In 2005, fresh off promoting my first nonfiction book on the Today show—a chronicle of how ditching small luxuries transformed my life—I felt unstoppable. Just six months earlier, I'd left my marketing director role at a publishing house to launch my own business and pivot to full-time writing.
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Novels had always been my dream, but transitioning from nonfiction felt daunting. Paid deadlines fueled my nonfiction work, but the uncertain payoff of fiction didn't. Icons like Richard Ford, Margaret Atwood, Jhumpa Lahiri, and John Irving loomed large, fueling self-doubt that stalled me more than writing itself. After 16 years in publishing, promoting authors with unwavering passion for quality, I knew the bar was sky-high. Many insiders could write brilliantly—but I struggled to heed my own advice.
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Choosing a narrative voice was step one: omniscient third-person like Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, or first-person diary like Bridget Jones's Diary? A writer friend urged third-person, but it yielded only gloomy sentences amid endless self-edits.
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After failed attempts, I discovered National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and Chris Baty's No Plot? No Problem! As a fan of 30-day challenges—fresh from my book Let It Go! My Year of Learning to Live Better with Less—I embraced the idea: 50,000 words in 30 days, averaging 1,667 daily. A self-contract made it real; silencing my inner editor (via a drawn 'kill switch') freed the flow. Mocking shelf-mates and doubts about plot or marketability persisted, but I hit the button.
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Plotless writing is like baking sans recipe—disaster. Baty's blueprint helped, framing daily quotas as magazine articles (30 in a month, versus my usual 1-2 weeks per piece).
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Week one: Ditched third-person for first-person protagonist Jessie DeSalvo's voice, sparked by chatting like with a friend. Post-writing yoga quelled demons—"Be here now," per Ram Dass. Letting go of perfection unleashed words, like a chaotic shopping spree yielding gems in edits. Rituals formed: morning writes, yoga, no Facebook distractions. Skipping days terrified me more than starting.
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Week two consumed me: Eavesdropping on trains for dialogue fueled scenes. Confidence grew at 25% done, with 2-3 daily writing hours fitting my life. But my inner marketer fretted publishing—nonfiction offered advances on proposals; fiction demands polished manuscripts, often rejected.
Week three's angst peaked: Will anyone like it? Baty's midpoint advice—envision endings—propelled me, resolving early messes. Hitting 38,000 words entering week four.
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Week four: A finish-line chart motivated. Final count: 50,010 words. Joy mixed with editor revival panic. I shelved it, wrote more nonfiction, moved houses—manuscript in tow.
Years later, husband and client spurred action. Editor Ken Salikof refined it over summer, countering doubts: "If Richard Ford wrote an uplifting book, this is it." Praise accepted.
Now, Post Hill Press publishes my debut novel Best Friend for Hire in women's fiction and humor—near my heroes. Silencing critics, I've earned my shelf spot.
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This article originally appeared in the September 2017 issue of SUCCESS magazine.
