Isn't it amazing how we constantly learn by the processes which we undertake? That might sound like a fairly obvious statement, however it's not until you really get into the nitty gritty of something that you begin to understand what it really takes to make it successful. It goes without saying that hard work is the bedrock of completing anything of note, however having the flexibility to adapt and evolve throughout a project is something that I had not fully appreciated, or should I more specifically say, I hadn't fully appreciated the evolution that I would need to undertake with such a large project as this. I shall come back to patience momentarily.
I recall setting about writing my (as yet untitled) debut fantasy novel in March of 2016, filled with the kind of enthusiastic gusto with which I begin to approach most things. I set out my first blog post and enthused wildly about keeping people up to date with my progress. Of course, this was well intentioned, however as I now realise, it was also somewhat naïve.
I had my story fixed in my mind, the characters were partially formed and I really liked the direction in which I wanted to develop my own fantasy world. The idea for the novel had come to me during a fun filled walk one New Years Day around Loch Muick. Originally it was going to be a children's story, but then my imagination subconsciously grabbed hold of it and, before I knew it, there was an entirely new world of possibilities that opened up and began to develop into a rather complex and in depth piece of writing.
I guess that this is where the evolution really began, not to mention the hard work. Most of my previous writing had been poetry, a genre with which I am still very much in love. There were, of course, the obligatory five attempts at starting a novel previously, all of which had fallen short somewhere between 5,000 and 40,000 words and still linger to this day in a dusty folder somewhere on my laptop. You see, as a poet, the writing of a story is far more instantaneous. For example, I could write a killer poem in no more than a few hours, its rich, descriptive language could tell a story in a mere few stanzas that would engage readers and leave them with a musing sense of satisfaction that they, not the writer, could fill the gaps in the story with their own imagination.
This is where, in my case, evolution first met my nemesis, patience. It very quickly became apparent to me that to write a novel, especially a fantasy novel that could be up to as many as 120,000 words, was not a one day project. I mused long and hard as to my resilience for such a significant piece of work, before reaching the conclusion that I would never be able to forgive myself were I to abandon my ambition in place of the safe refuge which poetry afforded me.
Out of my comfort zone, I pressed ahead and "just wrote". I had researched first drafts and took a small amount of comfort from most writers views that the first step was to get the story onto paper, no matter the quality. I simply allowed my fingers to type, trying to keep up with the speed of my imagination which would always seem to be several paragraphs ahead of my typing capability. There were, of course, gaps of time where I needed to step back and allow my mind to empty, before coming back to my keyboard refreshed and armed with ideas and coffee.
It felt as though I had climbed a mountain and was stood atop its summit on the day that I typed "The End" on my first draft. I celebrated and self congratulated, giving myself too many pats on the back, believing that this was by far my greatest writing achievement to date. I promised myself a week off so that I could clear my head before planning to attack a first edit of the entire manuscript.
I don't recall if I took the full week off or not, however what I do recall is the utter horror with which I was struck when I first began to read through my cherished manuscript. This, as it turned out, was to be my second meeting with evolution.
I was no further into reading than a couple of paragraphs, when my enthusiastic back slapping was firmly cut off at the knees. I could barely believe what I was reading, nor could I believe that I had written it. I felt as though it had been written by a child, so poor was the choice of language and the flow of words. It was as though my mind had dumped thousands of words onto a page, with good intention, yet had forgotten to give any credence to order or sense.
My journey through a first edit was a painful lesson to me in terms of the process of writing a novel. Not only were the words themselves of childlike intellect, but also the story was pitted with mistakes, holes and inaccuracies. It soon became apparent that my subconscious mind had changed the story line as I had been writing, whilst forgetting to let my conscious mind know about these changes.
I have to say that I felt somewhat exhausted by the time I had finished the first edit, albeit that I believed I had a much stronger story, written in a much more adult fashion. There was no back slapping or other self congratulatory celebration when I had finished, instead there was merely a sense of profound relief that I felt I had put right some the wrongs with my first effort.
However, this was to prove not entirely accurate. You see, what I hadn't realised on any level, is that a writing style takes time, patience, hard work and practice to evolve fully. I was learning "on the hoof" and not paying heed to the basic disciplines of writing a novel. When I set about my second edit, it became apparent that, whilst my story was far more robust and my language much improved, there was a distinct swing in the style of my writing throughout the manuscript.
This may seem strange, as many people believe that we write in the same way in which we think, but this is not entirely true. I had set out, with my poetic background, to write in a style that was rich and dark, full of imagery and descriptive language that would draw in a reader and make them feel as though they were bathing in a pool of the finest dark chocolate with each word that they read. Whilst I had achieved this in patches, that was all that I had achieved. Still present were far too many deviations form a consistent style of writing, with my language still spilling out unchecked at various points.
This was where patience really came to the fore. At first I was filled with self derision and castigation, chiding myself for my inability to present a well written, coherent story, even on the second attempt. It took me several months of thought, and practice, to forgive myself for such writing heresy and reach a point where I felt comfortable to return for a third edit.
I never gave up, not once thinking that I would put my novel into a dusty folder bearing a big red stamp reading "FAILED". Yet, at the same time, I did not know when I would have the reserves of mental resolve to return to it. As it turned out, it was no more than a couple of months, which on reflection were perhaps what I had needed all those months ago when I vigorously began my first edit.
I have now fully edited the Prologue and first three chapters, reading and re-reading them on numerous occasions. I can now proudly put my hand on my heart and feel satisfied that, barring a few minor changes, they tell my story exactly as I wish it to be told, in a style that is rich, consistent and coherent. In other words, I feel that I have learned to become a writer, not just a poet.
Is this the end of my hard work, evolution and patience? I sincerely hope not. I have learned that I must constantly evolve to improve my writing, whilst also recognising that there has to be a line drawn in the sand at some point, otherwise I would spend the rest of my life rewriting the same story over and over again.
What's next? I am now armed with my copy of the 2017 Writers & Artists Yearbook and am tentatively starting to research agents, in the hope that one of them will like both my novel and be a strong fit with me as an individual and my ambitions as an author. In other words, someone who really buys into me, my novel and my ideas for the next one, and the next one, and....
I shall not promise that I will be back here imminently blogging about my progress, for to do so would not be entirely fair to you or I. So, for now, its back to my third edit with a realistic smile and an optimistic determination to one day see my work on a bookshelf.
