Night Terrors

“I don’t know whether every author feels it, but I think quite a lot do — that I am pretending to be something I am not, because, even nowadays, I do not quite feel as though I am an author.” — Agatha Christie

By PJ Parrish

Well, the book is almost done. First draft, that is. I haven’t read it completely through, chapter 1 through 45, since we started the thing, oh, maybe a year ago? Yes, it has taken me that long to get back in the saddle again.

I’m always preaching here that you need to periodically go back and review (and even rework) what you’ve been doing. Sure, you should always be moving forward, but it’s helpful to pause and see if you’re on the right track. I didn’t do that this time.

Why?

I’ve been afraid to. I have this really bad feeling that, having finally reached 110,045 words, what I have created is a heaping, stinking, fetid, rancid mountain of crap. I dream about it now, this mountain of crap, like Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I wake up in a sweat over it.

My only consolation is knowing that I feel this way with every book. And that I am not alone. Here’s John Connelly talking about his own demons: “There is always that fear that this book, this story, is the one that should not have been started. The idea isn’t strong enough. The plot is going nowhere. I’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way and now have to try to find the right path again.”

Here’s Lee Goldberg, whose career has been long and varied, with Hollywood-assignations and a fruitful collaboration with Janet Evanovich:  “This happens to me…but less often if I have a strong outline to start with (though an outline is no insurance policy against realizing 35,000 words into your book that it’s crap and you’re a complete fraud). In talking with other writers, I’ve noticed that the ones who hit the wall the most are the ones who make up their plot as they go along, preferring to be ‘surprised’ by their characters and the turns in the story. Of course, this means the turns may lead to a creative dead end.”

And lastly, I give you no less than Maya Angelou: Each time I write a book, every time I face that yellow pad, the challenge is so great. I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.'”

My night terrors are especially bad this time out for two reasons. I don’t have a publisher right now and though this is a sequel to our Thomas & Mercer thriller She’s Not There, I don’t know if they’ll want it. Second, this is another new protagonist, so I don’t have the comfort of knowing his heart and soul as I do that of Louis Kincaid, the hero of our long-standing series. Can this new guy, a bit of an ornery misfit,  carry the story or will he put off readers? Will our Louis readers follow us to the new one? Have we run out of good plots? Have we finally hurdled the hammerhead?

I don’t know, maybe there are writers out there who never have any doubts. Maybe Nora Roberts or Joan Didion never broke out in a cold sweat at night. But I suspect there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of you out there who are in the same sweaty boat as I am. There’s a fancy name for this — imposter syndrome. Basically, it is a pattern of beating up on yourself. You have this nagging feeling that you’ll be found out, that people will read your stuff and you’ll be revealed as a charlatan. Don’t look over your shoulder because someone is laughing. Worse, you agree with this.

How do you know if you’ve got IS?

  • You constantly criticize your own work.
  • You procrastinate
  • You focus on rewriting instead of moving forward.

I do all three. Did I mention I am a perfectionist? I sweat every word to the point that it sometimes squeezes the simple joy of creation out of me. If you find yourself at that point, stop, take a deep breath and do whatever you need to recapture the sweet impulse that made you want to write in the first place. For me, this usually means a very long walk in the woods.

A few more pieces of advice before I go and start reading my first draft:

Voice your fears. Feeling like you’re alone is terrifying. Talk to someone you trust. A critique group is really helpful here, as long as it is positive-oriented and not a slash-and-burn tribunal that picks on your scabby semi-colons, or a pity-party where everyone whines about being shut out by the publishing cabal.

Remember where you came from. Recognize and applaud your progress. Sometimes this means re-reading your early unsuccessful efforts and learning from them. Cleaning out my office recently, I found an old partial manuscript on an external storage drive. It was my first effort when I was making the switch from romance to mystery. I didn’t have anyone turn up dead until chapter 12. Everything was back story and my opening chapter was nothing but my heroine, an ex-homicide cop, sitting in a fishing boat in the Everglades thinking about how lousy her life was. It was bloody awful. It made me feel terrific.

Accept that sometimes you’ll suck.  It’s okay to write junk. We all do it. It’s part of the learning process. Some days, you get in that zone and everything you type is spun gold. Yay for you. But most days, you will write a lot of garbage just to get a couple good paragraphs. I took up pickleball a couple years back. I used to be really bad but now I’m pretty good. Why? Because I listened to my coaches, and I am mastering the technique. But this morning, I slid back into suckitude.  Luckily, writing, unlike pickleball, is a private endeavor and no one sees our sucky efforts. Here’s the thing: You have to suck at writing before you get good enough to produce something that readers don’t think sucks.

Keep writing. Don’t let your self doubts corrode your love of writing. The only way to become a better writer is to become a more prolific writer. You will improve your technique, you’ll get better at your craft. But only if you keep going. Like any skill, the more you do it, the better you’ll get.  I promise.

Geez. I just re-read what I’ve written here. It sounds pretty negative, but that’s not really where I am right now. The hard part is over. I’ve finished. That’s something to celebrate, even if my book doesn’t find a publisher. So forgive me for focusing on the cloud instead of celebrating the breakthrough rays of sunshine. Move forward, and always with hope.

As for those night terrors? I won’t lie. If you really want this writing gig, you might have to deal with them on occasion. If, like me, you’ve spent some nights twisting in damp percal, I offer the same three words of advice I give to my youthful female friends about menopause: moisture wicking pajamas. Cool Jams makes great ones.

 

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About PJ Parrish

PJ Parrish is the New York Times and USAToday bestseller author of the Louis Kincaid thrillers. Her books have won the Shamus, Anthony, International Thriller Award and been nominated for the Edgar. Visit her at PJParrish.com

29 thoughts on “Night Terrors

    • Well, thanks for weighing in, Nana. It felt a little, well, self-indulgent to gripe here but if it helps anyone connect, or gives small comfort, that’s okay.

  1. Having turned my manuscript over to my editor last week, I keep waiting for an email–or worse, a phone call–saying. “What on EARTH were you THINKING when you wrote this book?” It hasn’t come yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still wondering what her feedback will look like. And you’re right. It doesn’t matter that it happens with every book. Or that this is my 33rd novel. The next fear is always, OK, you finished it, polished it, and put it out there for the world to see. What if nobody likes it?
    Knowing I’m not alone always helps. Thanks for your post, and I’m sure your book will be great.

  2. Kris, thanks for this post. We all need those words of encouragement sometimes.

    First: I love your books. I’ve read many of your Louis Kincaid novels, and I read SHE’S NOT THERE. I loved them. Your style is smooth and a joy to read.

    Second: (And I throw this out, expecting that the idea will suck. That’s okay) Had you ever thought of dragging your “ornery misfit, the new guy” through the same emotions you’re feeling now – “voice your fears,” “remember where you came from,” “accept that sometimes you’ll suck,” and “keep writing.” Transfuse those emotions from yourself into the “misfit.”

    Third: Look for ways to increase your testosterone and serotonin naturally. (confidence and drive) Dr. Google has a good list.

    Fourth: You planted an image in my mind that’s going to be hard to eject. Cool Jams. “Moisture wicking PJs” for PJ. Sorry.

    I loved this post. When my old-man, dropping-testosterone lack of confidence and drive is holding me back again, I’ll pull out this post and reread it.

    I look forward to reading your book.

    • Wow, thanks for the praise, Steve. It helps, believe me. My new protag is the fellow who appears in She’s Not There — the skip tracer who was looking for my heroine. Our editor (and a few readers) asked that we tell his story, so we did. As I began reading yesterday, I realized I need to tweak his, ah, testosterone, a tad. Funny you should mention that. 🙂

  3. Also, our standards go up with each book. We know more about the craft, and the bar gets raised (as your “old partial manuscript” demonstrates). And while “terror” is not ideal, I think we need “butterflies” or we’re not really writing “up.”

    Dean Koontz has an entire room with shelf after shelf of his books, foreign editions included. He goes in there at the start of a project and says to himself, “See? I did it before. I can do it again!”

  4. I’ve had impostor syndrome all my life. It seems to ebb and swell for no good reason like malaria. I believe I know the cause and it is because I’ve been compensating my entire life trying to gain my father’s approval. Once I understood this, it became easier to recognize when impostor syndrome rears its ugly head, and work around it.

    In such matters my old crew chief had a completely vile and unprintable maxim directed at any and all enemies which I shall not repeat here except to say he’d conclude with “Now. Get back to work, men!”

    I found something in the words of Sir Francis Drake that are (although likely apocryphal) useful. The context was in a magistrate’s court hearing over some trivial matter and I was able to answer a question from opposing counsel about the name of Sir Francis Drake’s ship. It was the Golden Hind.

    Drake allegedly said “How can we doubt victory, when our cause is just?”

    Of such is the life of a country lawyer.

    • I, too, spent most my adult life looking for my dad’s approval. He raised us but was a taciturn man, not given to emotional displays. When I told him I wasn’t going into teaching but was going to try to write, he said, “You’ll starve.” I made a good career in journalism but he never said anything truly positive to me about it. After he died, I found a bunch of my newspapers articles in his safety deposit box along with a picture of me and Telly Savalas. Telly had autographed the pic for my dad — “Who’s your baby, Al?” I still have it.

  5. Thanks, Kris.

    It always surprises me that very successful writers experience imposter syndrome, but it’s encouraging for those of us who are relatively new at novel-writing to realize these feelings we have are pretty much universal. Even Agatha Christie!

    Good luck with the new book. I look forward to reading it.

  6. Golden post, Kris!

    I’ve just started promoting my debut novel, to be released in October. I keep asking myself, “Who in the world will want to read this drivel?” But it’s been in the womb now for about 5 years, so it needs to be born.

    The night terrors have taken over, let me tell ya. It’s really good to know you authorial experts suffer from IS, too. I love the examples you used.

    I belong to a fabulous online author/craft group whose encouragement runs something like this:

    “Write, write, write. Every day. Even if your words are mediocre…only mediocre words can become star-studded.” (My translation.)

    I’m sure you get it.

  7. Anyone who teaches writing or has been part of an amateur writing group knows the exact opposite is much, much worse. God’s-gift-to-readers aka my-poop-don’t-stink writers are impervious to criticism, even from themselves. They learn nothing, and the first real criticism they hear sends them scurrying away or, worse, staying and having a hissy fit worthy of a Karen.

    For me, understanding craft and nuts and bolts of structure and plot are a natural antidote for imposter syndrome. I know my stuff, and I’m not afraid to learn more stuff. You may not like my stuff, but you can’t say it’s badly written.

    On Nora Roberts. I get the impression she’s got the same attitude. Here’s a quote I share with my writing students.

    “I’m just starting [a new book] and the battle has already begun. I don’t think they ever go smoothly. It’s work. It should be work. It should be hard work. I think if you sort of sit around and wait to be inspired, you’re probably going to be sitting there a long time. My process is more about crafting, working an idea through my head to see if it’s a good concept.” Nora Roberts in an interview with the “Hagerstown Herald-Mail.”

    • Great quote from Nora. Love it. I sort of get impatient (that’s the kind word) with folks who wax euphoric about the “writing process” and the inspiration thing. As you say, it’s primarily work. And sweat. But man, we’re lucky to be doing it.

  8. I’ve always been a perfectionist. One afternoon In second grade, Sister Polygrippa told us not to erase our mistakes. I made a mistake and was unable to not erase it. She was standing right beside me, snatched my pencil, and broke off the eraser. I’m not sure what Sister’s aim was, but if it was to teach us not to be perfectionists, it failed dramatically.
    I must take more long walks in the woods.

  9. THANK YOU for your honesty, Kris. I read so much of myself, especially the curse of being a perfectionist. It’s comforting to know we’re not alone in this oftentimes lonely journey.

    Best of luck with the new book. I have no doubt it’s great!

    • And I have to chuckle just a bit…whenever I’m paralyzed by the blank page, I’ll grab a book from a pile and read a few pages to get my mind into a groove.  A “see how it’s done” kinda thing. I always have a pile next to me, and I switch the books out regularly. Right now, your book “A Thousand Bones” is in that pile…

      (Love it, by the way)

      • A thousand Bones was one of my favorites to write. It is close to me, since I now live half the year up here in Michigan where it takes place. Thanks.

  10. Nice piece, Kris. Not negative at all, IMO. Realistic, in fact.

    Imposter syndrome isn’t unique to writers. I’ve seen it in other occupations like policing – especially in the Peter Principle of promotions where upper ranks almost can’t function because they fear someone will see right through them.

    I’ve never been in politics, but I suspect it’s loaded with real, not imaginary, imposters.

  11. Late to the party. I appreciate the candor of this post, Kris.

    A long-ago writing instructor said of first drafts: “It’s never as good as you think but it’s never as bad as you think.”

    I find that thought reassuring.

  12. I loved She’s Not There!
    Writing is the hardest work I’ve ever done, especially that first draft. I’d rather rewrite any day. Like everyone else said, it’s nice to know you’re not alone.

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