Book problems: ‘murky middles’ and editing slumps

Disclaimer: I’m writing this because I need to heave myself out of an editing slump.  I’m on Draft Five(ish) of my first novel.  Truth be told, it’s starting to bore me rigid.

Starting a new book-writing project can feel seismic, because it is.  You’re about to transfer a story idea out of your head and onto the page.  It feels sort-of magical, the way the words flow, your characters begin to breathe, and the story seems to direct itself.

Until…

Suddenly, you get stuck.  You’re at the middle of the story now, and things are starting to feel more uncertain.  The writing is more of a slog, because you’re past the wonder and newness that fuelled the beginning.  You have to remember what you’ve written so far, so that the ending will make sense.

(Do you really know the characters as well as you thought?  Have you missed a crucial story point?  The stakes feel so much higher).

Somehow, you roll your sleeves up and write on to the end.  You’ve finally finished!  Dreams of book launches and press interviews abound.

Until…

Someone else reads your draft and casually mentions a point you hadn’t considered.  Another person reads it and highlights something they didn’t understand.  You’re confused, because to you it’s crystal-clear.

Now you start to wonder: what else haven’t I thought about?   What other things do I need to explain?  Do I like this book enough to work so hard, and for so long, on it?  Where will it end up?

There are no easy answers, because writing a book is HARD.

Not many people mention how horribly frustrating – and deeply boring – it can be to write a book.  George Orwell once described it as akin to “a long bout of some painful illness”, and he was onto something.

Some writers recommend taking stock of your characters: analysing their likes, dislikes, backgrounds, and political opinions to propel the story forwards.  But I’ve tried this, and it doesn’t work (for me, at least).  I always end up with another jumbled mass of notes to trawl through at key story moments, and more confusing voices chattering in my head.

In short, we are all a seething mass of contradictions.  Why should our characters be any different?

I’ve also tried all of the following:

• Plotting my story on the three-act template.
• Drawing story location maps.
• Drawing ‘key plot point’ spidergrams.
• Saving pictures of the people – not necessarily actors – who’d play each of my characters if my book were to become a film (currently Adrian Grenier, Karen Gillan, Geoff Dyer, Tupele Dorgu, and a young Jane Krakowski. The film would not be made).
• Taking copious reader-feedback notes to weave into the next draft.

I’m not saying these things don’t help.  They might help you, which is why I’ve included them here.  But for me, they don’t help as much as instinct and resonance do.

To explain, there’s a frisson of resonance that comes when I write in tune with the story in my head.  It’s the best I’ll get to translating that moment from brain to page (as any writer will tell you, it never comes out exactly right).

Instinct, meanwhile, helps me drive the story forwards.  If I listen to my characters, they’ll always tell me where I should take them next.  If they’re uncomfortable there, so am I.

As for the rest, I’m afraid it’s pure grit and determination; a dogged willingness to see my book finished and in print – somewhere and somehow.  To be honest, that’s less to do with anyone buying it than the fact that once it’s in print, I won’t be able to tinker with it anymore.

People ask me all the time what the “secret” is to writing something important.  I honestly think it’s different for everyone.   Maybe the real “secret” is keeping going for long enough to discover what honestly works for you.

Good luck.

(If you’d like some help with your murky middle or editing slumps – as well as simply getting started in the first place! – you can always ask me to be your writing mentor.  I’ll just leave this here).