Death of a Novel

Remember when I wrote that Garth Nix once compared sending a novel out to publishing houses as being like a merchant sending out a ship, where it could either return with great fortunes or founder?

Well, from my experience, it’s more like this…

 

Imagine you’re stranded on an island. You’re the only person there. All you have with you is a packet of cedar seeds. You know that if you can cross the strip of water, you’ll reach the mainland, where the people are. So, you plant a seed. Days turn into weeks. You toil every day to survive yourself while you create conditions for your little tree to grow. You desalinate salt water to nourish it, you check on it each day, you carefully measure its progress. All the while, you look out over the sea, dreaming of the day your little tree will carry you over the water to the people on the mainland.

Years pass and the tree grows. You sharpen a blade of rock and cut it down. You split the trunk into planks and carefully shape and plane and bow the wood into a dinghy. It’s a labour-intensive process, and you often hurt yourself in the process, but one day, finally, the little boat is ready. Its sails snap in the winds and for the first time you feel something like hope. You climb into your dinghy and the wind is strong, true, carrying you directly to the mainland. You imagine what it will be like, to connect with people after so long.

But you realise as you approach that jutting rocks bar your way. The wind of expectation is too strong and when the boat strikes, the impact severe. As your precious dinghy splinters around you, you sink into salty water. The tide carries you back to the island. Everything is as it was before. But one seed is gone from your pack, and you’re not quite as agile as you were once, when you were first stranded on the island.

 

That’s the story of Spirit Bound, a novel I’ve been working on for over a decade. I’m grateful that it broke against vast rocks like Bloomsbury, HarperCollins, and Scholastic – over twenty big publishing houses in total. I never really expected it to sail so far, even after I convinced an agent to take me on. To have feedback that shows that these editors read my work is far more than I’ve ever achieved before. But the sting of salt is real.

There are a few possibilities at this stage. I could choose to self-publish the novel. It’s not part of my current plan, but it remains a long-term possibility. Short-term, the novel will be shelved. There’s a slim possibility that in years to come, editors may be more likely to take on the risk – if I establish my name in some other way, for example. So, the short-term plan is to develop a new novel and begin the process again. I have an agent, which will save a lot of time when I have a polished novel ready.

If there’s a lesson to be learned in all this, I suppose it’s that there’s no point spending over a decade working on a single novel. I didn’t really have a choice, or I didn’t think I did. But I could have chosen a job that wasn’t so demanding (of both creativity and time) than teaching to pay the way. I could have created better conditions, day-to-day, to draft a novel over a shorter span of time.

So, the interesting thing will be how long it takes me to draft a new novel. If it takes longer than a year for me to let it set sail, I will know that I’m doing something wrong.