I apologize now. I don’t write horror, but the journey of a debut novelist is a terrifying experience. I write women’s fiction which can be defined seventy-two different ways (none of which I’m a fan). But before you delete and scroll on, hear me out: writers are all the same under our sweatpants and craft beer t-shirts, no matter your genre of choice. Here are some tasty tidbits for either new or seasoned scribblers.
ONE: no experience required
Publishing is unlike higher education, my previous career. Being a university administrator for two decades was neat and orderly with square boxes to check. Semesters had start and end dates. Faculty used a succinct grading system. Yes, there were challenges: I balanced million-dollar budgets during the great recession, apparently took the Christ out of Christmas (and subsequently handled an NRA demonstration in the college parking lot), admitted tenured faculty members to mental health institutions—all with aplomb and stylish clothing.
Except writing a novel is a spiderweb of stickiness with no foundation to cling to. The only way to measure your progress is page count. You bumble and stumble trying to learn what you don’t know without knowing what you don’t know. Your ego is bitch-slapped, needing constant validation while jumping through fiery editorial hoops and interpreting publisher feedback. All for a goal that is more ego-driven than financial. And at every step, the ‘am I good enough?’ never fades.
The shrugged industry advice ‘just write what you know’ feels like a cop-out because no one is honest enough to share the dirty secret: it’s pounding the keyboard until something comprehensible squirts out. You pull creativity from your nether regions until salve is required.
And an academic degree is more of a hindrance than a help. Besides the shared topic of persistence, my Ph.D. has no added value. Toss in a B.A. in German, and I’m practically verskunked. Statistically speaking, traditionally publishing a book has comparable odds of earning a Ph.D.: between 1-2%. But a book takes longer. Like forever.
My take: Few careers will seamlessly fit into your new author personae.
TWO: goals are relative to your age
Elizabeth Sails is my debut novel. I’m 55 and exhausted.
I blame my writing group. Eight years ago, they said, “Write a sassy book,” and I listened. I’d been writing articles for local lifestyle magazines, which provided a glimpse into publishing. Making word counts, finding brevity, and hitting deadlines – I learned a lot. But a novel? Instead of churning out happy pieces on food trucks, local beer, and yoga for 20 cents a word, a book necessitated a boatload of creativity and budget for more printer ink.
My publishing goals included not just “write a book” but “seeing a woman on a cruise ship reading my book.” To achieve this task meant finding and involving people who wore clothing without elastic waists: publishers, editors, a literary agent. You know, professionals. I adroitly recognized (being in my late forties) I had to get started pronto. I admit there were days I simultaneously watched Intervention drinking boxed wine, wondering how old was too old to be a debut ingenue. But more importantly, was getting a novel published even feasible? Guess what? It is.
My take: There is no optimum time to write a book so stop dilly-dallying and start now.
THREE: it’s years not months
Your characters don’t age, but you do. While on submission and editing, cultural references including songs, food, and technology must be finessed because, yikes! Time does tick. Suddenly the mom character aged into a grandma. Smartphones became simply phones. Waitresses and waiters are now servers. I’m totally woke for this. And it makes sense. But golly-gee-willikers if I don’t feel the need for a daily multi-vitamin and pre-emptively scheduling another colonoscopy.
And editors are young—practically teething babies. My typically rock-solid sense-of-self nearly crumbled when my editor requested removing Lucille Ball as a reference. I gulped, how about Carol Burnett? Who? As I was describing red hair color, she recommended two actresses I ultimately had to google (I can google). I wiped my weeping bifocaled-eyes typing to replace their names. But I absolutely refused while stomping my comfortable Skecher-foot down to substitute Bon Jovi lyrics for Taylor Swift. (Note: she’s great and all, but c’mon, Livin’ on a Prayer?).
And if this doesn’t trip you up, the publishing world has its own language. I’d rather it was Babble-able instead of using multiple definitions for common English terminology. In their own convoluted word-speak: “soon” means in a year, “very soon” in six months, “immediately” by the end of the month, and “ASAP” possibly by next week. Maybe. Basically, they’ll get back to you whenever.
My take: Nothing is happening on your timeline.
FOUR: move thyself
Or you’ll be buying new bras. And bigger pants. Yes, this is an expense your accountant will probably nix but I disagree. All this creative genius takes place whilst sitting on your ass which equates to an increase in clothing size. Add in cruises for ‘research’ and Holy Boobies Batman, I can’t see my shoes anymore. And if you’re on a civilized cruise line that extends complimentary cocktails, then you’re in a whole heap of trouble, sister. Your liver decides it needs a holiday from your holiday.
To counteract this new devilry, I took yoga classes. Then I started swimming. Then walking. And I lost a total of 11 pounds, just before I bounced onto another cruise. By the way—did you know you weigh the same while only standing on one foot? Of course you do. And while weight gain is adorable, it never helps your self-esteem. Which is in the dumps anyway because you’re a writer. We may as well envelop our ballooning bodies in bubble wrap and throw darts at each other.
My take: Save yourself the drama and go up a size.
FIVE: make writer-friends
But you know this already. It’s in every writing-advice article I’ve ever read. Making friends is certainly nice, but let me tell you why. It’s simply a time-saver. You don’t have to habitually explain what an agent/publisher/editor/publicist does because they already know. Plus, you tend to lament the same topics as previous conversations. Before the rant begins, writer-friends typically ask, “Do I say bullshit or awesome this time?” Or if they’re writer-friends on a deadline, “Let me know when you’re done. Just give me a heads-up and I’ll make a comforting noise.”
And you love them for it. You give them a free pass when they’re grouchy or irritated because they do the same for you. And if something super-duper exciting happens (book offer, foreign-rights, or a film deal with a recognizable production company on board) you are genuinely happy for them. Even while gritting your own teeth.
My take: Find down-to-earth authors who offer real advice, even if you don’t want to hear it. These people are worth hitching your wagon to. Who knows? You may meet them at a conference without a byline to your name, and years later wind-up writing for their infamous blog. It could happen.
Kristin Owens, Ph.D., is an award-winning faculty member with over 25 years university experience. Now a full-time writer in sticky southwest Florida, Kristin has over 100 bylines with celebrated magazines such as Writer’s Digest, Wine Enthusiast, and 5280. Her personal essays have won New Millennium Writing Awards honorable mention, awarded finalist for the New Letters’ award in nonfiction, and included in RISE! a Colorado Book of the Year. She holds certifications with the Court of Master Sommeliers and Cicerone and travels the world writing (and drinking) about wonderful wines, beautiful beers, and surprising spirits. You can usually find her working and playing on a cruise ship. ELIZABETH SAILS is her debut novel.
Kristin Owens: Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Threads | X
ELIZABETH SAILS (paperback, eBook, and audiobook) available at Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Bookshop | Books-A-Million or your favorite independent book seller
Beth Schiff ghostwrites autobiographies for politicians, except her own life doesn’t warrant a footnote. Excitement is re-watching classic movies with a Whitman’s Sampler. But when her adventurous Aunt Ethel dies, Beth must scramble out of her comfy sweatpants and into some Spanx to find the missing will aboard a luxury cruise ship.
Figuring out which fork to use at dinner becomes the least of Beth’s worries. The will isn’t lost … it’s hidden. Aunt Ethel devised an elaborate scavenger hunt and each exotic port stop forces Beth to confront her list of insecurities to get the next clue. If she fails, millions revert to a much-hated relative, Max, who is responsible for her dismantled family.
When someone starts trying to sabotage her search, the game becomes personal and her energetic septuagenarian tablemates rally to help. But Beth must make the puzzle pieces fit before the cruise ends or Max gets his greedy hands on the money destined for charities.
For fans of The Bookish Life of Nina Hill and The Jetsetters, comes a heartfelt story about an unintended quest for self-discovery, forgiveness, and an awesome buffet.
