When Abandoning Your Novel Makes Sense

I have five novels in print, one in the drawer, and last month I abandoned my latest manuscript after a year. While my self-esteem is in free fall, I’m not second-guessing my decision. That manuscript needed to die.

Abandoning it was easy, a quiet moment of truth born from an epiphany: I’d woven together two stories that needed separating. The heroine wanted to pull me in one direction, the hero in another. My first red flag should have been the colored sticky note reminding me to stay focused on her story, as opposed to disappearing down his family rabbit hole. The fact that she’s a recovering alcoholic and he’s a distillery owner should’ve been my second red flag. And the sexual chemistry between them never sizzled.  (Okay, so maybe it was less of an epiphany and more of a duh facepalm.)

But I didn’t hate the manuscript. I liked the characters, the story had potential, and everything seemed on track for my standard hot mess of a second draft. (I never hit my groove before the third.) I could have kept going, dumped a subplot or two, and wrestled it into a novel that checked all the boxes. But I couldn’t un-think that light bulb realization. Worse, it led to another nugget of truth: I didn’t hate the story, but I didn’t love it. And I wanted to be in love.

I pried the families apart, stumbled on some new characters—including a new heroine—and fleshed out two rough premises. Bingo—I had two tight, punchy stories I was itching to write. This is where it’s meant to get easy, but I’m a horrid, horrid, horrid decision-maker. What followed was four weeks of sleep-deprivation and creative angst that sent my family to hell. Anyone who came within spitting distant had to listen to me mumble, “Which story should I write first?”

How did I land in this muddle? Excellent question, and with the glorious gift of hindsight, I can identify two major factors:

• I didn’t give myself a breather.

Once I’d turned in novel five, I was off contract for the first time in my career and deep into a family crisis. Everyone kept saying, “Write what brings you joy.” All I wanted to do was lie in bed and plow through my reading stacks. But rather than take a break, I started a new story, which I tossed. I started another one, and made an even worse mistake.

• I betrayed my process.

Since I was off contract, and some of my writer friends were abuzz with a process I hadn’t heard of, I decided to try something new, something that would make me more efficient. Turn me into writing machine! Initially, this process energized me, but then I realized it was outlining in disguise. And I can’t outline. My funky little brain rebelled, screamed no, and shut down.

Let me tell you about my flawed process… My stories never come easily. I don’t have a reserve of understudies, and I’m insanely jealous of friends who announce on social media, “Last night I dreamed an entire story complete with character arcs!” This will never—never—be my journey.

Several drafts into THE UNFINISHED GARDEN, I started over with a new hero. THE IN-BETWEEN HOUR began life as a dual timeline ghost story, and I’d already trashed a family drama about bipolar disorder when I found the manic-depressive heroine of ECHOES OF FAMILY. The seed for THE PROMISE BETWEEN US was buried in a proposal for a different story, and I didn’t discover the real ending of THE PERFECT SON until after the second draft.

I’m not a natural storyteller. I’m an organic writer who’s worked hard to understand plot and pacing. My loosey-goosey process grew out of my love of the crappy first draft and my love of research. The research takes the form of one-on-one interviews with people who are living the kinds of experiences I want to explore. “Tell me your story,” I’ll say. Then I sit back, listen, and mine for the gold of unexpected inspiration.

When I’m starting a manuscript, I like to amble and take detours; I like to be surprised; I like to gradually excavate the heart of the story and unearth the themes. At some point, I create storyboards constructed around screenwriting techniques, but they’re uncharted maps that I don’t always follow. Eventually, I prune and tighten. The new process eliminated that meandering and accidentally worked against those instincts. Everything felt manipulated. I had dumped passion for plot.

Here’s my forte: I create characters who battle invisible disabilities, throw them into a life-altering crisis, and watch as they not only evolve, but drag their private wars into the light. Tortured men are my absolute favorite, and I’m obsessed with the push and pull of family dynamics. My characters’ journeys toward redemption, love, acceptance, and a sense of community include endless failures and screw-ups. It seems fitting that I should stumble with similar struggles. Don’t we all have to work hard to find our tribe?

Doubt whispers throughout the writing life, but sometimes we need to stop and listen. Toward the end of my four-week sojourn in hell, we went on family vacation. And as I floated in the ocean—with a rum cocktail, a paperback, or both—my brain emptied. After we flew home, I was driving to the supermarket, listening to Linkin Park, when a new first line plopped into my mind. It had voice, it held story promise, and it gave me the main character. My gut tingled; I was in love.

The next day I started Novel Six the Re-do with laser focus and this Japanese proverb as an epigraph: We learn little from victory, much from defeat. That, for me, is the ultimate truth.

—
Bestselling author Barbara Claypole White creates hopeful family drama with a healthy dose of mental illness. Originally from England, she writes and gardens in the forests of North Carolina, where she lives with her beloved OCD menfolk. Her novels include The Unfinished Garden, The In-Between Hour, The Perfect Son (a Goodreads Choice Awards Nominee for best fiction 2015), Echoes of Family, and The Promise Between Us. She is also an OCD Advocate for the A2A Alliance, a nonprofit group that promotes advocacy over adversity. To connect with Barbara, please visit www.barbaraclaypolewhite.com, or follow her on Facebook. She’s always on Facebook.

THE PROMISE BETWEEN US, Barbara Claypole White

“This is an eye-opening and realistic exploration of mental illness—a topic that greatly deserves to be front and center.” —Jodi Picoult, New York Times bestselling author of Small Great Things

Metal artist Katie Mack is living a lie. Nine years ago she ran away from her family in Raleigh, North Carolina, consumed by the irrational fear that she would harm Maisie, her newborn daughter. Over time she’s come to grips with the mental illness that nearly destroyed her, and now funnels her pain into her art. Despite longing for Maisie, Katie honors an agreement with the husband she left behind—to change her name and never return.

But when she and Maisie accidentally reunite, Katie can’t ignore the familiarity of her child’s compulsive behavior. Worse, Maisie worries obsessively about bad things happening to her pregnant stepmom. Katie has the power to help, but can she reconnect with the family she abandoned?

To protect Maisie, Katie must face the fears that drove her from home, accept the possibility of love, and risk exposing her heart-wrenching secret.

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