Back in the Saddle Again

by Robison Wells

I mentioned last week that I've started writing again. And, man, I forgot what a pain in the neck it is.

For those of you who have arrived late to the party, here's the situation: I've published three novels, and I've written a handful of other, unpublished (crappy) books. Then, sometime last year, I decided to go back to school--I'm at BYU getting an MBA in marketing. (And, if you're not familiar with a fulltime MBA, it's a little like the MTC: you don't get out of your chair, let alone leave the room, for fourteen hours a day. When you finally leave, you go somewhere to study. Then, you sleep for three hours, and then you have a breakfast of Coke and toast, and start it all over again.) (Ok, so you don’t drink Coke in the MTC. And, in business school we have yet to ride a mattress down the stairs like a sled.) Anyway, I talked to my publisher and told them that I was taking a hiatus.

But, school is out and I don’t leave for Minnesota until May 28th, so I’ve been writing again. And it’s a beautiful blend of awesome and awful.

When I sit down to write, no matter where I am in the story, it usually takes me about an hour of crappy lousiness before I get in the groove. If you translate that to the big scale, and realize that I haven’t been writing anything fictional (except for accounting papers) for a year, the last three weeks have produced some absolutely terrible writing.

And on top of being out of the writing habit, I’m trying something entirely new with this book: it’s in third person, whereas all my other books have been in first—and I don’t know how to write in third person. Also: the main character is a girl, and I don’t know how to write girls. Also: third person doesn’t lend itself to humor as much as first person, so there’s not as much of that in there. In other words, I’m writing a detached, unfunny, girl book.

One nice thing, however, is that I am once again in a writing group. So, now when I don’t know what I’m doing, people tell me in no uncertain terms. For example, when I presented a chapter from this book wherein the female lead was accosted by a devious villain, my writing group replied with: “Man, this sucks.” Of course, they were right, and their comments were helpful. (And I got my revenge when I told Annette Lyon that her chapter was not only unfunny, but egregiously unfunny.)

One thing about the writing group surprises me, though: it scares me to death. Here I am a member of the LDS-writing glitterati, thrice published, and recipient of multitudes of fan mail. And yet, whenever I’m sitting around that kitchen table, reading my new chapter out loud, it freaks me right the heck out. This is not because my writing group is mean and awful. It’s because, despite writing credits, I’m terrified that what I’ve written is bad. Yesterday, Jeff mentioned how most authors grew up as shy kids, and that deep down we’re all still afraid of rejection.

Here’s a quote, which is taken from my personal blog, written on July 5, 2005:

As advertised, I write books. Not only have I written books in the past, but I write books in the present, as well. It's an important distinction, because I've spent the last year and a half wondering whether I am simply a has-been. This recent project has taken at least twice as long as any of the others, and has undergone something like eleven complete rewrites -- many of them voluntary, and one of them due to a crashed hard-drive.

I honestly got to the point with this thing where I began to question my ability to even complete a book, let alone make it good.

That’s exactly how I feel right now. That blog was two and a half years ago, and was referring to me sending The Counterfeit in to my editor. And that book sold well and was, I think, my best so far. But I’m still feeling that same sense of dread: what if I just can’t do it again? What if it’s been too long and I just can’t figure it all out anymore? What if that was all I had in me?

Well, this blog certainly got a little more introspective than I originally intended. With any luck, I’ll quote this post a year or two from now when I’m starting the next book and this one is just a pleasant memory.

And, no matter what happens, at least my book won’t be as egregiously unfunny as Annette’s. I mean, holy lame.