How To Write Three Books In A Year
Yesterday I finished my ninth novel, Book of Shadows. Which you can read for free, in its entirety, online. Eventually, I do plan on turning Book of Shadows into a real book, but almost certainly not before I’ve written its two sequels. Ideally by the end of this summer. Maybe into the fall, if things go exceptionally slowly; I’m the mother of a toddler and my jewelry business is beginning to pick up steam. But I have no doubt, even so, that I will have written another three books by the end of 2016. Just like I did in 2015, and just like I did in 2014.
I’m not going to pretend to tell you how to write. At least not in this post. There are plenty of resources out there, geared toward that topic. Although, as I point out in my own book on the craft, there’s also no substitute for practice. Tips and tricks are great, and they can help; finding your own voice is a necessity. One thing I did do, that I think everyone should do, is write–just to write. Just to do just that. Not in the hopes of publication; not for any reason other than to explore and, ultimately, to learn. Lucius Annaeus Seneca observed that if one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable. This is true, and it’s true for your writing as well. If you don’t know who you are, as a writer, and what your goal is, you have no means of evaluating advice–on anything.
But, presuming you know how to write–or think you do–then what?
If writing is your job, or if you want it to be your job, then treat it like your job. You’re not going to become a bestselling author, or any kind of author, by sitting around dreaming of being asked to appear on panels at cons. Nor are you by engaging in magical thinking about the “right” agent or the “right” publisher. These things can help. A lot of things can help. But, in the end, this is your career. And, thus, your responsibility. Not your agent’s; not your publisher’s. Waiting for someone else to take ownership of your life is the surest recipe for failure there is. If you want people to read your book, then you need to give them a reason to read your book. No, that’s not “someone else’s job.” Neither, indeed, is it anyone else’s job to make you sit down at your computer and write. The world will take your work–not you, mind you, your work–as seriously as you do.
Don’t confuse taking your work seriously with taking yourself seriously. Referring to yourself as Author Jane Grey, or posting about all the awesome reviews you’re getting, might be fun. The feedback you get from all the voices living inside your computer may make you feel good. But you’re still wasting your time. I know a lot of people who write a lot less than I do, and who make a lot less money than I do, and who are perpetually confused–and resentful–that I’m where they think they should be. Because beating your chest like Tarzan does not a working professional create. You’ll always be a lot better off actually doing your job, than wandering around the office trying to convince everyone else how great you are at it.
Don’t be an Amway salesperson.
Don’t waste your time on gimmicks. Crafting your next manuscript with a quill pen might make you feel special, but it won’t accomplish anything. Which goes back to the whole “is this actually your job” question. Do you expect your CPA to bring his abacus to work, because it helps him get in touch with his inner Luca Pacioli? Are you coming to his office for a history lesson? Too many authors seem to forget what their actual, daily purpose is. And let’s face it: if you don’t have anything to say, then dressing up in special costumes or using tools so antiquated that they’re actually a hindrance to productivity is not going to help.
Do the following exercise: list five things that you’re good at (but not, and I repeat not, five things that you are). In other words, no “I’m an amazing writer.” Tell me–tell yourself–something concrete about your actual skill set. Are you a good proofreader? Have you mastered the medieval history section at your local library? Don’t keep telling yourself that looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking I’m destined to conquer my field is enough. Good self esteem is good (although hubris isn’t), but it’s no substitute–again–for actual hard work. Give yourself a reason to be proud of yourself that isn’t based on narcissism, and you’ll quickly find that other people are more interested in you too.
I’m not so great. I put my pants on one leg at a time like everybody else. But what separates me from my arguably (at least in their own minds) more talented colleagues is that I work goddamn hard. I’m at my desk by five every morning, writing. I write a minimum of 2,000 words per day. I edit myself ruthlessly. I’m in this, not to prance around feeling good about myself but to make a living at something I love. Which, indeed, I do quite handily and have for a couple of years now.
Not everyone likes honesty. Some people would rather be told, as they’re driving straight for the edge of a cliff, that they’re doing the best thing possible. I’m…too interested in the health and welfare of other people to high five them for failing. That, to me, is far more cruel. Although I’m sure some would disagree; I’ve lost friends, although not good friends, for refusing to agree that drug addiction, sloth, theft, and abuse were good things. Simply because that was what the person wanted to hear. I’d rather that we all actually be successful, and actually be happy, than have to pretend at it. The fact still remains, though, that I’ve gotten to where I am by taking my own advice. I’m far, far harder on myself than I ever have been, or would be, on anyone else. So, depending on what you think of where I am, you can decide for yourself whether my advice is worthwhile to take.
