Writers: How to Finish Every Manuscript You Start
The most-important writing lesson I’ve ever learned.
The unfinished manuscript sat too long. I’d spent months writing it — feverishly. There was so much passion and care in those pages. I knew every angle of the story. I was invested. I had written thousands of words per day, writing at a breakneck pace to get the thing done and shipped… so I could start the next book. And improve my craft a little more. My desk was strewn with little bits of paper. Notebooks covered every bare surface.
But I made one cardinal mistake. I walked away from the story too long.
At first I took a day. Then two. Then six months passed and I had no idea I was away from the story so long. The manuscript called me from the shelf. The guilt was with me all the time. I thought about picking it up and finishing the thing every. single. day. But I couldn’t force myself to look at the manuscript anymore.
Once I lost the momentum to finish, the story felt insurmountable to pick up again. Something deep in my brain, probably my limbic system pumping the brakes, looking for an easy way out — the lazy way out.
To cope with the anxiety of the unfinished book, I’d start more manuscripts. I wrote five I’ll never finish. Five times I repeated the same, manic process of finishing paralysis.
Not that these first stories weren’t valuable learning experiences, but they could’ve been more than just drawer manuscripts. They could’ve been published books. Had I stuck with them, I would have five more finished by now. Maybe even write full time.
I walked away from that first manuscript too long. And the damn thing haunts me every day.
I write this story, not only as a cautionary tale for you, my friend, but as guidance for myself. I’ve got a long way to go in the finish-what-you-start department, but this is the year I’ve vowed to take absolute control of my writing process.
Worst part is I have no trouble doing the work. I consider myself a fairly prolific writer — clocking a few thousand words every day, seven days a week. I’m no Olympic-level writer, but I can write a novel in a month. It’s the finishing part where I’ve created huge psychological blocks for myself. And I know I’m not alone. I get emails from writers all the time, about this very topic. “I just can’t force myself to finish,” they say.
So, dear writer, we begin this journey together. This is my attempt to map out my new path for finishing the manuscripts I start. I’ve got lofty publishing goals for myself this year and maybe I can help motivate you to do the same. Our books aren’t books until we finish, revise, and edit our manuscripts. As a wise writer, Barry Knister commented on one of my posts, “Rough drafts are analogous to finger-painting in nursery school.”
We’ve got to finish what we start. The art is in the editing. And that’s where I’ve trained myself to freeze, unintentionally. It’s time to thaw.
We write every day
One of the work strategies that’s helped keep me on track has been the ‘write every day no matter what’ approach. The daily writing has become as natural as breathing. I have more material to work with now, by the sheer volume of the work I produce.
I can’t help but get a little better through the deliberate daily practice.
But writing daily isn’t enough by itself. You can write one thing today and a different thing tomorrow. Maybe an article Monday through Saturday, but not pick up your manuscript until Sunday. As far as the book is concerned you work on it once a week.
So, not only do we need to write every day, but we’ve got to develop a writing schedule, or, at minimum, stick with one piece of writing and not start another until the first is finished.
Again, sticking with one writing project isn’t enough either.
I didn’t have trouble getting close to the end. My brain pumped the brakes because I hate the editing process. Maybe that makes me a whiner. I know there are plenty of writers who’d rather edit than anything. The process is what makes writing so personal (and so hard to learn).
We’ve got to develop our own system to get the manuscript from blank page to bound, sellable book. My system might work for me, but you could hate it. I prefer working in frameworks so my story doesn’t go too far off the rails, but I’m much more of a panster than plotter. I’m kind of a hybrid (a plantser).
I’m still tweaking my system, but I’m getting closer to something I really enjoy. I didn’t realize there were multiple ways to attack a book. If you hate the first process you followed, don’t repeat it for the second book. This is how you get five unfinished manuscripts in the drawer.
My first five manuscripts were terrible.
They could’ve been salvaged had I put in the time, but the resistance has kept a firm hand on my shoulder to ensure they’ll stay in the drawer. Maybe I protected myself from myself, but deep-down I now realize it was my writing and revision process for those early manuscripts that doesn’t work for me.
So, I dropped the old process and I’m working to develop the right one.
We write to our strengths
If you hate editing then don’t use a writing system that relies on multiple drafts. This is the hard lesson I learned. I kept returning to the old method that writers are supposed to suffer through dozens of drafts. It’s in all the movies. Writers love to talk about which draft they’re working on.
There isn’t one way to do this stuff.
When we write to our strengths, not only do we get more done, but we enjoy the writing while we’re doing it. A year and a half ago I learned the one-draft, looping method from a pulp author named Dean Wesley Smith. He’s got a great book called Writing Into the Dark.
Dean’s method isn’t for everyone, but most of his method works well for me. He writes one clean draft. When he types the end, the book is done.
I got a lot of flack about this method when I first wrote about it, but I wasn’t as clear about the process as I could’ve been. When you write one clean draft, you re-write constantly, but all the re-writing happens as you write, not after you’re done.
You write five hundred words and loop back over what you’ve written, until you get to where you stopped and continue on. The process gets repeated. Writing, looping, and re-writing, until you’re finished. This is a method that makes editing junkies want to puke a little. Purists see this method as blasphemy. But I’m a writer who loves the writing process, but not the formal, traditional editing process.
I believe in my craft.
I want to improve my craft every day. But if I don’t use a writing/re-writing process that suits me, I’ll never finish the book.
There are many parts of Dean’s method I don’t use. He’s militant in his one-draft method. I believe it’s important to re-write your opening scene dozens of times before publishing. I believe the end needs the same treatment. I think it’s important to come back to those two scenes after you’ve let the book breathe a little.
Once we choose a plan of attack the suits the way we write, we’ve got a much better chance of finishing the manuscript — versus following the method we feel we’re supposed to.
We learn from those who came before us
Writing is a lonely vocation. By its nature, unless we write as a team, we write alone. There isn’t one original problem a writer can face that hasn’t been faced by a writer before her.
There are writers with dozens of books and years under their belts.
We need to lean on their work, learn from their mistakes, and listen to their lectures when we can. I’ve shaved dozens of years off my writing career by watching and listening to thousands of hours of writing lectures from some of the best minds in the business.
We listen. We absorb. We borrow what works for us and discard what doesn’t. Dan Brown hangs upside-down to help himself get the creative juices flowing. Dan sells a lot of books. But hanging from my ankles doesn’t work for me so I skip Dan’s muse-evoking strategy.
I like Stephen King’s idea that the best writing ideas stick with us. I used to keep a lot of writing notebooks, but since I heard King speak about this I stopped. His method resonates with me so I adopted it. I no longer hoard hundreds of bad book ideas. The good ones stick with me. Those are the stories I write about.
I encourage you to do the same. YouTube some of your favorite authors and chances are you’ll find a lecture or two about their writing process. Writers love to talk about their process. We don’t get fancy writing shoes, a writing net, or a special engine in our writing car. Process is one of the few cool things we can share.
We read. A lot
I read at least one hundred books a year. I wish it were more, but I’m not a fast reader. I know I won’t live long enough to read all the books I want, but I’m trying. Writers are readers. There isn’t a way around that.
We’ve got to feed the output with some quality input.
This is the same as trying to build a killer bod by eating candy every day. No matter how hard you exercise you can’t turn Skittles into muscles. If we don’t feed our writing muscle with some nutritious, stimulating content, our output won’t be as strong as it could be had we read.
When I read I try to read as reader, not a writer. Reading as a writer ruins most books. In writer mode we read with an ultra-critical eye. At least I do. And I lose the story as a whole.
When I take a breath and put away my writer’s hat I enjoy books much more as a reader.
As readers we absorb great story ideas into our subconscious. As we work through our manuscript all this good input will help us finish our work. Instead of choosing an ending we’ve seen a dozen times, we’ll take the road less traveled. We wouldn’t have uncovered the alternate route if we weren’t also readers.
I like to read both a fiction and non-fiction book at all times.
It’s easy separate the two genres in my head, so I can read a little from one and little from the other without getting the books crossed. I wouldn’t recommend reading two fiction books simultaneously. I feel it’s important to read across multiple genres. You never know what nuggets of wisdom you’ll uncover from a genre different than the one you write.
Reading frequently will help you keep writing. It’s like an endless source of positive motivation from someone who’s made it before you… and you’ll learn what not to do.
We write things that scare us a little
If we aren’t publishing work that scares us a little, we’re not trying hard enough. When we push the envelop it helps us finish the story. Maybe we take an unpopular stance on a subject. Maybe we make the reader question everything she believed thus far.
When we write on the bleeding edge we engage our brains more.
Fear is a great barometer of good writing. It’s hard to judge our work objectively, but if we get to the point where we’re a little scared to put our writing into the world, there’s a good chance you’re onto something new and great.
Now, we don’t want to write just for shock value, clicks, or attention. But if you’ve got something powerful to say and a new way to say it, there’s a good chance those fear feelings will creep up your back. These are the crossroads — the point you’ve got to decide to keep going and not water-down your words to avoid ruffling the over-sensitive.
What scares me may not scare you at all. What you might think is provocative is a Saturday morning for me. The fear meter is a personal feeling. When she arrives take note. You’re on the right path. This is the moment where you’ve got to push through to the end, because you’re onto something truly great.
Your mind will fight you, but don’t let it win. This is the last wall before you release your work into the world. We want to read what you’ve written, but we can’t until you publish. It’s time.
We’re waiting for you.
August Birch (aka the Book Mechanic) is both a fiction and non-fiction author from Michigan, USA. A self-proclaimed guardian of writers and creators, August teaches indie authors how to write books that sell and how to sell more of those books once they’re written. When he’s not writing or thinking about writing August carries a pocket knife and shaves his head with a safety razor.
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