The Curse of the Next Book

---

Recently, I watched a movie about an Irish writer returning to his homeland. It was a lovely film – quiet and brooding as a film about an Irish writer should be. His first book was mega-successful and now he faced the daunting prospect of writing a second novel. As he confessed to his older brother (a priest, no less), “I just don’t know if I have it in me to write another one”. I felt a pang of empathy.

Not that I’ve had anywhere close to this kind of success with my books, but there’s a certain hesitation, mostly self-imposed, that I won’t be able to do it again. When I think of the years put into such a project, the work, the doubt, the angst trying to fill a page with anything worth reading, my reaction is just to avoid the whole thing.
 
There’s a small measure of comfort in knowing I’m not alone. One of my favourite authors, Ann Pachett, a prolific writer with eight novels and five non-fictions to her credit, said her second novel didn’t live up to the passionately personal promise of her debut. She calls it her "neglected child . . . it's as if it smells or it's sticky or something".

Harper Lee, who died in 2016, took 55 years to publish a second book after her classic of 1960, “To Kill A Mockingbird”. (Lee actually wrote “Go Set a Watchman” before her famous “first” book but held onto it for decades.) Viet Thanh Nguyen, an American novelist, says the high expectations and busy schedule following the success of his Pulitzer prize-winning debut, “The Sympathizer”, in 2015 meant that his second book, published earlier this year, was more challenging than the first.

I can’t begin to imagine what painters, musicians or other creative people go through, but for novelists, the angst of tackling another such project is as real as anything.

The symptoms are as follows: your novel feels dull, lifeless and flat; you second guess yourself constantly, every step along the way; you’d rather be doing anything, from scrubbing toilets to rotating the cat, than writing. As a consequence, distraction is remarkably easy.  Things that would otherwise be no problem at all become insurmountable challenges. Minor colds flatten you and you can’t concentrate to write. The fact that you haven’t vacuumed in a whole 24 hours distresses you; your dog’s nail trim appointment means you can’t possibly write that day.

There’s a myth that some writers only have one or two novels in them.  This is a favorite thing for people to tell you when you’re down in writing dumps. It’s also bullshit. But, as with most bullshit there is SOMETHING in it.  The something is that maybe there’s a limited number of books you’re competent to get out. However, I don’t know any writer who only has a limited set of stories in them. After all, we’re storytellers. We have a multitude of stories inside us. It’s the getting them out that’s the problem, not a lack of ideas. But authors do struggle with follow-ups. There is an expectation to stay faithful to what readers liked, all the while still writing something that is, well, novel.

In the final scene of the movie about the Irish writer, he’s at his typewriter madly pouring out his story. Movies always end this way. Perhaps because, ironically, the only cure is to write. To stop dithering and get to work already. Wish me luck.
 
In the meantime, I think my fridge needs cleaning out!
Joni