Back in 2005, I felt a surge of confidence. I had just participated in the Today show to showcase my inaugural nonfiction book, which detailed how giving up small indulgences revolutionized my life. Six months prior, I made a significant career shift, leaving my role as a marketing director at a publishing firm to launch my own venture and embark on a writing path.
Why I delayed writing a book
Writing a novel had always been my aspiration. Despite achieving financial success in writing, I was uncertain whether my abilities could transition from nonfiction to fiction. Like most writers with jobs, a paying deadline serves as an internal trigger, enabling words to flow effortlessly onto the page. The unguaranteed allure of a potential future income from a novel wasn’t sufficient to push me forward. Just the thought of the term novel brought to mind the intimidating names—Richard Ford, Margaret Atwood, Jhumpa Lahiri, and John Irving. I was terrified by the pretentiousness of imagining my work on a shelf next to that of my idols.
My constant self-doubt hindered my writing endeavors. I devoted more time to managing my feelings about writing than to actual writing. It was reminiscent of individuals who fixate on the extent of their mess instead of actually tidying up the piles.
My lack of confidence was rooted in my extensive experience in book publishing, where I spent 16 years promoting authors. People in the industry are genuinely selfless in their passion for the written word, and this love comes with a high standard. Since we read, discuss, dream of, and sometimes cherish books like family members, many of us secretly long to write them. Honestly, many in the publishing world should pursue writing. They typically possess the discernment and training to identify good writing. At least, that’s what I would tell almost anyone I know in the publishing field.
However, I couldn’t embrace that advice myself.
NaNoWriMo challenge: write a book in 30 days
A crucial first step in crafting this book was determining the narrative voice. Would it be an all-seeing narrator, like Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby? Or a witty, self-ironic journal keeper, reminiscent of Bridget Jones’s Diary?
I reached out to a writer friend, who advised me emphatically, “Avoid writing in first-person perspective. You won’t convey the story effectively that way—use third person!” Taking on the omniscient perspective of third person proved challenging, as I struggled to produce even two mediocre sentences in the following two days. I was overly preoccupied with self-correction, convinced that each word required perfection before I could set it down on the page.
After several more solitary attempts yielding only single sentences, I recognized my need for assistance. Eager for a resolution, I discovered the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) website, which pointed me to Chris Baty’s book, No Plot? No Problem!
I’m a staunch proponent of 30-day challenges. At that time, I had just wrapped up a year-long experiment of giving things up month by month—an endeavor that culminated in my first book, Give It Up! My Year of Learning to Live Better with Less. I had long since realized that if you can manage to do something for a month, you can likely sustain it for a lifetime.
To write a book in 30 days, I determined I needed to produce an average of 1,667 words daily, weekends included.
Creating a path to success
Baty’s initial suggestions instilled me with immediate confidence. First, create a contract with yourself for this month-long commitment. This small step makes the project feel substantive. Next, silence your inner critic—the cunning part of your mind that constantly berates your writing and hovers over the delete key before you’ve even finished a sentence. Baty even goes to the extent of suggesting that you draw a representation of the “’Take My Inner Editor’ button” and physically press it whenever you feel compelled to erase your hard work. In my case, my inner critic is accompanied by the esteemed literary works in my collection, which seem to mock my efforts. They remind me that regardless of my efforts, I may never approach their caliber.
My internal publishing committee also reminds me that not only do I lack the ability to write a “real book,” but also that I possess no plot, no hook, and no commercially viable story that could lead to publication, even if, by some miracle, I manage to endure the month. One voice is notably rude, asking, Who do you think you are to attempt the great American novel?
I place my finger deliberately on the Inner Editor Button I’ve sketched.
Writing a book in 30 days: Week 1
Writing a book in 30 days without a strategy is akin to baking a cake without a recipe. Making the mistake of confusing salt for sugar just once teaches you that a delicious carrot cake doesn’t arise by chance. I understand there’s no way to achieve this word count without a plan. Fortunately, Baty’s book also provides me with a guideline to adhere to—which is crucial for a novice in the world of novel writing. Being goal-driven, I equate my daily writing output to the length of a magazine article, roughly equivalent to this piece. Therefore, I aim to produce 30 articles in one month. To provide some context, I typically take one to two weeks to complete a single full-length article, encompassing editing, rewriting, and fact-checking. This endeavor requires five times my usual output.
During Week 1, I decide to release my insecurities and reclaim control. I quickly come to realize that third person isn’t working for me. Imagining a conversation with a close friend allows the voice of the protagonist, Jessie DeSalvo, to emerge. Once I accept a first-person narrative, the writing becomes more manageable.
Overall, I’m starting to feel more optimistic about the project, but anxiety still lingers. My go-to remedy for life’s stress has always been yoga. Each day after writing, I combat the literary demons in my mind by attending a class. “In the words of Ram Dass, ‘Here Now,’” the instructor says. I ponder, Is this a cosmic indication that I should write, here, now?
Establishing a daily routine
Embracing this philosophy, accompanied by ample deep breathing, assists me in alleviating tension and achieving my daily goals throughout the first week. At times, I find myself typing without conscious thought, unsure of the direction my words are taking. It resembles a frenzied shopping spree where you bring 27 items into the fitting room, hoping to find at least one decent pair of jeans to buy. My credit card tells me that I consistently manage to locate a solid pair of jeans, so I trust that my editing will transform any chaos I generate into something worthwhile. Once I release the need for perfection and concede that it doesn’t have to be aesthetically pleasing, especially during the initial draft, accomplishing the word counts becomes easier.
By the conclusion of Week 1, I begin to notice a ritual forming. For me, writing must be ritualistic—akin to brushing my teeth, exercising, or walking the dog. Consistency proves effective, and soon I find myself more apprehensive about skipping a day than about writing. Suddenly, the thought of missing a day of 1,667 words and consequently facing double the amount the next day terrifies me.
Since I’ve refrained from using Facebook while pursuing this project, I also escape the temptation to discuss my endeavors, opting instead to focus on the writing itself. In fact, I’m hesitant to reveal to anyone that I’ve taken on this challenge. I feel that if I mention it, I’ll have to justify my progress—and face potential failure—if the project fails to materialize.
Writing a book in one month: Week 2
As Week 2 commences, my life revolves around the book. On my commute, I pick up snippets of conversations, promptly jotting them down in a notepad. I become increasingly aware of my environment, striving to capture any interesting remarks or dialogues I encounter. Such moments become excellent springboards for generating more text. Some inspire entire sections. The more I eavesdrop, the more I realize that secret novel writing is quite a solitary endeavor.
I navigate the week with a certain level of confidence. After all, I’ve just completed nearly a quarter of the entire project in just a week. I’m writing on average two to three hours each day, allowing me ample time to balance my other professional and personal obligations. My routine is established: Write each morning, then attend a yoga class to garner some ancient wisdom to apply to my daily challenges. When I hear discussions about suffering, I can’t help but think that Buddhists must also be novelists.
Before long, I confront a new challenge. My inner marketing director begins to wonder how I am going to approach publishing this nascent novel, which is yet to be edited and has been shared with very few people.
Writing a book in 30 days: Week 3
The process for nonfiction is quite clear-cut: You essentially approach the publisher with, “I have this fantastic book idea! Here’s the outline, the marketing strategy, and the core concept.” The publisher responds with, “That sounds terrific! Here’s some funding. Now go write it.”
In the realm of fiction, however, you cannot enjoy such luxuries. You present the finished product—take it or leave it. Often, the response is “leave it.” This reality weighs heavily on me, and by Week 3, I hit a significant roadblock. As the days unfold, writing becomes increasingly difficult as I cannot shake the worries about the aftermath. Will anyone appreciate it? Is this merely a futile expenditure of time that I could invest elsewhere to earn money?
Baty addresses these concerns in the chapter about reaching the halfway mark. He encourages me to consider developing a conclusion for the story and providing closure for the characters. Reflecting on that end goal, and recognizing how close I am, reignites my motivation. I yearn to resolve the messy situations I’ve already crafted for my characters during the first half, which drives me through Week 3. I manage to overcome some of the slower days, and by the start of Week 4, I’m just above the target, with 38,000 words.
Reaching the conclusion
Anticipation builds as I approach the final week. I create a chart to keep track of the last seven days, akin to a captive ticking off the final seconds before liberation. By the end of the month, my word count reaches 50,010. While I should feel joy, all the inner critics I had subdued throughout the past month re-emerge, and they’re furious. They demand to know the next steps. Developing a thick skin is a necessary part of being a writer, but at this juncture, I am frozen, fearful of anyone reading my manuscript. I print the unread manuscript and swiftly file it away, trying to push it from my thoughts.
All the responsibilities I had postponed for a month come rushing back. I conveniently take on tasks that don’t trigger anxiety attacks, and throughout the subsequent years, I write two more nonfiction books, helping individuals organize their lives, and serve as a brand spokesperson. At one point, I gather the manuscript and all my belongings and relocate to a new home in the suburbs, placing my month-long endeavor into the same drawer of the same filing cabinet in a different residence. Deep down, I know the novel must emerge from the drawer and see the light of day. Yet, I require encouragement once more.
Lessons learned about writing a book
- Let it go to let it flow. Stop imposing ‘shoulds’ on yourself throughout this journey. Some individuals have a critical inner voice; I had an inner council of doubters. It’s impossible to allow creativity to flourish if you’re passing judgment on every keystroke.
- Act as if you’re a novelist. Stop comparing your work to that of Leo Tolstoy or Charles Dickens. Other writers aren’t going to chase you down to declare you a fraud for even contemplating writing a novel. Here’s the thing: they’re not interested, and neither should you be.
- Release the outcome. We all delight in having completed a book but often loathe the writing process itself. We love being fit but not the workouts. Detach from the outcome and focus on the business of doing. You cannot have one without the other.
- Novel writing is no easy feat. If Buddhists maintain that life entails suffering, then novelists must be Buddhists. Quality work always demands effort. If it were effortless, everyone would pursue it.
Reflecting on the book I penned in 30 days
A few months after relocating, I found myself working with a client who had hired me to organize her various short stories, article proposals, and rejection letters. (Evidently, her actual editors were just as harsh as my inner critics.) When I shared this client’s story with my husband, we both arrived at the same conclusion. He simply stated, “You don’t want to look back at your life and regret leaving that book in a drawer.”
I made a new strategy: I brought aboard an editor named Ken Salikof, who wears multiple hats, including author, screenwriter, and manuscript editor. Throughout the summer, he guided me in refining my rough drafts and navigating my lingering insecurities. His best response to the criticisms from my inner editor was, “Well, if Richard Ford ever wrote a chick lit novel, perhaps this would be it.”
I took that as quite the compliment.
Several years after penning the book in 30 days, I secured a contract with Post Hill Press to publish my debut novel: Best Friend for Hire. It’s displayed in the women’s fiction and humor sections of bookstores, mere feet away from my literary idols.
And sometimes—if I allow myself to embrace genuine happiness—I metaphorically press a button to silence the critics in my mind, and I convince myself that I’ve earned a spot on that shelf.
