HAVING THE CONFIDENCE TO WRITE A FIRST DRAFT OF A NOVEL

YOU GOT THIS. YOU'RE A WRITER. PUSH FAILURE AWAY AND LET YOUR CONFIDENCE TAKE OVER.

Thinking about writing a first novel is more common than you think. Having the confidence to write the first draft of a novel is even harder. In fact, it’s probably one of the hardest things you can set out to achieve in life. Writing, like painting, like any art form or craft, takes time to understand. It takes educating yourself in the craft of writing, which includes things like reading (and reading like a writer), like understanding grammar, knowing how to spell, what a story is (and isn’t), what “voice” in a narrative is and why it’s so important to fiction, what first, second, and third person points of views are (as well as if those POVs are omniscient, limited, etc.), how to build your fictive world(s) and your characters and their arcs, what good dialogue is and isn’t, why plot is important, and a million other things. And while you may become an expert at all the basics of writing and the corresponding intricacies of those pillars of writing literature, there’s one thing even experienced writers struggle with: the confidence you’ll need to begin (and to sustain the writing during) your first draft.

As writers, it’s difficult to not struggle with imposter syndrome. Tennessee Williams said, “What's talent but the ability to get away with something?” Lara Erlich, in Animal Wife, wrote, “In none of her lives will she be brilliant or famous or content. Her mediocrity will hound her through a kaleidoscope of futures.” Mark Twain said, "All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure." But everyone struggles, no matter what they tell you. Writing makes even the most confident of people question their worth and talent. It also doesn’t help when others’ negative opinions of what you write influence how you feel about your work.

Stephen King’s novel Carrie was rejected thirty times. Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind? 38 “thanks but no thanks.” Chicken Soup for the Soul? A hundred and forty-four rejections. And Kathryn Stockett’s The Help, which sold over 7 million copies? That novel had over sixty rejections from literary agents before finally finding a home.

See, the thing is, confidence is a must when you, as a writer, put yourself out there. Now, I’m not saying you have to be cocky (although it helps). I’m not saying you must be conceited (although it helps). And I’m not saying you need to rub any of your successes, however minor or major, into your writer friends’ faces (however much fun that may be). But there needs to be some hint of “I can conquer the world” inside of you. There needs to be a little “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m struggling right now, I’m finishing this thing, even if it’s practice. Even if it never sees the light of day.” Because the only thing that’s going to get your novel written is writing. And the only person that’s going to do that writing for you is you (unless you consider having AI “write” your novel for you which is, we both know, not writing at all). And, unfortunately, sometimes that writing is writing you must go through just to get to the real writing. But it’s all writing, and it’s all necessary.

So, how do we build the confidence we’ll need to push forth on that first draft? Well, it’s no surprise: it’s by writing. It really is that simple. If you’ve been writing for any amount of time, you know the life cycle of emotions you’re going to experience as the words on the page multiply. You know you’re going to break the promise you’ve made to yourself to not edit while you write. You’re going to write garbage. Every now and then, if you’re lucky, you’re going to write something that’s maybe even good. You’ll think you’re a fraud for most of that time. You’ll think you’re a genius for some of that time. Mostly, you’ll think you’re a little bit of everything in between somewhere along the way. But because you’re a writer, you will write through the good times as well as the bad times. And there will be more bad times than good ones. Of that, you can be sure.

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Ernest Hemingway famously said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Voltaire said, “Writing is the painting of the voice.” And one of my favorite quotes about writing is from E.L. Doctorow, who says, “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” In my experience, that’s more likely to be true if you’re a pantser, meaning you don’t outline your novels—you write by the seat of your pants. It’s how I write. It’s part of what makes the process of writing for me so much fun. But Doctorow’s metaphor is pretty damn accurate. As writers, most of us I believe, we want to enjoy the surprises. We want to discover what our characters do—not dictate what they’ll do. It’s the process of discovery that’s so exciting. It’s in that process that we make sense of the world around us, because life, we know, doesn’t have to make sense. Fiction does.   

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

--E.L. Doctorow

I have a story. It’s both a failure and a great success, at least in my eyes it is. Years ago, I wrote a story while pursuing my MFA in fiction at the University of Tampa, when UT still had an MFA in Creative Writing program. Tampa’s a pretty historic city. Back in the day, the mafia had a decent presence in Tampa. The Trafficante crime family, run by first Santo Trafficante Sr. and then his son, Santo Trafficante Jr., ran Tampa’s illegal operations from the early 20^th century through the 1980s. The city was (and is) a hub for cigar making, though today only the J.C. Newman Cigar Co. continues cigar production. But at one time, beginning in 1885 with Vicente Martinez Ybor’s move to Tampa from Key West, Ybor City and West Tampa employed somewhere around 10,000 workers at the cigar factories, of which there were around two hundred.

Anyway, there was first an MFA-only short story competition I entered with a story I wrote about a Cuban tabaquero working at a cigar factory, and how he commits a crime and must flee the city, followed, later on, by a city-wide short story competition put on by the Tampa edition of the free newspaper Creative Loafing. The story I wrote was titled The Tabaquero’s Squirrel. You can read here. I was pretty sure it was a good story, but you never know when you’re in a competition what type of fiction appeals to the judges, what the judges are seeking, exactly, to publish in their online or print magazine or newspaper, or if social media/voting can influence the outcome of the competition. Either way, I submitted my story to the first competition.

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And I didn’t win. A classmate of mine won the competition. I was a little bummed, but I’d been writing so long and submitting to journals and competitions for so long that I no longer stressed about the results or took any of the rejections personally. I congratulated my classmate, and the semester continued. Then the Creative Loafing competition came up. The theme was simply to write a story about Ybor City which, if you’ve ever been there, you know is a pretty distinct place. It also has one of the most famous and oldest Cuban restaurants in Florida, the Colombia restaurant, which I highly recommend. So, I submitted the same story to the Creative Loafing Ybor City Fiction Contest. A couple months later I received a phone call from David Warner, the editor (if I recall correctly) of the publication. David said, “You won.” The prize? $500 and publication in the newspaper, a newspaper you could grab for free all over Tampa.

REJECTION IS PART OF THE WRITING GAME. GET USED TO IT. BRUSH IT OFF. OVERCOME IT.

I was proud of winning, and proud of the story. I still am. But that the same story lost one contest and won another substantiated the reality that a story could be good and lose and it could be good and win. That’s how subjective writing is, or at least the appreciation of that writing. The same holds true when it comes to writing a first draft of a novel. The first draft is not the final draft. The first draft is what you write so you have something to edit later. Something that becomes, through editing and revising and workshopping and rewriting, a second draft. Your lack of confidence during that process is normal. It’s expected. If you don’t have doubts about your first draft, be thankful, because I don’t know a single writer who thinks the first draft is great. Or, I take that back. I do know people who think the first draft of their novel is great. They’re often the writers I know who never get published. Who don’t understand that writing is rewriting. That first drafts of novels are just that— “first” drafts, not final drafts. Confidence comes from working at something, whether it be writing, sketching, playing music, or driving a tractor in the fields of West Texas, until you have it down. Until you can recognize what needs improvement. Until you’re “confident” that you’ve mastered your craft or task, at least enough, to be competent in what you’re doing. A little humility doesn’t hurt, either.

CONFIDENCE COMES FROM BELIEVING IN YOURSELF AND PUTTING IN THE WORK. SO WRITE!

I mention the 10,000 hour rule of learning anything in order to become an “expert” at something. 10,000 hours writing. 10,000 hours painting. 10,000 hours writing code. Whatever. Obviously it’s not a precise reality, that you’ll need that long (or less) amount of time to be considered an expert. Still, confidence comes from success. It comes from understanding. Confidence comes from putting the negative aside and embracing the positive. Especially in writing, where writers constantly face rejection. Rejection by peers (in the form of “constructive criticism.” Rejection by judges in literary contests. Rejection by literary agents. Rejection by publishers. You have to have a strong sense of confidence to handle that rejection and not take it personal. Writers write. We don’t focus on what’s not working but on what is working. And then we pursue that success daily, while attempting (and often succeeding) to improve the writing we produce. In sports, one percent of success is physical, and ninety-nine percent is mental. Most athletes in competition have relatively the same physical capabilities. Deion Sanders may be quicker than most, and cockier than most, but when he was playing Jerry Rice, Sanders knew Rice’s work ethic, his elite conditioning, and his route running was going to give him problems. And it did. But Sanders didn’t quit. Sometimes he won, and sometimes he didn’t. Same for Rice, who was cut from the same cloth. That’s how you must think of writing and the confidence you have to continue: hone your skills and be the best you can be. It doesn’t guarantee success, but it’ll raise your game and that’ll raise your confidence. Remember, you’re a writer, and writers write. Your confidence will come from that work ethic you build while you’re writing. So write.

Cully Perlman is author of a novel, THE LOSSES. He can also edit your novel from a substantive perspective. He can be reached at Cully@novelmasterclass.com 

Cully Perlman, Author of THE LOSSES

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