Last week I scrapped my novel.
That is a terrifying sentence to write, but I’m trying to convince myself it’s for the best.
Some context: I had been writing a novel. (Two, actually. This one will be called Novel A.) It is not, persay, bad. It has some lovely moments and a few good characters and some high seas adventuring. But I realized in class last Thursday that it was simply all wrong. It was the wrong voice, the wrong setting, definitely the wrong genre. It wasn’t as good as it could have been.
I keep hearing that I should write a very bad novel before I start worrying about writing good ones. I have to admit, I have yet to wrap my brain around this little nugget of wisdom. I’ve tortured myself through 40,000 words of this thing; why would I continue the torture through another 50,000? Or is it another bad first novel I’m supposed to be writing? At what point can I declare the thing mature enough to officially be put to death?
I don’t know. But I decided to scrap it. The novel is dead. A week before I have 5,000 words of it due, because of course I is a genius.
But perversely, I think the moment I decided to get rid of the old thing came with a new, better story idea. I just need to fan the new idea a little, maybe feed it some kindling in the form of stream-of-consciousness gobbledy-gook. Then I will decide if my new story lives.
2 Comments
Go Sara Go.
I think you may live for bold gestures. That’s not a bad thing, but it is a thing.
Hello!
Ha! You’re probably right.
On the other hand, since the new idea shares ground with the old idea, I think i will end up recycling a lot of the old words. Just…possibly in different orders.
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