I
just deleted half of yesterday’s work. Ouch! Why would I do such a painful
thing? Word count is hard to come by. The writing wasn’t awful. It added a few
character insights. But it didn’t advance the story. And story is the key to
satisfying readers.
Most
writers I know, especially writers with contracts and deadlines, set daily word
counts for themselves. Some post their daily accomplishments on Facebook. I
assume they’re looking for a virtual pat on the back or maybe an opportunity to
shout out to the world, “I did it!” Whatever their motivation, I usually look
at those impressive numbers and hang my head.
I’m
currently working on the second book in my female bodyguard series. Since I
haven’t written a new full-length novel in almost four years, I’m more than a
little rusty. I’ve tried to avoid stressing myself with things like goals and
word counts, but I really want to finish the manuscript by Labor Day. I know
how long my books usually run, and I’m not laid-back enough to keep myself from
doing the math. Only a certain number of words per month (and by extension, per
week and per day) will get me there. It’s not an insurmountable mountain of
words and it’s not carved in stone, but it will require much more
self-discipline than I’m used to.
As
I’ve been paying closer attention to my own productivity, it’s got me thinking
about the current emphasis on being a prolific writer. We are constantly urged
to write faster, but not to write better. We’re told the way to build a
successful career is to produce several books a year—keep cranking them out and
keep ourselves in the public eye. Our books are a product, our writing “content”
that must constantly be refreshed in this age of instant communication and
miniscule attention spans. And it’s true. As fewer people read books regularly,
avid readers must be nurtured and cherished. Of course they want new books by
their favorite authors frequently, so we work give them what they want.
But
are we paying a price? Are we forcing them to pay a price?
In
the past couple of years, I’ve noticed changes in the work of two of my
favorite big-name authors. Their books have always been automatic buys for me,
but that’s changing. I won’t mention names, but you’ll probably recognize at
least one of these NYT bestsellers.
The
first author writes three full-length books a year in three different
sub-genres, and I have always loved them—until the last two. In her latest
contemporary suspense book, the villain was obvious from the first chapter, and
the pace dragged miserably. It read like she was being paid by the word. The
second book was the first in a new grand fantasy trilogy. The characters and
plot were so flat and lifeless I doubt I’ll read the sequels.
The
other author writes in the highly popular, extended family series sub-genre.
You know the kind—large families with numerous siblings, each with his or her
own romance. I loved the first several books, but the last couple have felt
rushed and formulaic.
I
think both authors are paying the price of success in today’s market. They are
under enormous pressure to produce, and because they’re professionals, they do produce.
But their characters and stories are not as fresh and imaginative as in earlier
books—the books that won legions of dedicated readers in the first place.
Writers
create. We don’t make widgets. Our products need to have magic, and sometimes magic
takes time. The creative well must be allowed to refill. Sadly, publishers (and
readers) these days are often too impatient to allow that to happen. Because I
self-publish, this isn’t an issue for me, but the pressure to write fast and
publish frequently raises the risk of burnout for many writers pursuing
commercial success. Some will end up not putting their best work out there. And
that’s a big disservice to themselves and their readers.
Alison
www.alisonhenderson.com
