About The Novel

In order for this blog to make sense, I'm going to have to tell you about the novel I'm writing.

Here's the most damning piece of information: I wrote it for National Novel Writing Month. For those of you not familiar with this concept, NaNoWriMo, as it is known by its initiates, is a project wherein feckless writers like myself commit themselves to writing 50,000 words of a novel during the month of November. You can input your daily words count on the NaNoWriMo website, check your progress against a pacing graph, and chat with other hopeless literary romantics.

Now, in and of itself, NaNoWriMo is a good idea-- if you are an experienced novelist, or if you know how to write a novel at all, or if you like to write fiction for your own satisfaction. I am not an experienced novelist, and I do not know how to write a novel at all, and I don't usually like to write fiction, as a rule. I majored in poetry composition in college, people. (Now THAT is a useful degree!) I can turn out a sestina like no one's business, but chapters are a mystery to me.

So on November 1st, all my friends were like, "Yay, we're writing novels!" and since I'm a sheep, I said, "Yay, I'm writing a novel, too!" So I wrote one. I didn't outline, I didn't write out character biographies, I didn't even think very hard about the plot. I just wrote.

And y'know, it was FUN. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, actually. (And I really do highly recommend NaNoWriMo-- it's a great experience.)

But when it was done, I was left with a 50,000-word Frankenstein's monster-- well-intentioned, but hideously piecemeal, lacking true self-control, thrown together out of hubris. I love this novel, so I can't just forget about it, but, like the mother of a serial killer, I know no one will ever love and understand it like I do. I'm currently editing it, and I'll probably have it up to 80,000 words when all is said and done. But for right now, it's too short, too squat, too garbled, and its table manners are atrocious.

What It's About

Here's my summary: Simon, a young Episcopal priest who has recently entered his first parish, questions his faith, his calling, and his parishioners' support after his wife, an abortion clinic intake counselor named Ada, is diagnosed with a mental illness that causes her to believe she is hearing the voice of God.

The best part about this novel is that it's probably not marketable in the least. Technically it's Christian fiction, as it deals positively with some Christian themes and portrays its main characters (both Christians) in a positive light. However, the novel is pretty unabashedly liberal, as the main female character is both Christian and pro-abortion, and from what I've read of the Left Behind series, most Christian readers won't be down with that. (Although what I've read of the Left Behind series amounts to three pages of the first books and then subsequent hilarious commentaries from The Slacktivist, so...)

So for the immediate future: I'll be blogging a little bit about editing, seeing as I have to edit the damn thing and add 30,000 more words before I can query. After that, I'll be whining about query letters, then posting rejection letters, and then hopefully freeing myself from this useless and destructive writing passion for good.