The Dark Night of The Soul

Otherwise known as the All Hope is Lost moment.

This is not about the Dark Night of The Soul that may or may not precede your second plot point. This blog post is about that terrifying moment that you (if you’re anything like me) will have at least once before your novel is finished.

You’ve poured your heart and soul into your concept. You’ve painstakingly mapped out your scenes, and then deviated from that path eleventy billion times. You’ve written until your fingers were too numb to write another word, or until you were too emotionally exhausted to form a coherent sentence. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you cried. You felt that excited jolt of electricity when you wrote something you thought was brilliant, AND you’ve torn your hair out in frustration when you just couldn’t convey the right emotion or get a piece of dialog just right.

You’ve probably also had days where you adored your work in progress, and felt it was the best piece of fiction you have ever written. Days where you had hope. Hope, much like Destiny, is a fickle bitch.

Then your inner editor and your inner critic take up arms together. Their target? Your inner writer; that wide-eyed hopeful part of you that you somehow manages to cling to long after childhood. Your inner writer is your imagination, your optimism… he or she is the part of you that still wants to change the world, one word at a time.

But the twin demons on your shoulders don’t want to let that happen. All of a sudden your palms are sweaty and your heart is jack-rabbiting in your chest. Your mouth is dry. Your fingers are trembling.

You’re too wordy. You’re not wordy enough. Is that really an adverb? Oh my God, there’s more than one. That sentence is a run on, and what in the hell is your deal with parenthesis? And seriously, just how many times do you think you can slip into passive voice in one chapter? Your main character is whiney. Or worse, boring. Or even worse, a super mega bad-ass with more superpowers than all of the Justice League put together and all of your plot points and beautiful complications are falling flat because he or she can just bat them away. Your plot, your brilliantly wonderful complex plot, is trite. And the story that you fell so deeply in love with is so ridiculous that no one in their right mind would want to read it. This scene makes no sense. And there are five more adverbs. Why did you write that character in the first place? Trope much?

ENOUGH.

This is only your first draft. Or second. Or tenth. Maybe this is the first novel you’ve ever written. Maybe this is your seventy-fifth. Regardless, you have two options. Yes, only two (that my panic-seized brain can think of, at least).

1) Stop Writing.
2) Keep writing.

Which is it going to be?
How do you decide?
Why did you start writing this novel/script/story?

For me it was simple. It was keeping me up at night.
And that is why PAWN has been the hardest story I’ve ever written. And the most exciting. I love the world my novel is set in, the mythology that surrounds it and the real life legends that inspired it. I’m in love with my main character, Elle. She’s so broken, and so flawed but she’s still so determined. I laugh when she laughs, and I cry when she cries. I want to tell her story, and I want to tell to the very best of my ability. Why? Because I want just one person to see her as I do. Maybe it’s a selfish thing. Maybe it’s an artist thing. This story, this world, these characters touch my heart in a way no other characters I’ve written ever have.

I want it on the page. I want to say I finished it. I want to curl up in bed with a latte and my finished manuscript, and read Elle’s story (because it is hers, not mine).

So I’ll keep writing. And you should too. Because even if you trunk it, even if this story never sees the light of day, you did something that so many people never accomplish.

You finished it.
And no one can ever take that away from you.

My advice for when All Hope is Lost?
Lost. Seriously. No, not the adjective. The TV Series.

Screen capped by Lost-Media.com.
Lost is owned by ABC-Disney.

Namely, Jack’s advice to Kate on how to manage fear: Count to five.

 “…and the terror was just so crazy. So real. And I knew I had to deal with it. So I just made a choice. I’d let the fear in, let it take over, let it do its thing, but only for five seconds, that’s all I was going to give it. So I started to count: one, two, three, four, five. Then it was gone. I went back to work, sewed her up and she was fine.”

-Lost, S01E01 “Pilot.”

If that’s all he had to do to finish performing spinal surgery, surely it’s good enough to get our fingers moving on the keyboard.

Now go write. Let your inner Tyler Durden stab your inner critic in her beady little eye with a fountain pen.
You are not Jack’s Unfinished Manuscript.

Yes, I did just mix Lost with Fight Club. It’s my blog, and I can do that here.