Birthing a Novel

I just posted a mostly flippant account of my morning on my Face Book author page (www.facebook.com/daniellancewright) and, after I did, it created a true moment of personal clarity.


Last week, I pulled out an old manuscript of a novel I first drafted in about 1999. The goal was to breathe life into it. I need to add a closing chapter that must be written from scratch. Otherwise, it, once again, has been re-written. It’s a paranormal love story or, if you prefer, a paranormal drama about a contentious love between a retired man with problems and a twenty year younger woman with her own troubles.

Every time I complete a subsequent draft of it, I think that I’m looking at solid gold, the story to end all stories. But, once I set it aside for a time and then read it again, all I think is: Who wrote this crap?

You probably know where this is going now. I am almost finished with a solid gold novel, a story to end all stories –yes, sir, literary genius.

Of course, a quick reality check reminds me that I have rewritten this story umpteen times. I say ‘umpteen’ because it has been done so many times over ten years (+ or –) that I’ve lost count. Prudence dictates that, regardless what precious metal or level of intelligence I’m using to describe it, I must put it away and allow it to breathe in silence for a number of weeks, maybe months.

One day, I’ll read it and think: Hey, this isn’t bad.

That’s the day a publisher or agent will see it for the first time.