Saturday 3 November 2018

Scared to Let Go


In September, I wrote a blog post called Moving on a Bit. Although, I hadn't announced it yet (I had to wait until I was given the go-ahead) I had already signed my two-book deal with the brilliant Bookouture and had started writing the second novel in my contract.

My post was about how difficult it was to write short stories alongside longer-length projects and how, even though I'd managed to do this when writing my first two novels, I had decided to take a step back from magazine writing for a while to give myself the very best chance of success.

I think it was the only decision I could have made as, very quickly after this, I began work on editing novel one. First there were the structural edits, then the line edits, then the book was sent to an independent editor for copy edits, which I shall get back in December. At the same time as this, I've been working on novel two. 

Last week I had an email from my lovely editor at The People's friend. They were buying two of my stories. This should, of course, have been cause for celebration, but instead I felt nothing but anxiety. The reason for this was that, when I came to enter the sales into my records, I realised that they only had one more of my stories left to read. In the six years I've been writing for the magazine, this has never happened, as I always like to have at least ten with them. I then looked back and saw I hadn't written them a new story in two months (I used to write one a week).

It was a truly unsettling moment and I vowed that I would leave my novel and write a story there and then. I looked at my list of ideas and chose one before doing what I always do and just to start writing. This technique has never failed me yet as, along the way, the small kernel of the idea usually starts to grow quite quickly into something story-like and, if I get stuck, a dog walk usually sorts it out.

Not this time.

To my horror, by seven hundred words, my idea was still just that... an idea. The characters hadn't come to life, the plot hadn't taken shape and the end wouldn't reveal itself. Eventually, I had to stop.

I've tried to analyse what happened. It might be a) I've got out of the habit of writing short fiction b) I was writing it because I felt guilty not because I wanted to c) My head was still in my novel 

Whatever the reason, it's worried me. I've always been successful writing for the magazines and I don't want to forget how to do it. It's where my income comes from and I've always enjoyed it. I'm also afraid that, with the magazine market shrinking, the competition for story sales is greater than it's ever been and taking a step back can be a dangerous thing to do. 

Getting my publishing deal has been one of my greatest achievements but there's no way of knowing what will happen once the books come out. All I know is that I have to give it my very best shot. In the meantime, I'm going to leave the story and come back to it with fresh eyes. I've done it three hundred times before, so I shall just have to have faith in myself that I can do it again.

Anyone else out there in the same boat?

16 comments:

  1. Sounds like creative exhaustion to me, Wendy? I've experienced it before when loaded down with writing tasks. What works for me is to get out away from anything writing related and do something playful to refuel my imagination. Sometimes we just push too hard. Good luck!

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    1. Good idea. I’ve just gone on holiday. Hopefully will be refuelled on my return.

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  2. Yes! I no longer either want or am able to write short stories. I miss them, but sometimes it really is a matter of having to move on. Just think, Wendy - there are writers out there who will sell their stories as a direct result of your not selling yours! Very good luck in your new career.

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    1. With the publisher you have landed, Wendy, I think you will find that your novels income eclipses your short stories so I would not worry and look on it as a new phase in your career.

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  3. Feeling your anxiety, Wendy, as suffering similar with my writing. The trouble with novels is they seem to be selfish, greedy beasts that gobble your time and headspace leaving nothing for the poor neglected short stories. This may be something we both need to go through. Looking forward to celebrating on the other side though!

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  4. Am not really in the same boat... no novel, am ancient and retired these days... but you've done so well. Don't worry. My advice would be to keep taking notes and - another weird thing that helps me from time to time - if working on two things at once have them in two different fonts. No idea why that works :-) I don't imagine PF will forget you. Good luck.

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    1. Yes, Im still taking notes, Penny. The font idea is interesting!

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  5. Welcome to my life, Wendy! Every story starts like this but I'm getting better at finding the endings as time goes on. I'm sure you'll be back to your usual heartrending form before long.

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  6. I think it was that unsettling moment which affected you, Wendy, and you were writing from a place of fear. The title of your post shows that too. It is a temporary setback, I'm sure of it. You will never lose your skill and love for short fiction, and the magazine market will always want your stories xxx

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  7. It's probably a temporary blip, Wendy, as you've been concentrating so much on longer length fiction. I now look at writing short fiction as more of a creative exercise, perhaps for a competition that appeals. Your anxiety is no doubt contributing to your self-doubt and should ease once you get back in your stride.

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    1. I’m hoping it is just a temporary blip, Rosemary.

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  8. Hi Wendy. I'm thinking all the editing has been harnessing your critical/analytic skills, which are great when looking for errors, clarifying meaning etc, but is really something of a negative mind state. Quite the opposite of the mindset needed for creative work like writing a short story. You're also under a lot more pressure with the demand of a novel, and the thrust toward publishing. The creative flow will come back. Good wishes Kate Hogan

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