i wasn’t prepared for the emotional journey
Read or watch anything about authors talking about writing a book, and they all say that’s it a lot of hard work. And of course, they’re right. And I wasn’t prepared for it, to be honest.
I generally don’t like doing work a second time. I prefer to take a little more time, get it done right the first time and move on with my life. Revisiting the same task over and over is frustrating and I dislike it. Passionately. But yeah, I had to get over that one. Or at least find a way to manage it internally. (which often entails long breaks and a lot of self-talk to put my big-boy panties on and get it done…)
Writing a book is a never-ending journey of ideating, writing, and then refine, refine, refine. Ad nauseum. On some level, I knew this going into the project, so when that monster raised it’s butt ugly head, I was quasi-prepared.
What I wasn’t prepared for, was how emotionally draining the whole process is. You pour hours and hours into the work. Come up with clever scenes and loveable characters and once a solid foundation is built, you return to what you’ve done, and begin to make it better.
My first draft was ~120k words that included all of my notes and ideas poured out on paper. But it was missing, something… I mean, I knew I didn’t have a proper ending, but there was a larger issue at play. I just couldn’t see what it was. I reached out to a few friends and got <some> feedback, but it didn’t help. Then a friend, Erik Scott DeBie posted on his social media that he was attempting to become a fulltime writer and editor, and was accepting new work. A few emails later, I hired him to read my draft and give me feedback.
I think this was the beginning of an emotional rollercoaster I had boarded without realizing. Erik was hugely supportive, lavishing praise on my character portrayal, the story, and how it touched him when he read it. He also told me that I had two and a half books worth of material mashed together which lacked a proper narrative flow and a lot of connective tissue. Ultimately, he thought I had something special, that needed a lot of TLC to get it to fruition. So I got back to work.
Since then, I’ve reworked the material more times than I can count and have partnered with several editors, beta readers, and anyone who was willing to give me honest feedback. But with each round of feedback, I was hit with a wave of self-loathing and ego-crushing doubt. Any praise would make me fly with joy, and criticism would cast me in a spiral of dismay.
Nearly everyone I talked to was supportive, yet even minor critiques hit far harder than they should have. I wasn’t prepared for how emotionally vulnerable I was in regard to my work, and it is still a journey of highs and lows. Despite that, I carried on. I send off a version, get feedback, wallow in misery for a week, and then get to work. (Though sometimes that week of misery would last a bit longer) This has become my routine, healthy or not.
The emotional journey didn’t end there, however. Having my ego kicked in its balls over and over was one thing, but then exposing myself to the world with the release of my book has been something else. Something I’m still struggling with.
I was generally prepared for the hours and hours of work that goes into writing a novel. But I was unware of how deeply the whole process would affect me, and how emotional it would all be. And without the loving support of friends, family, and the supportive editors and beta readers, I wouldn’t have had the fortitude to see this to completion.
So thank you to everyone who supported me along the way. You made it happen, whether you realize it or not.
