The Writing of His Novel
A lot of people told him he couldn’t write his novel the way he was trying to. They offered him tips, suggestions, book recommendations, little writing routines that had worked in the writing of their novels. He was to wake early, to set timers, to read inspirational books, provide a long and detailed outline that he should tape to his study walls. Though he understood these people meant well, he didn’t understand what they expected him to get from their descriptions of writing novels. He wasn’t trying to write their novel. If he was, rising at six am, buying noise canceling headphones or quitting his job might be an effective way of writing a novel. But he didn’t have an interest in writing their novel. He wanted to write his own.
This was the trouble with advice, he thought. That people gave it at all. When, at least in his experience, no one ever took it. He had a great friend who had been dating horrendous men for years. Often, over a bottle or two of wine, he’d suggest that she shouldn’t waste her time on men who clearly didn’t value her, that it was something all her friends could see, these terrible men. He advised her to leave the apps, to only date men with children, to change her profile photos and likes to attract men who were worthy of her, kind and gentle men.
His friend swished the wine in her glass, listening carefully, nodding along, so as to be sure to ignore his advice. This bothered him about other people, the way they never took his advice, so he had to admit, perhaps he was a bit of hypocrite, not taking their advice about his novel. He was lucky enough, after all, to be friends with people who had written novels, even if many of them were unpublished, they’d somehow done it, and he never had.
He thought that this should be the subject of his novel. A novel about the ideas that other people have for how to write a novel. The novel could be called, how to write a novel. But then, he thought, this wasn’t the way. Then he’d actually be writing their novels, wearing noise cancelling headphones, waking at 5a, sitting on the balcony and watching mist roll in over the hills, making elaborate flow charts with intense character backgrounds, filing away agents for future query requests. When the whole project hinged on his interest in writing his novel, not theirs.
This kind of circular thinking was precisely the sort of thing that prevented him from ever getting around to writing his novel. All his friends said so behind his back, when they gathered together for coffee at the critique group and worked furiously on their novels.
Andrew Bertaina
Andrew Bertaina is the author of the essay collection, The Body Is A Temporary Gathering Place (Autofocus 2024), the book length essay, Ethan Hawke & Me (Barrelhouse, 2025), and the short-story collection, One Person Away From You (Moon City Press Award Winner 2021).He has an MFA from American University and more of his work is available at andrewbertaina.com