Why did no one warn me about Book 2?
No, seriously. Why didn't anyone say anything?
No one talks about how hard it is to write a book that someone’s already paid you for. Probably because it sounds ungrateful—because: nice problem to have, right? And I am grateful—I’m living my childhood dream—and I wouldn’t change a thing about my situation. But it’s hard.
“Book 2” is actually the fifth book I’ve written, though it will be the second book I publish (assuming, of course, my editor likes it). You would think, after having written four complete manuscripts, I’d have this whole writing-a-book-thing nailed down. No. I do not. I am a two-year-old holding my first crayon.
It started off so well. I had a unique concept (okay, a logline) that my agent thought was exciting, so I took a stab at drafting some opening pages and—wow—the words were flying out of me. And they were good. The voice was just there and the tone was pitch-perfect and I was planting all these creepy seeds that promised—promised!—to grow into something special.
But then it all stopped. The words dried up, the birds stopped singing, the heavens…did whatever the opposite of parting is. Turned out those seeds were just seeds. They weren’t sprouting; the ideas were not coming. Characters—big, main, important characters—were twiddling their thumbs in their beautiful settings. They were making no decisions, facing no consequences, stirring no pots. They were not doing their effing jobs.
The holidays came and I took a break. I put the manuscript in the (proverbial) drawer. Then 2025 arrived and I realized I had less than a year to come up with something good or they (my publisher) would bust my kneecaps. (Not really, of course, but one feels obligated to qualify this sort of thing these days.)
The pressure was as intense as my creativity was stifled. I wasn’t writing the story I wanted to read, I was writing the story I wanted my publisher (and my agent and my future readers) to want to read. And you cannot write a good book if you’re trying to please anyone, let alone everyone. It’s so easy to tell yourself no, no, don’t do that, tune it all out and write the story in your heart, but come on. That’s about as useful as the “pretend everyone’s in their underwear” trick. No one is in their effing underwear! I am far too sane to trick myself into believing they are. And thinking about people in their underwear does not make me feel better. It makes me feel like a creep.
Anyway, I was looking down the barrel of that deadline and knew I had to get back on the (also proverbial) horse, so I printed off my outline (actually a simple Excel chart that’s served me well through several books now) and headed to bed. Not to sleep, of course, but to think. Something about lying on my stomach in bed with a pencil and paper helps me think. Maybe because this is how I studied, those handful of times I did study, in my youth. I grabbed a Spindrift and the clipboard my husband made in his seventh-grade shop class and got to work, brainstorming all the different ways those seeds could grow into something exciting or nasty or beautiful—or ideally, all three.
And then it started happening. The seeds started sprouting. Sometimes into some really funky-looking plant-monster things, but sometimes into something beautiful. And nasty and exciting. Hallelujah! I was back on track.
I excitedly—though nervously—sent the manuscript off to my agency. I knew it was not perfect—and I’d never sent such an early draft of anything to anyone, ever—but I felt its promise. And lo: my agent and in-agency editor felt it, too!
Buuuut they also had some…suggestions. Lots and lots of suggestions. Really good suggestions, but…well, suggestions. Edits are the worst part of writing a book. Correction: developmental edits are the worst. (I love me a good line-editing session.) But dev edits? They’re painful. They make a big mess. You take out one little thing here or move this thing over there, and chaos ensues. Chaos!
But it’s going to be worth it. Already, the connections are firing, new ideas giving rise to other, bigger ideas and creating a giant, giant mess. But this is what writers do. We make a mess and then we clean it up. Then we make another mess and then we clean it up. Over and over, just like at home with the laundry and the dishes and the cubbies—just hang the damn backpack on the damn hook!—but unlike at home, one day you’re going to clean up that mess for the last time. And it’s going to be good. It’s going to be a bloodbath getting it there, but it’s going to be so good.
And I cannot wait for you to read it. In two years.
Update On My Debut Novel, Good Intentions
The cover has been released (see below; isn’t she something?) and early copies are starting to make their way into the hands of bookish people! It’s also available for pre-order (pre-orders are so helpful in making a book successful!) pretty much everywhere (a few big box and indie bookstore options are linked on my website, as well as my publisher’s website).
What I’m…
Working On: Developmental edits for Book 2. Dun-dun-duh.
Reading: Count My Lies by Sophie Stava, about a compulsive liar whose little white lies allow her to infiltrate the life of a wealthy married couple who are harboring much darker secrets themselves. (I finally got around to reading this one after seeing it everywhere.) Up next: Julie Chan Is Dead by Liann Zhang, a suspenseful satire about a woman who steps into her deceased twin’s influencer life—only to discover dark secrets hidden behind her social media façade. It’s been described as Yellowface meets Bunny—so, yes please!
Listening to: “Messy” by Lola Young (if Good Intentions had a theme song, this would be it).
You had me at the headline. Truly, I was not warned. I'm also in developmental edits for book two!
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You really did address the reality, known exclusively to writers. I agree and relate with the pressure of expectation of enthusiastic readers. Congratulations on going through this process and phase Marisa! You're bold! Power to You