Plotting, planning, and the ever-evolving novel

half way into my "final edits" (oops) for my novel and this is what I've learned

Two years ago, a very naive Angela sat down at her favorite cozy coffee shop, earbuds ringing with early holiday classics, cinnamon latte wafting in the air, and the quiet chatter of early morning patrons buzzing all around her. The room was brimming with possibilities and so too was she.

The idea was simple. Participate in her very first NaNoWriMo as a way to tap back into her long-ignored passion for creating writing and see where it took her. Best case scenario, she’d remember she was kind of good at it and feel proud of that. Maybe even have a short story to submit somewhere. Worst case, she spent a few dozen hours supporting local coffee shops and tapping away mindlessly on the keyboard.

Where a now completely different Immediately and Without Thinking first began to take shape.

So, she researched, downloaded a tool she’d never heard of, and set to work. The idea was simple: a series of vignettes told through the lens of a thirty-something in the throes of a life crisis. She would have called it Literary if she’d known what the word meant. Instead, she tuned out all external noise as she toiled away. What started as a casual project became an obsession, and at the end of NaNoWriMo she had roughly 70k words. Messy. Unorganized. Chaotic. But 70k words nonetheless. She kept at it, and seven months later she held the results of all those feverish hours: a 110k beast of a novel that Google told her was an appropriate length for Women’s Fiction or maybe Book Club Fiction or perhaps Literary Fiction—she still wasn’t exactly sure what genre her book was—but in any case, it was a book, and it was hers.

She was sure it would get snapped up by an agent as soon as she entered the query trenches. How could it not? There were so many terrible books out there, surely this one was more deserving of a place on the shelf. Surely they would see the potential in this story and work with her to make it great.

Well.

Fast-forward one very humiliating round of query rejections, a supremely helpful developmental editor, two incredible beta reading groups, one very exciting contest win, three printed-out manuscripts for her and two of her closest people, and she was now in the final stage of edits—or so she thought.

Reader, our story doesn’t end here either.

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Book Club, NYC. The kind of place I hope my book can one day live. Preferably read alongside a $16 martini

Now, a little more than halfway through my edits, I can see that it’s not done. It’s good. Very good even, in sections. But in today’s traditional publishing market, that’s not enough. It has to be as close to perfect as possible and so, I still have work to do.

With each new chapter I edit, I get a flood of new ideas. It’s been fascinating to see how editing a printed manuscript is so much different than reading on the screen or even aloud; how it helps you see the big picture rather than obsessing over very specific, tiny chunks. Unfortunately, it means the blinders also come off.

I can’t ignore it when I see new plotlines present themselves, threads that could enhance the story, new scenes that would make the characters more nuanced and layered. My imagination is running wild with these ideas on a near-constant basis, and with each one, I sigh and think, this is going to take even more writing, isn’t it?

And it’s this feeling I now live in. Euphoric to spend more time with these characters, disheartened that it’s not quite there yet. Thrilled with each new iteration, disappointed I can’t yet celebrate my fictional book launch or even tell my friends I’ve found an agent. The toasting of champagne and wave of relief will have to wait.

We’re just not there yet.

And so today, as I return to my manuscript, sprawled out on my kitchen table, sticky notes and these characters I call friends, I’ll try to remember that these moments are precious, and one day, I’ll miss them. Frustrations and eagerness to gloat aside, I’ll enjoy it. And instead of worrying them away, I’ll pick up my pen and my favorite colored sticky note, and I will try to make this the very best it can be.

Far right: me working on my first book, probably.

Because the truth is, as I review this manuscript, I feel proud of everything I’ve accomplished and how it’s improved. I’m proud of the stamina and determination to keep going back to the drawing board over and over again. I know many writers abandon their first novel and treat it as a training ground, but this is my debut. I can feel it. And while I’d like it to be done now, I want even more for it to be published. For someone to pick it up, and hold it in their hands, and maybe even have their life changed over it. If that takes some extra time, so be it.

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About Coffee and Nostalgia:

Coming of age reflections on love, friendship, and career from a 36-year-old still desperately trying to relive her 20s through her writings. I’m so glad you’ve decided to spend some time in my cozy, nostalgic corner of the internet. <3

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