Since then, I’ve written about 4,000 more words to the book.  I’ve added to early chapters and late chapters alike.  I’ve beefed up description and rewritten scenes I had hurried through in order to get from A to B as quickly as possible.  I’m still revising entire sections.  I’m not just editing.  I’m removing entire exchanges of dialogue or moving conversations to different days and settings.

I’m confident that all the changes I’m making will improve my book.  The story will be more compelling and there will be fewer dull spots.

But how do I know when I’m done?  How do I decide that I’m done revising and am only tinkering around the edges?  When do I give the completed book to beta readers and ask them to look for holes?

I’m a very discriminating reader.  I don’t say that to brag; in fact, I’m embarrassed that I’ll quit a book after two pages if I’m not interested.  But when I am interested in a book, I fall in love.  Thirty pages and I’m smitten. From Jonathan Franzen to Emma Donoghue to Charlotte Bronte, when I start a book that I love, I think it’s the best thing ever and insist that everyone else read it and likewise fall in love.  But more often than not, that passion dissipates by the last quarter of a book.  I feel like the author tries to hard to tie things together; he or she so wants to create this world within the novel’s pages that the book is too long.  Rarely have I felt that a novel worked perfectly from beginning to end.  Maybe Nicole Krauss’s “History of Love.”

Short story collections, on the other hand, don’t try to create worlds.  Each story, on its own, represents a glimpse into a life; it doesn’t aim to represent the entire life.  Maybe that’s why I love collections like Doerr’s “Memory Wall” or Lahiri’s “Unaccustomed Earth.” They end with the same momentum with which they began.

Ah, so, my own novel attempt.  I am almost finished with the fifth chapter.  It comes out to over sixty pages.  This feels like a lot when I’m working, reflecting on everything I’ve done,  but not when I stand in the bookstore, thumbing through “short” works of over two-hundred pages.  Then I think about the filler–those twenty, thirty, fifty pages that weigh down otherwise impressive books–and tell myself I’m doing fine.

So far I’ve glossed over what she does at work. I made her a nursing administrator–formerly a floor nurse–to give her regular hours that perhaps a floor nurse wouldn’t have. But I try to write her at her job and the scene falls flat. Ultimately I want her to regret leaving the front lines and feel stifled and restless in an office, so perhaps I should push forward. I’m just struggling to get interested; and if I’m not interested, what hope is there for my reader?

I’ve updated “Books & Reading.”

Now that I have some distance from it, I see that the end is somewhat rushed. I look forward to seeing what three fresh pairs of eyes have to say (and suddenly I have this image of eyeballs, splitting open, and a tongue sticking out; this means I’ve had too much coffee or not enough).

Do I set goals in terms of word count? In other words, write 500 (1000 or 1500) words by the end of the day; write 2000 (3000 or 5000) words by the end of the week; write 10,000 words by the end of the month.

Do I set goals in terms of plot points? Write until the husband comes home. Write until “x” happens.

Or do I write for a certain amount of time each day, whether 2 hours or 5 hours?

Wednesday evening I shared the rough (rough) draft of the beginning of my first chapter. I asked for “gut” feelings. What do I need to clarify? Are you interested, engaged? I received some great critical feedback. I was worried that I don’t have enough details–I don’t like to give a much description–but I think I have enough well-placed specific details.

The biggest thing I took away is that I need to slow down. I’m used to short-story writing, being dense, condensing important plot points into one or two paragraphs. In a novel, however, the reader needs time to breathe. Jonathan Franzen wrote that a novel should take you to a quiet place. A still place. It’s good to show, but it’s also important to tell some things, as well.

I like to get the characters out the door. But they can linger in that door, too. I’m still toying with the idea of adding this to my “works in progress,” but for now I think I’ll keep it private. However, feel free to email me if you want to take a look at it.

Humbling, though, to think about where all these shoes have been.

(Cross-posted on blogspot)