In 2024, I read 99 books, published my debut1, started writing three manuscripts and finished one of them. Or at least, I finished the first draft. I emailed the project to my agent on the 31st December, pleased that I had met my self-imposed target of finishing by the end of the year, even though this deadline was totally arbitrary. In the final month or so of writing, this project had become a slog. I was questioning everything; my skill, my taste, my ability to differentiate between good and bad writing. I was so ready to be done and then, finally, I was.
In the moments after I closed my laptop, I felt nothing! As usual, the ending of a long-term creative project was anti-climactic. I’ve realised that for me, the joy is in making the thing, and all of the things that come next: the feedback, the editing, submission and book deal (I hope!!!) are the hard, anxiety, inducing parts. I hope my agent likes it enough to invest some time into making it better, but it’s not really up to me anymore. For now, I’ve fulfilled my role, and instead of the deep relief and freedom I had been anticipating, there was only silence, and a little sadness. I wanted to share about my experience of writing my second novel as a way of closing the chapter; of reflecting on all of the small wins and hard work that went into the creative process and also (hopefully) to help someone who might be in the trenches with their own project.
My first attempt at my second novel started a year ago, during the week between Christmas and Hogmanay. I had high hopes for this project, but I ended up abandoning it sometime in March, 40,000 words in, after getting so tangled up in various plot threads and possibilities that I could not look at it without feeling stressed. In July, I started again, with a new project that I abandoned after a month, after feeling my attention begin to wander and deciding that if I was bored at this stage, it was unlikely that anybody else would enjoy reading it. Now, with a bit of distance, I can see the various merits of both of these projects, but at the time, I felt hopeless. I struggle with impulsivity and laziness; meaning that I have a tendency to give up on things as soon as they become difficult. I hope to go back to these stories at some point, but at the time, I ditched them without looking back. In July, I started work on the manuscript that would eventually become my second novel, even though it has gone through so many structural and story changes that it is quite literally unrecognisable from the first draft. Seriously, there was an apocalypse in it and now there isn’t.2 My periods of writing were characterised by frenzy and intense productivity, and then I would burn out and take a break from my laptop for several days. I was writing more, and faster, than I ever had before, and I wasn’t editing any of it as I went; which was very new for me. In the end, it took me five-ish months to write 85,000 words (and scrap an extra 30,000) which feels pretty insane seeing as it took me a year and a half to write my first, which came out at barely 55,000 words (under two hundred pages, almost a novella). The differences between writing part time and full-time are crazy, honestly, and sometimes I feel like I actually managed my time better when I was squeezing writing in around two part-time jobs.
I think a lot of my struggle with this book can be put down to the concept of ‘second album syndrome’.3 When I was working on Gender Theory, I was so confident (read: clueless) and I was writing without the weight of anyone’s expectations but mine. With the second project, I felt like everything meant more; like I had to carve out a style for myself and develop a unique voice. One novel is its own thing but two is a body of work; and what did I want my body of work to say? Gender Theory came out in June of 2024, and for several months before and after I became obsessed with what other people thought of my writing; I was reading reviews and googling myself and taking all of this feedback on board without questioning whether it was useful or even true. When I sat down to begin book two, I had a thousand voices in my head and they were drowning out my own. I kept starting and restarting because I wanted it to be perfect, and then somewhere along the way I replaced perfection with competence, and eventually I just wanted it to be finished. I went through various modes of procrastination (like starting this Substack), constantly thought about giving up altogether and periodically bothered my agent with neurotic emails. But I didn’t give up, and for that I’m proud of myself, because giving up would have been easy but sticking at it was very hard. I made my peace with sending off something that wasn’t perfect and asking for help to make it better. And I hate asking for help! These are not the huge, romanticised triumphs of writing a novel that I usually see shared on the internet, but they are small wins that I feel proud of. I realised that all of the pressure I felt to have a developed and consistent creative voice was self-imposed, and in reality, nobody is ever going to be harsher on my writing than I am. I’m 26! There’s no way I’m at the apex of my career yet and there’s no way I’m writing my best stuff right now. I’m pretty good and I’m going to get better. I have plenty of time! I’m going to keep repeating these statements until I start believing that they’re true.
Writing is a funny thing; I was so excited to finish this book and take some time off. I talked about focusing on Substack for a while, I talked about having some fun, I talked about relearning how to read for pleasure, instead of feeling jealous of every good book I hadn’t written. I’ve been texting my friends for months now talking about this manuscript like it’s a prison sentence: I’m sorry I’m so one-track minded but it’ll be over soon; soon I’ll be free! I felt that part of the reason I struggled with book two was that I rushed into writing it due to anxiety and unrealistic expectations. i made a promise to myself that this time, I was going to wait until I was ready. In reality, I finished writing book two three days ago and since then, I’ve been itching to write. I have a new note in my notes app that I’ve been steadily filling with prose and snatches of dialogue, I’ve been taking walks and ignoring the music in my headphones to daydream about new characters. This is my favourite part; when the unwritten book begins to take shape in my mind, perfect and limitless exactly because it’s unwritten. The book that exists in my head is always going to be better than the one that ends up on the page. But that’s okay! Because the labour of making it is the best part. I don’t know if every writer thinks that, but I sure do.
Which you can buy here. Gender Theory is a coming of age story about queerness, illness and finding your place. And it’s set in Glasgow :)
For a week or so after I finished The Road by Cormac McCarthy I was possessed by a delusional belief that I could write my own version. I was wrong lol
The idea of a second creative project not living up to the success (or in this case, expectation) of the first