Angela James wrote a wonderful little Romancing the Blog post about the one-manuscript author. We all know them. James’s description is right on the money.

I’ll bet most of you know or have known a fellow writer like this. Someone who wrote a book. One book. Finished it. Polished it. Maybe rewrote it once or twice (or ten times) to fit the genre trends. At one time it was a paranormal. No wait, an erotic romance. No, a paranormal inspirational. It’s been entered into every contest known to the romance industry and had to be retired from the contest circuit because the judges now recognize it by the opening line.

The author loves this manuscript. This is THE book. Her book. Maybe the book of her heart. But it’s been rejected, refused and recycled so much that every agent and editor has seen it and said no. But still she doesn’t work on something new. This. Book. Must. Sell.

Of all the things I see writers doing to shoot themselves in the foot, this is the one that makes me flinch the hardest. I even have a sort of rule about it: thy first book shall not ever sell, for even if it doth not stink your pimpage of it reeketh most hardily.

The first time one finishes a novel one is quite deservedly an ecstatic occasion. You have, after all, done something most people never do. Whether the book is any good or not, you have spent a lot of time and work living with the characters, poured a lot of your energy into its confines. Like any life-defining moment when you achieve a major goal, it is noteworthy and should be celebrated.

But for the love of God, don’t stop.

Finishing one book does not make you a writer, I am sad to say. (And don’t throw Harper Lee at me here, she might have finished others. We don’t know.) Writing makes you a writer. Which means it is an active process, not a finished product, that makes one a writer.

Finishing a book is great. But the person who flogs only one manuscript is functioning in the same trap as the person who never finishes a piece, is always working on “something new” and always ditching it when problems arise. It’s a mechanism for avoiding the very real scariness inherent in the process of writing.

Writing is terrifying. There’s the hard work aspect–typing sixty to a hundred thousand words in order to finish a novel is no small order. Drafts of short stories, once revisions are taken into account, can easily be that much. A poet can churn out multiple poems before she finds a decent one. Then there’s the inherent risk of exposure–thinking that your characters can be mistaken for you, and therefore people can judge you through them. There’s the emotional nakedness of working with characters whose heads you take up residence in. Then there’s the sting of rejection from agents, publishers, or reviewers. No, my chickadees, this is not for the weak.

Hence avoidance raises its ugly head. Sure I’ll write another book–as soon as this one sells!

No. A thousand times, no. You must not write for the paycheck, or the reviewers. You do write for your readers to some extent, because clearly communicating is what we’re doing here, in order to share human experience.

But first and foremost you must write for yourself. Bukowski said it best:

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

You have got to write because you feel some satisfaction in the process, because the act itself fulfills something in you. Flogging one manuscript around to get validation isn’t what makes you a writer. Falling into the trap of thinking that you will “write something else once this book sells” is merely avoidance bred by fear (understandable, in light of how bloody scary writing is) or the less-attractive behavior of a poseur (most often accompanied by the ever-famous “I WROTE something! But you won’t UNDERSTAND it because I am an ARTIST! I can’t REVISE it! It’s the work of my SOUL!” But that’s a different blog post.)

So you finished one book. That’s great. It’s wonderful. I cannot say too much how wonderful it is. Go out, get drunk, get laid, celebrate with the substance/friends/food/party of your choice.

Then get over your hangover the next morning and go back to the goddamn keyboard or pen. Sit down, and write something else. Get back to work. Do it as soon as you can, don’t give yourself a reason to put it off. Because writing is what makes a writer. To paraphrase the Buddha: before finishing novel, write and revise. After finishing novel, write more and revise.

It sure beats hell out of chopping wood and carrying water, even if it is just as hard. The blisters you get might be on the mind or the soul. But that’s okay.

It’s what minds and souls are there for. Go do it, and do it, and do it again.

There is no other way.