One of my darlings I had to kill

William Faulkner wrote, “In writing you must kill your darlings.”

So what does that actually mean? It means that piece of perfect prose or amazing analogy you have spent weeks agonizing over, the one that elevates your work to a new level but doesn’t fit with the story you are telling, must go.

It can be hard to say goodbye, but if you want to write with clarity and strength, rather than meander through a series of prettily written passages that take the reader nowhere, kill your darlings you must.

I recently had to do it in my manuscript. I had discovered an image that not only drew comparisons between my childhood story and a weapon of war, but that also hit me on a visceral level as a true representation of how the disintegration of my family felt. It was a shining beacon of perfection. But there was a problem.

This glowing passage, by its very nature, had to be written in an adult voice. And my story is written from my child perspective. So, though I loved it, still think it is a brilliant analogy, you will only find echoes of it in my book. And I am okay with that, because though I love clever writing, I love story more.

That doesn’t mean, however, that no one will ever see the analogy. You can see it right here, right now. How lucky are you! So here it is, the darling I had to kill.

***

When a bomb goes off, it causes damage in different ways – rupturing, tearing and piercing.

Firstly, the blast forces highly compressed air particles to travel faster than the speed of sound, rupturing air-filled structures like the lung, ear, and gut.

Then, more intense energy in the form of shockwaves passes through the organs and tissues, disrupting molecules and tearing at internal structures.

Moving into secondary fragmentation, the bomb casing and shrapnel is thrown violently outward piercing soft flesh and releasing more dangerous fragments when it strikes buildings and glass.

Finally, when the vacuum created by the rapid outward movement of the blast refills itself with the surrounding atmosphere, it creates a high-intensity wind that causes people, buildings and fragmented objects to be drawn back in toward the source of the explosion.

I didn’t know it yet, but Dad’s leaving had thrown a bomb into our family. In a few short days, our lives would be blown apart. I was about to spend the next six years sifting through wreckage…

I reassured myself that tomorrow Mum would be back to her old self, standing at the stove cooking chops and veges for dinner…

It turned out, I was very wrong. The highly compressed air had already blasted from the bomb. The concrete structure of rules and schedules that had defined my life with Dad was razed to the ground, and the mother I had always known was never coming back.

***

So there it is. My darling does live after all. Have you killed any darlings lately?

Stop comparing. Be kind to your writing self

When I decided to try my hand at writing a book I did what I normally do when embarking on a journey into the unknown: I researched. 

I read books on story structure, creative writing and memoir. Armed with all of this helpful information, I began the task of getting words down onto a page.

  

Once I was a ways into my manuscript, I listened to podcasts like this one and this one, and wrapped my head around the difference between plotters and pantsers, the merits of a crappy first draft and how best to utilize beta readers.

When I was nearing a stage of being ready to show my work to someone, I poured over blog posts on author platforms, the publishing process and pitching.

In the past few years have managed to write and edit a manuscript, get an agent, find a publisher, and am now on the cusp of launching my first book. Some might say that is a reasonable effort.

But during my on-line research, I read (continue to read!) many accounts of authors finishing their first book, starting immediately on their next, and continuing a cycle of churning out books at a dizzying pace. One book a year. Often two. Some people hammering them out in a few short months! I wanted to be one of those authors.

For most of my life I have pushed myself hard. Take no prisoners. Cut no slack. I am a doer who gets things done. In my work as a copywriter, I am the queen of quick turnaround. I gain great satisfaction from beating deadlines and exceeding expectations.

I planned for it to be the same with writing books. But I hadn’t counted on the way delving into my emotional world could sap my drive.

In all my years of writing copy for brochures, websites, and business plans, I can’t say I have ever shed a tear. The same cannot be said of writing a memoir covering such light-weight terrain as my deepest childhood wounds and the trauma of war. (There are funny, happy bits as well – promise!)

Still, despite the fact that some days I felt so drained I could barely put one foot in front of the other, I tried to stick to my guns. I was determined to have the first draft of my next book, a young adult fiction, completed by the time Enemy hit the shelves.

With that goal set, as soon as my memoir manuscript was with my editor, I started in. I began churning out words and managed to get about a quarter of the way into the draft. Then the edits came back, and I had to rake back over that old ground. Each time I re-worked a section I re-lived the experience on which it was based, feeling those old feelings so I could distil them into the purest emotional truth I knew.

By this time, I had started to feel tired. Deep down to my bones tired.

But I have never been one to let the mundane fact that I am human stop me from pushing myself like a machine. So when I finished that next editing process, I jumped straight back to my other manuscript.

But I could feel my blood running thin, like my foot was on the accelerator but there was nothing in the tank. Finally, after finding myself wide awake night after night with stress pulsing in my gut, and hacking up a lung each day for three months from a cold I couldn’t shake, I began to question what the hell I was trying to prove. And to whom.

I think part of my motivation was fear. I felt so lucky to have had a book accepted for publication that I wanted to prove – to myself, to my agent, to my publishers – that their faith in me was not misplaced. Another reason I wanted it done was because I had heard that writing a second book was harder than writing a first, and I wanted to see if I could do it. There was also the fact that before someone suggested I should give fiction a go, it had never occurred to me. And I was really excited by the idea.    

But though I still think about my YA book all the time, I have had to face up to the fact that I am not going to be one of those quick turnaround authors. My first book is hitting the shelves in three days time, and my second manuscript is not finished. And you know what, I am okay with that. More than okay.

I am a first-time author. I am still figuring out what my writing process actually is. So I am taking the pressure off. I am not going to fall into the comparison trap. I am practicing being kind to myself, instead of always expecting more.

Besides, I have written a book. An actual factual book that people can buy from bookshops. That is a peak life experience right there. I need to spend the next few months mooning about the place with a big smile on my face, letting the wonderful delightfulness of it all sink in.

Then, once my feet touch the ground again, I am going to get back into my YA. Not to prove anything to the imaginary critics in my head. But because the guy in it is so hot. And my lead character is so funny. And I need to figure out what happens between her and her mother. And what goes down between her Mum and her aunt…

Now that I have had a taste of writing books, I am hooked. I want to do it for a long time. That means protecting myself against burnout, and choosing the carrot over the stick. No more comparisons. Just me with a laptop having fun with my imaginary friends.

Each person's creative process is as unique as the work they produce. How do you approach your writing?