{"id":12983,"date":"2019-05-15T17:54:32","date_gmt":"2019-05-15T16:54:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ounews.co\/?p=12983"},"modified":"2019-05-15T17:54:32","modified_gmt":"2019-05-15T16:54:32","slug":"how-to-write-a-novel-four-fiction-writers-on-danielle-steels-insane-working-day","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/arts-social-sciences\/art-literature-music\/how-to-write-a-novel-four-fiction-writers-on-danielle-steels-insane-working-day\/","title":{"rendered":"How to write a novel \u2013 four fiction writers on Danielle Steel’s insane working day"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Sarah Corbett<\/a>, Lancaster University<\/a><\/em>; David Bishop<\/a>, Edinburgh Napier University<\/a><\/em>; Edward Hogan<\/a>, The Open University<\/a><\/em>, and Liam Murray Bell<\/a>, University of Stirling<\/a><\/em> writing for The Conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She might be the world\u2019s most famous romance writer, nay the highest selling living author bar none, but there\u2019s little room for flowers and chocolates in Danielle Steel\u2019s writing regime. In a recent interview she laughed at the idea of young people insisting on a work-life balance<\/a>, and has claimed she regularly writes for 20 to 22 hours a day<\/a>, and sometimes 24. The result: 179 books in under 50 years, selling about 800m copies. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some aspiring novelists might just have cancelled their entire lives to get on the Steel plan, but many more are probably wondering if it\u2019s time to try something less demanding. We asked four creative writing teachers for their perspective:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Liam Murray Bell, University of Stirling<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Steel\u2019s claim reminds me of the thriller writer Edgar Wallace, who was known to write a novel over the course of a long weekend. He\u2019d retire to his study on a Friday evening and not emerge until the Monday morning, dictating his words to a secretary and stopping only for half-hourly cups of tea. Poor secretary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only thing I recognise from that brutal regime is the need for copious amounts of tea. For me, a productive day is four hours of writing. Four hours of focused, uninterrupted time at the keyboard. This morning, I wrote for two hours and managed just shy of 1,000 words. Even that is a decent day; a steady day. To wrestle those hours of writing time free, I\u2019m postponing teaching preparation, leaving my marking until the evening, relying on childcare. Most of all, I\u2019m doing my damnedest to ignore emails. When does Steel answer her emails, is what I want to know. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/a>
Going blank again.
AVA Bitter<\/a> <\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

There have been times, on writing retreats or under threat of impending deadline, when I\u2019ve been known to stretch to six or seven hours. No more, though, because then the words stop making sense and the delete key takes a hammering. I start explaining my plot to the mantelpiece and rehearsing lines of dialogue with the cat. Instead, I go and do something else. It\u2019s amazing how often clarity about your writing comes while washing the dishes, trimming the hedge, taking the dog for a walk. The writers I know are full of anecdotes of story ideas scribbled on bus tickets, or pulling over the car to jot down a poem opening by the side of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s often when I\u2019m out for a lunchtime run that I find myself reflecting on what I wrote that morning or find the thread for a scene to write the next day. Haruki Murakami talks about the similar feats of concentration and endurance required for long-distance running and for writing a novel; each endeavour requiring the person to turn up day after day for months or even years. At the University of Stirling, we\u2019ve actually formed a research group to look at the links between creative writing and physical activity because so many writers are also keen runners or cyclists or swimmers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The appeal of Steel\u2019s process, then, seems to be that every day is race day. But you can\u2019t sustain that. Little and often is my mantra, with every day building momentum. If you manage 200 words today then those are 200 words you didn\u2019t have yesterday. That might take you 15 minutes or it might take six hours; either way, it\u2019s progress. The aim isn\u2019t to get as many words on the page as quickly as possible; the aim is to get the right words on the page, however long it takes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah Corbett, University of Lancaster<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m sorry to say there isn\u2019t a formula for how to write a novel (so don\u2019t buy those \u201chow to\u201d books) \u2013 only hard graft, staying power, blinding self belief (rescued every morning from the teeth of doubt), and the willingness to meet the devil at the crossroads and outwit him. And to write, rewrite, write, rewrite, write, rewrite \u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps this isn\u2019t very helpful to the beginner; and I have to admit that I\u2019m just finishing my own first novel \u2013 after five years. But having taught creative writing for almost 20 years across all genres, here are some things I can say from experience: <\/p>\n\n\n\n

1) Read other novels. There\u2019s no getting round this: you have to do a lot of reading \u2013 passionate, engaged and risky \u2013 but also the kind where you start to notice, and then investigate how the writer does things. Read lots of different types of books too: be curious, endlessly;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2) Practice, practice, practice. Write regularly even if you can only spare an hour in the evening or an afternoon at the weekend. Most writers have other jobs, families, pets, households, and you\u2019d be surprised how much writing gets done in the gaps between other things; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

3) Work at your technique at every level of detail from sentencing and phrasing to word choice, creating believable characters, immersive settings, dynamic scenes and authentic dialogue; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

4) Write what saddens\/moves\/frightens\/turns you on; write with the whole of your self and the whole of your senses;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

5) Join a course, start a group; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

6) Write because you enjoy it, and you enjoy a challenge; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

7) Be prepared to tear it up and start again; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

8) Remember that writing is work, the best kind, that transports and enchants you;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9) Keep going\u2026;<\/p>\n\n\n\n

10) Write your own rules.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So how did I write my novel? Slowly \u2013 I published two poetry collections in the same period, did a lot of teaching and saw my son through his GCSEs and A-levels \u2013 and with a lot of gutting and rewriting; begging more experienced friends to read it and give me their toughest, most honest advice, and then acting on it, even when it meant radical cuts and changes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mine is a literary novel – about family, home and shame – but with a psychological twist. The character and her story came to me all in one go on the train home from Manchester after an unsettling encounter in Waterstones, and since then it\u2019s been a process of excavation, as if the novel already existed somewhere in the world, and I just had to keep uncovering it, slowly, layer by layer. I\u2019m still adding scenes, taking others away, fine tuning every line. I\u2019m still working out the best way to tell the story, but I know I\u2019m nearly ready to let it go because the next one has already arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Edward Hogan, Open University<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

For his 2016 book Rest<\/a>, the writer and Silicon Valley consultant Alex Soojung-Kim Pang collected the routines of creative people throughout history. From the habits of writers such as Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope, and Alice Munro, he concluded that four hours a day is optimum, and you need to wake up early. Trollope rose at 5am each morning (a servant brought him coffee at half past), and wrote until 8.30am, before going to his job at the post office. On that schedule, he published over 40 novels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a writer with a family and a full-time job, I currently follow the 5am method, though I make my own coffee. In theory, this \u201clittle and often\u201d approach seems straightforward: if you write 500 words a day, you\u2019ll have a first draft in months. But it isn\u2019t that simple. My first novel took eight years, but my third was pretty much done in 40 days. Writing requires two states of mind: you need the researcher\u2019s brain, the clear-thinking editor\u2019s, but you must be open to the dark mess of creation, too. My routine changes, because I haven\u2019t figured out how to do it yet. When I do, I\u2019ll probably quit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/a>
Kazuo Ishiguro.
Wikimedia<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m interested in Steel\u2019s way of working. That sort of immersion, favoured by Kasuo Ishiguro<\/a>, and Jesse Ball \u2013 who claims<\/a> to write his novels in as little as six days \u2013 allows them to retain the vitality of the initial idea. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul Sheldon, the author and narrator of Stephen King\u2019s Misery, describes \u201cfalling through a hole in the page\u201d when writing. Maybe that\u2019s the sort of compulsion that Steel experiences, and it\u2019s refreshing to hear her address the physicality of the process. Writers are reluctant to talk about the (rare) sensation of extreme focus that results when they become possessed by their work. Rambling about raised heart-rates, losing track of time, and being \u201cin the zone\u201d, can make writing sound like a cross between yoga and golf. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The writer\u2019s routine is where practical concerns meet the more ephemeral subject of inspiration. You have to decide what kind of writer you want to be. Jenny Colgan produces two books a year, and this involves hitting deadlines so that her novels appear around Mother\u2019s Day and the Christmas season. Writing is work, the daily pursuit of a word count. For Hilary Mantel, that sort of regularity is alien. She talks about<\/a> \u201cflow days\u201d when she has no idea what she\u2019s written until she reads it back. But both writers are at their desks, daily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The act of writing can be exhilarating, but it\u2019s mostly quite difficult. Then again, it\u2019s not like going down the pit. So if you want to write a novel, and find Steel\u2019s method unappealing, let me refer you to the celebrated and prolific children\u2019s author Jacqueline Wilson, who writes for<\/a> about half-an-hour a day. In bed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

David Bishop, Edinburgh Napier University<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Steel\u2019s regime sounds extreme, but if that works for her \u2013 so be it. Every writer has their own unique sweet spot, a time and place where they can produce words that will be ready for reading one day. The trick is finding your personal approach, and also recognising it might not suit every project.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some people say you must write every day to be a writer. Perhaps, but writing is not simply the act of typing words on paper or screen. There is so much more that goes into creating narratives from your imagination. Reading widely is often the sign of a voracious writer, though there is always the danger of a project being infected by the style or substance of whatever you happen to be reading at the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s also a myth that you need to write a certain number of words in a session. Some writers do benefit from a daily or weekly target, but others prefer to devote a fixed amount of time to writing, and trust that the words will come. Feeling guilty for not matching another writer\u2019s productivity is certainly not good for your mental health. Besides, quantity is no measure of quality. I once had 600,000 words published in one calendar year, but they certainly weren\u2019t my best work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The act of not writing is just as important as writing. Never underestimate the importance of staring out of a window or going for a walk. All too often the knottiest story problems can only be untangled by getting away from the desk. If all else fails, try going to sleep and letting your subconscious do the heavy lifting. It\u2019s amazing how often the resting mind can resolve a problem your active thoughts couldn\u2019t fix.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a>
\u2018Where did I put that dog?\u2019
Everett Collection<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

For most writers, finding the best way to write a novel is trial and error: experimenting with different systems until they discover one that chimes. Some writers craft detailed plot outlines as a narrative safety net; others prefer a journey of discovery that could mean wholesale rewrites later. Some work in total silence; others needs background sounds such as music. An idea to spark your imagination is necessary, along with a trajectory to follow \u2013 but what happens next is up to you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Steel has a sign in her office that reads: \u201cThere are no miracles. There is only discipline.\u201d To be a writer does not require 22 hours at a desk each day, but Steel is right that there are no miracles, either. If you want to be a writer, you have to write \u2013 however you do it. That much is inescapable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah Corbett<\/a>, Lecturer in Creative Writing, Lancaster University<\/a><\/em>; David Bishop<\/a>, Programme Leader in Creative Writing, Edinburgh Napier University<\/a><\/em>; Edward Hogan<\/a>, Associate Lecturer in Creative Writing, The Open University<\/a><\/em>, and Liam Murray Bell<\/a>, Lecturer in Creative Writing, University of Stirling<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This article is republished from The Conversation<\/a> under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Main image: <\/em>Featureflash Photo Agency<\/em><\/a> <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sarah Corbett, Lancaster University; David Bishop, Edinburgh Napier University; Edward Hogan, The Open University, and Liam Murray Bell, University of Stirling writing for The Conversation. She might be the world\u2019s most famous romance writer, nay the highest selling living author bar none, but there\u2019s little room for flowers and chocolates in Danielle Steel\u2019s writing regime. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"featured_media":12984,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[23],"tags":[201,869,2200,2460],"class_list":["post-12983","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-art-literature-music","tag-authors","tag-fass","tag-the-conversation","tag-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12983","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12983"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12983\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12984"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12983"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12983"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.open.ac.uk\/blogs\/news\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12983"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}