The Second Story

I've heard hundreds of accounts of well-known authors whose first novels have never been published.

I figure they wrote that first story because they felt it was just too important not to write, or because the characters kept bothering them, gnawing at them, needing to be put on paper (or the computer screen). Awesome: a new writer is born. But eventually that first manuscript, over which they'd toiled and cried and offered blood sacrifices, was eventually and quietly abandoned. Maybe their idea was too out-there for the current market, the writing wasn't quite up to par, or the structure just didn't work.

And then, they wrote another one. And it was this second story that ended up being the one that launched their careers.

Why does it seem to work this way? I'm beginning to understand.

The first novel I ever wrote on purpose, The Front Range, is done.

The first draft is completely unrecognizable from what it is today (it even has a different title), and while I like it, it was sure a pain in the patooty to get it there. I still don't understand what the hell I was thinking when I wrote some parts of it; some really should-be-dramatic parts were not very dramatic, my characters occasionally acted completely out of character, and some of the language was just plain flat and boring. It's come a long way since then. And now it's "done" (in quotes, because, well, if it's not published, it ain't done). Yay!

So I started another one.

As a new author, I'm almost as intrigued by this whole process of writing as I am by the stories themselves (after all, we write because we have intriguing stories to tell, right?). After I "finished" The Front Range, I started about a half dozen other little WIPs that I got excited about for maybe a day, which usually involved typing a million words per minute into my favorite muse (Notepad). Settings, plots, character profiles - you name it, I wrote it down, and then plunged ahead into the actual story while the fire was still blazing.

And, inevitably, that fire burned out.

So I'd go back into The Front Range, do a little tweaking, a little querying, a little changing, a little sequel-working.

Then I'd get another awesome idea and start the thinking-Notepadding-brainstorming-firestoking process over again, hoping this next one would stick.

And then, one day, one of them did. And it's completely different. The Front Range is a fantasy/adventure, and this new one is a romantic thriller.

no no no, not that kind of thriller

I enjoy thrillers, sure, but honestly, the idea of doing all the necessary research into police procedure, types of weapons, and the intricacies of criminal enterprises never really appealed to me. But for some reason, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I started writing. Granted, the fire did burn low like I expected it to, but I plunged through the doldrums and came out stronger on the other end.

And MAN is it different. I'm taking risks with style, voice, and flashbacks that I never dreamed of when I wrote The Front Range (the quality of which I still stand by; narrative complexity isn't a prerequisite for a good book, after all). Perhaps the most interesting part is that, because this is a thriller, there are multiple subplots, mysteries, and plot twists I'm planning, and putting them all together in such a way as to keep the reader guessing while providing the proper hints in the proper places is entertaining as hell. It almost feels like the story is a great big fluffy blanket and I'm hiding stuff in its folds, making sure every little hidden item is evenly spaced, adequately concealed, and then revealed in the plot at just the right time so that when you shake the whole thing out, nothing falls and shatters on the floor.

The point is, I've come into it with a better plan this time and, more importantly, with experience.

I must admit part of me is still stubbornly holding onto The Front Range, but I can understand the aforementioned phenomenon a little better now, and I won't be so heartbroken if this story is never published.

I'm still grateful it exists in the first place, for it taught me so much.

It taught me what works for me and what doesn't when it comes to plotting and writing a story.

It taught me how to be comfortable with my writing, helping me find a pattern, language style, and voice that is uniquely me.

(An interesting side note: since I began writing, I've discovered I am better able to communicate orally, with clients and coworkers, almost as if I had unlocked a source of language in my brain that I had never accessed before. I find I am wittier, quicker, and more comprehensible than I was before. Anyone else had this happen?)

And, of course, it taught me the basics of revising, pitching, querying, and publishing. (I still kick myself thinking of all the awesome agents I missed out on simply because I didn't know how to query yet.)

I have high hopes for this second novel. I'm about 16,000 words in and can't wait to finish it, and I already feel like it's a stronger piece than The Front Range.

I'm not saying that, if you're a new author, you should give up on your first piece. By all means, try your damnedest to get it out there; even if it doesn't work out, the process is extremely valuable. But don't let it hold you back, either.

They say that, just like anything else, writing takes practice. Maybe some people get lucky. Maybe some people are naturals.

But many debuts are the second story.