Writing a a novel, like coming up with a title for that novel, is hard. Nanowrimo flies/drags/insert your own verb by and you're so incredibly pleased because you've got 50,000 words of something and though you realize that something isn't exactly a Brilliant Masterpiece as the Word doc title suggests, you're still pretty proud. And you think that after some hardship, you'll be able to whip it into shape. Your misconceptions of the editing process have led you to believe various things (for example that if you cut some chapters and write some new ones you'll be good to go or worse, that once you've fixed the grammar and spelling errors, you're done). And then you set out to realize that this shit it difficult and your novel sucks, plus you've already showed it to at least five people who will never unread that first draft**. Damnit.
It's been only six months since I wrote those first 52,000 words but it feels like longer. And I've gone through so many phases of thoughts toward my novel that it's almost unreal. But lately what I've been feeling mainly is insecurity. And excitement.
I'm a little worried. I don't want it to be fluffy. I don't want to write chick lit even though there's nothing inherently wrong with chick lit other than the name and stigma. I told this to my mom, saying I didn't want to be another Meg Cabot (even though Meg Cabot is clearly great) and my mom said why not? I'm young. I can make mistakes. Also, as a side note, I think Meg is doing pretty well for herself. I'd be lucky to be that lucky. And maybe she's right but I don't see the point. And maybe I'm pushing myself too much to say that I want to be like John Green but when I think about it, I don't want to be John Green or Meg Cabot. But I do want to impact people.
In defense of Meg Cabot: I love Meg's books. The Mediator series is one of my favourites and Avalon High was charming. I was also deeply in love with All American Girl and its sequel.
But however much I related to the characters or wished that I would get to fall in love with a hot guy named Jesse, there wasn't anything else. I would turn the last page and close the book but I wouldn't feel anything else except maybe, "Well, that was good." They're just stories to me and they don't mean much beyond that. To me.
And I'm not saying everyone has to be deeply moving and crazily thought provoking. But I am saying that I'm trying to be. So I hope that isn't offensive to Meg Cabot or her fans. I completely respect her as a writer. She's so amazing and inspiring. That's just not what I want to be.
I want people to read the last page of my book and be changed in some way, even if it's just some tiny thing. I want there to be a purpose, some sort of resonance and even if it's only a tiny ripple, I want my book to mean something to its readers, like John's books mean something to me.
But I'm not trying to be John Green, either. Whatever they say about imitation, I want to do something new. Or as new as one can in the publishing world, where every story has been written multiple times.
I think I'll settle for a debut novel like Jandy Nelson's, The Sky is Everywhere. And that might even be reaching a little high. But I've got time to grow and that's what is important. Cheesy? Yeah, that's fine with me.
*In chronological order they are Brilliance Masterpiece, The Secret of Lemons and Recreational Stalking.
** The lesson here is to not listen to the pressures of your friends when they tell you to share your novel. They can wait until it's published. *knocks on wood*
1 comment:
DUDE. I KNOW.
I get quite discouraged sometimes because it's hard to be at the point where everything I write will, in all likelihood, suck. I want to write a novel that actually means something and right now I don't have the ability to do that. The important thing is to keep writing and practicing and eventually, hopefully, you'll be inspired and churn out The Greatest Book in the World, but that space in the meantime is so frustrating...
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