James’s Blog: ‘Losing My Way’ or ‘Being Set Free’?

I have been wondering about my writing recently.

Today I was walking around the local library, and I caught myself thinking, “Does the world really need another book?”

It’s not a new idea. The writer of Ecclesiastes clearly wondered the same when he wrote ‘Of making many books there is no end’ (It’s there in chapter twelve, verse twelve. Look it up). Even in Old Testament times, it seems, the library shelves were overstocked.

I’ve been working on a novel for over a year now, and was chipping away on another draft, a thousand words at a time, when I hit a brick wall. I had the sudden realisation that the entire first part of the book – twelve chapters, 160 pages of who-knows-how-many thousands of words – was entirely unnecessary. The story didn’t actually need it. Every time I sat down to write, I found myself trying to justify not getting rid of all the work I’d already done, but when it comes to writing, the wisdom of the phrase ‘Kill your darlings’ is sound. My arguments for keeping those first dozen chapters became less convincing day by day.

Fine. I’ll start again. Chapter thirteen can now become chapter one. No problems.

But then I realised something else. I wasn’t enjoying it. Writing had become a burden; a drain on resources that might be better invested in my work and family.

Furthermore, I noticed that the writing wasn’t getting any better. Parts of the book were on a third draft, and by now it should be improving, but it wasn’t. The words that were tumbling from my fingers were just as poor as they had been in the first draft.

Finally, at this same time, I found myself losing confidence in the story I was telling. It was good, yes, but was it good enough? I’d decided that the first part of the book was no longer necessary, but, actually, was any of it necessary? Was it a story that needed to be told? I wasn’t sure anymore.

So I decided to take a break, and I’ve not written anything (other than the blog) for a couple of weeks. I feel a mix of relief and angst; glad to haven given up a burden but feeling like I’ve also let go of a sense of purpose. It’s a strange to feel liberated and lost at the same time, but there you go.

Walking through that library this morning confirmed the rightness of stopping for the moment. There are just too many books out there, so if I’m going to write it’s not enough to be good, it has to be necessary. It has to be essential.

There are ideas swilling around in my imagination – that part of me always refuses to take a break regardless – but the what and when and how is still unknown to me at this point. In the meantime, I’m going to try and learn Paul’s great secret from Philippians 4 – the secret of being content.