You’re going in there?

Is there anything scarier than starting a novel? I mean in terms of writing — I know there are far scarier things out there in the real world than the terror of writing a novel.

It’s a question based on personal experience. I’ve published a few books now — novels, novellas/shorter stories — and the thought of starting a new novel both excites and terrifies me. By the way, I don’t mind being scared. I write horror and apocalyptic stuff because it’s what I like reading and watching. It’s good to be unsettled, distracted from the everyday. Having a spooky little diversion that echoes our reality is a great way of staying sane (ish) in a world that increasingly insane.

Writing a novel isn’t like that though. There’s less in the way of escapism here and more of the hard labour.

Process and result

As an aside, I used to do a lot of carving and starting a new novel reminds me of starting a new piece of sculpture. You can see the possibility of something lovely but it’s very distant. Many, many hours away. You also know you may not get there and, if you do, it’s going to involve aching hands and a sore neck. How you feel about the process of working can be very different from the result of that work.

Let me give this some context.

The commitment

Of late, I’ve been concentrating on shorter stories and novellas. Even broken a rule and submitted to a couple of anthologies. Shorter fiction is hardly straightforward but it’s less daunting than a novel. It requires a certain discipline and focus, a deftness of touch. Not saying I necessarily have either, but the idea of starting one is nearly always pleasant. The pleasure mainly being that you can usually see the destination from the outset. Get tired and stop half way there? So what? You won’t have been walking long.

There’s the rub. That’s what it’s all about. Novels are a huge commitment for a writer. They’ll chew your days and spit them out in a hideous pulp. You work in a fever of optimism and leave in a vaguely ecstatic state. Then return and feel nothing but despair. Writing is treacherous business. You can’t trust the words. They’re tricky little bastards. Get too many together and they’ll betray you.

So why even attempt one?

Embracing the terror

Well, I guess the novel is a more highly regarded accomplishment. Rightly so perhaps, the time and dedication involved is definitely a pant-pebbling prospect. Plus, there’s something genuinely enjoyable about roaming your fictional landscape for an extended period. Without sounding overly poncey about it, creativity on any scale carries its own rewards. A deeply satisfying, personally enriching process. It’s fair to argue that the larger the work, the greater the sense of achievement.

You might even sell a few copies!

That’s not the whole story. Kicking off a bigger work is like standing at the edge of a dark, rarely trodden woodland. You’re going to enter and you don’t really know where you’ll end up.

There’s always the chance you might get 30k words in and feel it float away from you. Get sidetracked, simply lose interest, or hit a roadblock with the story. However much you plan, in my experience longer fictional works inevitably develop a life of their own. They’re unruly and unpredictable. Wilfully disobedient. Offering 6 months to one is asking for trouble. Tantamount to gambling.

So, do you feel lucky? A huge investment of time and effort when the payoff might be nothing more than an, at best temporarily, abandoned manuscript.

The terror of writing a novel, that fear of starting the long story? I suppose there’s no great mystery. Writing an even half decent novel is damned difficult.

Don’t think you can’t do it …but don’t think it’s going to be easy : )