What is right?

Ask a writer what it is they want to do with their story, and something like eight out of ten will start by giving you a description of the plot. Ask again, push a little harder, and 99% of them will eventually come up with "I want to write a really good book."

Unfortunately, there aren't nearly as many writers who can answer the obvious follow-up question: "OK, but what does that mean?" Usually, they look at me blankly, or say "But - but - but everyone knows what a really good book is!"

Well, no, they don't. If everyone agreed about what a really good book is, you wouldn't have people arguing about whether various bestselling titles are works of genius or perversions of the writer's art. And unfortunately, nine times out of ten, if I say "So OK, tell me what a good book is, then," the writers can't articulate it.

This is a problem, because if you don't know what it is you are trying to do, you're likely to have a hard time figuring out whether you've done it. I'm not talking here about knowing the ending of the story (though a lot of writers do need to have that to aim for). I'm talking about knowing exactly what you, as a writer, want to accomplish and why.

What does "write a really good book" mean to you? If the stories that you find gripping or engrossing are all thrillers, writing a moody, atmospheric story of character development is likely to leave you feeling unsatisfied and twitchy, no matter how brilliant everyone else tells you it is. And if you don't realize that what you think makes for a good book is different from the opinions of your critics, teachers, friends, etc., then you're likely to feel equally unsatisfied, if not downright miserable, when your top-notch action-adventure story or stylistic masterpiece receives a lukewarm reception from people for whom "a really good book" means something other than what you've written.

Every writer has, on some level, a vision of what they want to do with the story they're writing, and if the writer betrays that vision, they're not going to be pleased with the result, no matter what else goes right. Unfortunately, the writer's vision is seldom the sort of clear picture that's advocated by a lot of how-to-write books. It can be hard, if not impossible, to articulate. Sometimes, it's little more than a feeling, which is intensely frustrating to both the writers and to the well-meaning people trying to tell them they have to come up with a log line or a summary paragraph or an outline or a theme.

"I'll know when I get it right" is just not good enough for the more analytical types, but it's often all we have - even for those of us who are ourselves analytical. So what does one do when the vision one has for the book isn't something one can spell out in so many words?

What you do is, you take a deep breath and believe in yourself. If you'll know when you get it right, then believe that you will know. Work at it, fiddle with the parameters, change the viewpoints, mess with the plot outlines - but trust that inner voice when it says "Not like this" to something that logic says is just the perfect thing. And trust it again when it says "Yes, this is right" to something that logic (and/or your editor, agent, friends, crit group, fans, etc.) all say is insane and unworkable.

If you find that your confidence is easily undermined by those other voices, you may have to stop listening to them for a while. That means not talking about your work-in-process with the dear, supportive friend who thinks you should be writing gritty urban fantasy instead of the sweet Romance that your inner voice is demanding. It means that you stop reading the writing forum where everyone talks endlessly and with great assurance about how books have to start with action to sell these days and how you must never use a first-person narrator, when the book that's banging on the back door of your brain is a first-person memoir that starts with three pages of description and backstory. It may mean reading a lot of books like the one you want to write (to reassure yourself that yes, books like this do sell), or it may mean reading a lot of books that are totally unlike the one you want to write (so you don't get the depressing feeling that it's all been done before, much better than you'll be able to do it).

You also want to be fairly certain that it really is your backbrain that's insisting on doing this insane and unworkable thing, and not the lazy part that doesn't want to be bothered doing things the hard-but-better way. Generally speaking, if I feel gloomy and depressed about the advice I'm getting (because in my heart I know it'll be better for the book, but it's going to take a lot more time and effort and I-don't-wanna), then I knew I should follow it; if I feel cranky (because no matter what they're saying it's just not right for this story), then I know I shouldn't. I expect that there are writers who are the opposite - who feel cranky about advice they ought to follow (because they know they should and hate being told/reminded) and depressed about the advice they ought to not follow (because they know that's not the kind of story they want to write, but they think they have to). The trick is to know what your particular tells are, so that you can reliably ignore what needs ignoring and accept what needs accepting.