“You’re doing the thing again,” Ross said.
It was 2023. I had recently finished the second draft of The Traveler and was laying out to my friend the drastic changes I anticipated making. While there was much to be proud of in the second draft, readers really didn’t get what it was “about”—leading to confusion and frustration. A major rewrite would be needed to clarify the story and trim away much that was extraneous.1
“Confusing and frustrating” — Readers
In other words, “the thing.” That is, my tendency (as I described it in 2009) of “perpetually reinventing a story, casting off huge sections, and beginning anew, so that progress never passes a certain threshold.”
It’s a charge I had frequently leveled at myself, and which I thought about often as I rewrote the book. Was I doing the thing again?
The same story, just all the words are different
Fast forward two and a half years. The third draft is done, and the revisions proved even more extensive than I had anticipated. It’s the same story, just all the words are different.
Had I done the thing again?
Yes… and no. The difference is, this time “the thing” sharpened my story, instead of reinventing it. Yes, the thing cast away huge sections—but in support of progress, not at its expense. And judging by early reader feedback, this version is much closer to being the kind of novel a human might actually want to read.
The fact is, making numerous rounds of revision (some drastic) is not unusual, contra Hollywood depictions of tortured geniuses. “All writing is rewriting,” as the adage goes. And while there are significant changes to come in the fourth draft, the extent will be much more restrained, and the fifth, even more so, and the sixth, seventh, tenth? Each pass will be lighter than the last.
The long path to mastery
Since I recommitted myself to this calling in November 2020, I’ve had in mind a ten year horizon to master the craft. Though I imagined myself writing several novels over that period, if it’s just one (with many passes), so be it.
I believe in this story, and it continues to push me as a writer.2 The me who started this project five years ago couldn’t have written the book as it is now. Aspects of the craft that once mystified me, have become clear. Storytelling feels intuitive, and I’ve gained a hard-won confidence.
Confidence that I’ll finish what I’ve started, confidence in solving story problems, confidence in working through the motivational blocks that stymied me in the past, and confidence the book will (eventually) satisfy my (not impossibly) high standards. It’s a great place to be, after so long a struggle—and I’m here in no small part because of “the thing.”
So eat that, Ross.3