The Excitement and Terror of Deadlines

Since small publishers don’t usually offer for your book until it’s finished, I haven’t had a deadline in years. Now, after signing with a new publisher, I have one, and I’m a little unnerved. With 17 books published, you’d think I would take this all in stride. But having a deadline (two, in fact) is almost as nerve-wracking as when I got my first contract.

Back then, I took the summer off from my job to make sure I would have lots of time to get a good start on the books that existed only as rough ideas in my head. I can’t do that now. I don’t have an advance to make up for the loss of my salary, nor would my employer be quite so amenable. A book contract back then was a big deal. Now, it means much less.

And yet, this is my dream—a chance to write the books I want to write and have a publisher believe in me enough to contract for them before they’re written. They already want ideas for the covers, the titles are set, and the series concept is clearly outlined. But aghh! I’m an into-the-mist writer. I won’t know the story until it comes to me. I can only start writing and follow the trail of breadcrumbs my characters leave to guide me into the forest. I can only hope I come out on the other side with a coherent (and compelling) tale.

So far, my hero and heroine are eager to tell me their story. They send me potent images and ideas that tell me who they are. They act as if they’ve been waiting for years for their moment on stage. But they are the only things remotely clear about this story. The setting, background, and plot remain nebulous. Vague shadows I must flesh out and bring to life—and not only bring to life, but do so in a way that will satisfy my editor and my readers. It’s a juggling act, a complex and subtle process, impossible to explain. There’s always a kind of magic in how a book comes together, a kind of alchemy.

Some authors succeed in taming the process, domesticating the wild energy of creation. But I can only breathlessly chase it, hoping it doesn’t lead me off a cliff to creative doom.

I remind myself I have help this time, a publisher with clear ideas of what these books must be. Although part of me chafes at the idea of pushing my story into a tight genre box, another part recognizes this is what I need. Left to my own devices, I write books that wander off track and fail to meet important reader expectations. And I want readers to enjoy my books. To love and thrill to them. If I didn’t want that, then over 25 years ago I would never have shared my first finished manuscript with a coworker. Then a writing group, a contest, and finally, editors.

I’m not writing these stories simply for my own gratification. If that was true, my productivity would not have slowed down so much in recent years. Without a clear prospect of getting my books out into the world, it takes me two or three times as long to finish them. Now, with a clear goal and the reward of a well-published book at the end, I hope I can focus more intently and return to my former level of productivity.

That’s where the terror comes in. Just because I’ve done this a couple dozen times before (counting all those manuscripts waiting in limbo) doesn’t mean I can do it now. I’m petrified my characters will desert me. That the magic will fail to flash lightning bolts of insight when I need a creative spark. That the alchemy will fail and I will be left with dross instead of gold.

So I have to remember what my first editor advised me: to trust in the process. To believe and keep writing and all will be well. And to recall what the amazingly prolific Nora Roberts once told me and a handful of other writers during a happy hour chat long ago: “When you write yourself into a corner, you just have to write yourself out again.”

Simple words, but so important. It is the process that saves you.