Comment
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: Awaiting the Second Novel
In early April, I put the finishing touches on my second novel Isabelle of the Moon and Stars, ably assisted by an editorial report on an earlier draft from my publisher, Allen & Unwin. And now I wait…for acceptance, rejection or the netherworld of another draft. So it seems a good time to reflect on the good, the bad and the ugly of the first-novel-published-second-novel-on-the-way experience.
The Good
One of the best things about having published Red Dress Walking was that it shut up my inner critic, however temporarily. My inner bitch voice is relentless and vicious. She is slighting of every achievement and inexhaustible on the subject of my inadequacies. But Red Dress Walking quieted her. She may have even mumbled something bordering on complimentary when I first held the book in my hand. Publication shifted my emotional and psychological landscape and made me think differently about what was possible. I do not think it is a coincidence that within two weeks of the book launch I was pregnant.
The other great joy has been extending my citizenship of the writing and reading community. Reading over the guest list for my first writer’s festival was like sitting down to a three-day banquet of my favourite food, washed down with a blisteringly sharp chardonnay. I told one of my publisher’s representatives that I was determined to ‘kidnap’ Nadeem Aslam, having been stunned by his emotional discipline in writing the shattering books The Wasted Vigil and Maps for Lost Lovers.
‘Good luck’, came her rejoinder, ‘he’ll be one of the darlings of the festival’.
‘Ah yes, but I have a secret weapon’.
‘Which is?’
‘This’. I wriggled my bountiful five-month pregnant bosom.
I don’t know whether the bosom had anything to do with it, but I rate my successful capture of Nadeem Aslam, Andrew Nicoll and Rana Dasgupta as one of my greatest achievements. After the opening night drinks they piled into my car and we drove around the city at ten o’clock looking for a restaurant (no mean feat in sleepy Perth at that time of night). We found a table at The Moon Café and spoke for hours about words, about writing, about reading and readers, and it was a sheer delight. Since then I’ve made friends with dozens of other writers and committed readers, and find their camaraderie, ideas and criticisms the best by-product of the writing gig.
The experience of my first writer’s festival was akin to finding my tribe – those like-minded folk whose eyes don’t glaze over when I bring up structural symmetry in Wuthering Heights. At the Allen & Unwin dinner, looking longingly at the wine as I sipped my soda water (being pregnant isn’t all heaving bosom and skittles) I shared my idea for an alphabet frieze consisting entirely of writers, for my baby girl: A is for Austen, B is for Brontë, C is for Chekhov. To my surprise those assembled thought it was a fantastic idea and we spent a good part of the dinner running through the alphabet for who we would choose.
Geeky? Yes. Enjoyable? You betcha.
Being published also turned me into a different kind of reader. As I’ve written before at Killings, fairness demanded that I become a more generous, adventurous reader. After all, I wanted readers to take a punt on my unknown wares so I had to do the same. My reading dollar now goes almost exclusively on emerging novelists and I’m grateful that I made this change. There is many a wonderful book I would have missed out on if I’d continued down my well-trod path.
The Bad
Now for the less edifying bits.
When I wrote Red Dress Walking the relationship between me and the book was hermetically sealed. I didn’t think about publication. It seemed such a wildly improbable outcome it barely glimmered in my dreams. I focussed on getting the words out. The relationship between the emerging novel and me was concentrated with many pleasures. As I stare down the barrel of the second novel, that monogamous relationship has fractured: now I have half an eye on the reader. I think about the reader browsing in a bookshop and casually picking up Isabelle of the Moon and Stars, and the myriad thought processes that go into their decision to read or not read the book.
The problem with allowing the reader into my cosy relationship is that it shakes my confidence. I find myself second-guessing the readers’ response – is that part too slow? Will the reader stay with me? Is Isabelle sympathetic? Will the reader warm to her? Writing is hard enough without serving as handmaid to an unseen, mythologised Reader God.
My writing pleasure is now tempered by the reality that an indifferent or critical readership can hurt me. I was fortunate to receive mainly positive reviews and some really lovely responses from readers, but there was one review in a major newspaper that I’m still smarting over – not because it was critical, but because it was glib. It reeked of the smug and casual deployment of power. I just have to see that reviewer’s name to feel the same crushing wave of disappointment and deflation roll over me.
The Ugly
And now for the liver-spotted, greasy underbelly of the first-novel-published-second-novel-on-the-way vantage point. The ugly part of my situation can be summed up in two words: fear and envy.
To take the fear first, I have an ongoing debate with my friends about which situation is worse: to know without doubt what your ‘thing’ is but be unable to fully commit to it, or not to know – and drift from one course, job or hobby to another in the vague hope of finding it. I know without doubt that my thing is writing. It’s more than a vocation or a passion, it’s a bloodlust. It gives me a transcendent satisfaction.
But, as for most writers, the need to earn a wage pushes writing to the margins of my life, when I want it to be the epicentre. The fear is that it will always be at the margins and I will always feel this insatiable hunger for more, more, more. Even worse is the terror that I may be pushed further and further away from the centre like a swimmer caught in a rip. You fluked it, pipes the inner bitch voice. It was a one off. You’ll never be published again. Oh shut up, you bloody crone.
But of all things envy is perhaps the worst. I’ve watched, puzzled, as some books are anointed and others at least as worthy sink from the public consciousness without trace. Why do some books warrant the full-page review, where others are relegated to a single paragraph in the bowels of the journal? How to crack the mystery of festival invitations and journal interviews? How to become the darling of the marketing team?
I have a writer girlfriend who says, ‘I’ve been embittered and unpublished before and I can be embittered and unpublished again’. But I don’t want to be bitter. It’s a wasteful, corrosive emotion. When I fall prey to it I remind myself of my own good fortune. My book is out there – a tangible thing – while other equally good manuscripts languish on desks and in-trays, never to see the light of day.
What I must reclaim again and again is the sheer joy of writing. The intimate relationship between me and the page. I must remind myself that the relationship is an end in itself. It is an unqualified good, regardless of whether it is ever read by another human being. Through this practice I hold communion with my deepest self and honour what I know to be true: that this is ‘my thing’.
S.A. Jones is the author of Red Dress Walking, and her essay ‘A Peanut-Cruncher’s Defence: Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes’ appears in Kill Your Darlings Issue Five, available here.
4 Responses to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: Awaiting the Second Novel
Leave a Reply
The Meanjin Tournament of Books and shared reading experiences
-
Current Issue
Kill Your Darlings, No. 9
April 2012 The Stella Prize
Kill Your Darlings is a proud supporter of The Stella Prize.
4:59 pm, April 27, 2011
Nice piece. I can certainly relate to “the bad,” without having had a major work published. Working as a buyer at a major indie bookshop, I’m overwhelmed by what is published and the (lack of) reaction to it.
Still, it gives you an idea of the landscape, and a determination to do something different, even when you know it’s likely to get ignored. The joy of the work, as you say, where you can find it…
5:03 pm, April 27, 2011
First of all, good call with the Moon Cafe. As a Perth girl, I have to say that’s one of my favourite places.
Second, I’d love to talk about structural symmetry in Wuthering Heights with someone. I feel your tribal yearning also.
Third, I am going to read your book now. :)
11:29 am, May 2, 2011
@ Ben – I’m curious as to how someone in your position who is, as you say, ‘overwhelmed’ by the sheer plethora of books out there makes their choices about what they do and don’t read. What guides your decisions?
@ Emily – happy to talk about Wuthers any time! Send me an email and we can take this chat offline.
4:09 pm, February 1, 2012
Gosh, stumbled across this again and saw a very old question that I’m very late replying to.
I’m guided by the same things as other bibliophiles, really – immediate interest, the history of literature, the web of literary connections, recommendations and sometimes, a pretty jacket. I’ll give some things a go if I consider they fall within a kind of purview – say, new Australian novelists.
I get very fussy about the general mass. If it hasn’t grabbed me in the first few pages, it goes back on the shelf. I’m sure I miss some good stuff this way, but what can you do? And you can usually tell if someone uses language in an interesting way pretty early…