Despite my previous blog post discussing the trials and tribulations of that famed nemesis for writers, ‘the difficult second novel,’ I have to admit that I did not really believe in Second Novel Syndrome.
You would think that by the age of thirty-six, I would have learnt that dismissal and judgement will only ever come back to bite me in the arse, wouldn’t you? (A bit like pre-children, I judged the parents of badly behaved children. Wow, did I pay for that one.) But no. I recall seeing a fellow writer lamenting the writing of her second novel and I smugly thought that I would have no such problems.
I’m sure you can see where this is leading.
Damn, am I stuck. I decided to finish a book I started to write four years ago. Last week I continued writing it before realising that it was going nowhere. So, I planned to change it. Then I planned to change it again. Then I decided that my new idea was a whole lot more serious than the original one so I would have to remove most of the humour element. Then I realised that that just wasn’t me, not right now anyway, maybe for book three. So I changed it again. I now have a hazy idea which is getting clearer and clearer but I’m half thinking it would be easier to just start a new book from scratch.
Perhaps the last couple of weeks will finally teach me not to be so dismissive. In the meantime, I have a hell of a lot of work to do!