Today I’ve made the difficult decision to—yet again—start a new draft of my novel, entirely from scratch. I had some incredible feedback from my agent which highlighted a big problem I knew was slicing up towards the surface: I didn’t have a good enough motivation for murder. It’s been creating holes in the manuscript wherever I looked, but I’ve been trying to patch them over and desperately hoping that would be enough.
It hasn’t been.
So I’m going right back to square one and creating anew. I might be able to borrow bits and pieces here and there, but for all intents and purposes it’ll be an entirely new book. That’s a terrifying thought.
It took me six weeks to do a full rewrite last time, and I don’t have the kind of time I did then. This could be months, and I don’t want it to be. I want to be done with this novel and moving onto the next one.
But I can’t. This is a story I set out to tell, and I’m determined to tell it. All my other ideas can wait. This is the one that matters.
So, hard as it is, I’m going back to the drawing board. I’m even cutting my very first page, which has been my first page since the very, very first draft of this book nearly two years ago. I’m going scorched earth, to tell you the truth. Paring away everything except these characters that I love and the murder they have to solve.
It’s time to start again.
Honestly? I’m as excited as I am afraid. Let’s do this.
Have you ever started again three or four times with anything? How did it go? Let me know in the comments below!