Amy Shearn | @amyshearn is the author of two books, the most recent being The Mermaid of Brooklyn (which I read and loved!). She hosts Lit at Lark, a monthly reading series in Brooklyn, and she’s the mother of two. She does a ton more, which you can read in her bio below, but I tuned in on the mother writer bit. To live in Brooklyn is one thing; to be a writer in Brooklyn, watch out; to be a mother writer in Brooklyn? I want to know how she does it.
Turns out, she does it like the rest of us: sweat and tears and sometimes a little denial.
The 5 Stages of Not Writing Your Novel
By Amy Shearn
I’ve always believed that if you want writing to get done, there is only one way to do it: ass in the chair. (Okay, well, Nora Roberts said that, but I share her workmanlike sensibility and admire her ability to curse with nonchalance.) So you get up every morning, whether you’re busy or not, and you write like a motherfucker. (Okay, well, Cheryl Strayed said that, but I covet her moxy and admire her ability to curse with nonchalance too.)
And yet for the past year – oh, it pains me to type that but it is really true, it’s really been a year since my last book came out, which was when I thought I would truly get to work on this new one – I have not, with any regularity, been working on my novel. And in this painful year, I have learned that there are, as with mourning, five stages of not writing a novel.
Stage One: Denial.
I’m not not writing the book. I am writing the novel, I’m just not writing. Everything is writing, right? Walking down the street and noticing the world is a kind of novel-writing, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t do that either, I check my phone and yell at my kids to not knock over old ladies on their scooters, but I think I used to look around and notice things, right? I started a Pinterest board one night after the kids went to bed, so that’s part of the creative process right? I have this awesome outline, and a bunch of notes and a handful of chapters, that means something! I’m essentially done! I’ll make another cup of coffee. That’s like a little mini novel!
Stage Two: Anger.
This is all my husband’s fault. Who does he think he is, going to work all day to support me and our children? That’s just rude! And when I need to start Chapter Six, or at least stare at the screen for 3 hours and try to remember what this novel was about! And why do these kids keep needing so much parenting all day? All day with the food and the attention and the irreplaceable magic of discovering the world and whatnot! And if one more writer friend posts a picture of a laptop indicating that she is writing right now, I’m going to punch her right in the glasses. It’s all America’s fault. People, stop watching the well-written television shows that give you so much pleasure and send me some money because I happen to enjoy crafting sentences about feelings! No one respects writers anymore, when in some vague imagined past I assume they did! And why didn’t my last novel sell enough to allow me to retire to a seaside home with a writing garret and a live-in au pair? What in the fucking fuck, actually?
Stage Three: Bargaining.
I just have to finish this essay and that listicle and this other side novel and one more short story and then this thing I’m writing right now about how I’m not writing this novel, and then I promise I will start working on the novel again. Yes I know that someone wise said you don’t step out of your life to do your work. So as soon as I get the apartment clean and get back on track with the green smoothies every day THEN I will be ready to get serious about writing this novel. Maybe if I post a picture of a laptop indicating that I am writing right now, the universe will get my message.
Stage Four: Depression.
Writing is stupid. Novels are stupid. What I have written of this novel so far, in addition to every other word I’ve ever written, including these words I’m typing right now, are really, really stupid. My brain is boring. It’s stupid in here. I feel hollow and stupid when I’m not writing fiction, or in the middle of a creative project. Oh, that’s why I started writing in the first place. I remember now. How stupid.
Stage Five: Acceptance.
Oh well, who cares. Not writing is actually pretty relaxing. It’s like I suddenly dropped a really hard AP class. I’m like a regular person now! I don’t have homework to do on nights and weekends, I can just chill out like regular people do! Hm! What do regular people do? Enjoy leisurely brunches and outings with their families on Saturdays? Watch well-written television programs on weeknights? Go to social thingies with friends? This is fun! No wonder regular people are so happy. Hey, that gives me an idea. Oh, that’s a good one. I have to write that down! Okay, let’s see, opening file: Novel Draft: Chapter Six. This feels great! Writing is totally fun! This novel is going to be terrific!
Repeat as necessary.
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Amy Shearn is the author of the novels The Mermaid of Brooklyn and How Far Is The Ocean from Here. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, Poets & Writers, Real Simple, Martha Stewart Living, The Huffington Post, BuzzFeed, The L Magazine, The Millions, Five Chapters, Opium, Oprah.com, xojane.com, and elsewhere. She teaches writing in New York City and online, curates a monthly reading series called Lit at Lark , and occasionally updates her blog, Household Words. Amy lives in Brooklyn with her husband and two young children and one elderly dog. She is allegedly at work on another novel. Visit her at amyshearnwrites.com.
