didn't change much from the original draft.

Then came the book that nearly killed me- my current work in progress clicked along until I hit the second act and then it came to a grinding halt.  There were days when I couldn't write more than 100 words despite spending hours in front of the manuscript.  On days when the words did come, they were often disjointed, cliche and barely salvageable.  The plot became unworkable, and the characters were hard to pin down.  Somehow I managed to push through and finish the draft, but even now, I have a love-hate relationship with the book.  The trauma of that first draft casts a shadow over my revisions, even when things are going well.  I've had more bad writing days on this manuscript than I remember having on the other three combined.

Book 5 is my guilty pleasure book.  I call it the book with no hook, but it's the book that I think about and play with for the pure joy of exploring the characters and uncovering their story.  My agent doesn't even know about it, mainly because I'm pretty sure she would encourage me to spend my time on something more commercial.  But this book isn't for the market, it's just for me.  And while I'm having fun with it, it has it's challenges too (um, did I mention it has no hook?).  

There is no one way to write a story, and every story is its own journey.  Every book has something to teach me about craft, and no matter how much I think I've learned, the next book will school me some more.

Bring it on.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Originally Posted by Katherine Longshore on Tuesday, January 10, 2012...at 7:10 AM 

If you look carefully, you'll notice something strange about this post.  It's a tiny thing.  Minor.  But to me, it indicates a lot.

Posting time.  Normally, I write my post the night before -- or even the weekend before -- it goes up, and schedule it.  For whatever reason, I schedule it for four in the morning -- I think my original plan was to catch east coasters before work.  So I start my Tuesdays like any other day -- e-mail, read the blog, Twitter, school run, and then I have a long period of work time.  Call me a creature of habit.

Not this week.  This week I've been putting off my blog post.  I noticed that Donna neatly side-stepped our topic with her brilliant post-party run-down (a much needed addition, so I certainly don't blame her!).  Why?  Because this week's topic is "Writing Book 2".  Not an easy task, either the topic or the work itself. 

I'm sure if you ask any published author about the sophomore novel, he will cringe or laugh hysterically or roll his eyes or start to gag and sweat.  It doesn't seem to matter if it's a second stand-alone, the second in a trilogy, a companion novel or the second in a five-book series.  That Book 2 is like the monster in the closet.

The crazy thing is, Book 2 is not my second book.  It's my fourth.  I believe Donna and Veronica can say something similar.  And Talia?  Well, I can't wait to read her post this week.

I suppose there is something about the second book for publication that gets the inner editor working overtime.  It certainly gives my inner procrastinator a full-time job (thus the late post this morning).  Because there is a large degree of fear that accompanies the sophomore novel.

Fear of failure (Book 1 was a fluke. I'm going to disappoint my agent/editor/readers.)
Fear of deadlines (I'll never make it. If I squeeze all the work in, it will be hackneyed and rushed.)
Fear of self. (I'm procrastinating like crazy!)
Fear for characters (I won't do them justice.)
Fear of the business (What if the first book doesn't do well?  What if the series is cancelled? What if I never sell another book and die unloved and alone hugging my single venture to my chest with chocolate-stained hands?)

Fear can be immobilizing. It certainly gives my inner procrastinator a lot of tools to work with.  So every day, I have to move to the edge, look over, cross my fingers and start.  I can't tell you how it will end.  I still don't know.  At some point in 2013, when Book 2 is on the shelves, you'll have to come tell me.  But until then, I have to give my inner procrastinator a run for its money.

This past weekend, the YA Muses met for a quick retreat in beach house. Laughter, writing, readings, coffee, and wine filled the days and nights. Here's a few snapshots: