It's Not Like I Expect a Parade or Anything...

Jeff Cohen

A week ago today I put the first finishing touches (there will be more months from now) on the second book in a series that won't start until about this time next year. And if you think that's confusing, imagine how I feel. I'm two books in now and I'm fairly sure I'm the only person on earth who's read the whole first one.

As it happens--since it occurred to me at one point to add it all up--that manuscript, due for 2018, marks the 20th novel that will be published under one (or both) of my names. That went fast. And I'm not counting the two novellas, one short (10,000 words is short?) story and at least two complete unpublished novels I can remember. There are also two nonfiction books in print and a number of proposals that have at least 50 pages of novel in them and were not sold. That's the biz.

The thing about finishing a manuscript is that it's a real living contradiction. The writer (or at least me, as I speak for no other writers) feels the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. This enormous task begun months ago has been completed and one can stop thinking about it when trying to fall asleep at night. For a while. It feels like reaching the top of Mt. Everest, only with air. I understand that I haven't written a major piece of Literature, but a book is not a shopping list. Celebration seems appropriate.

But the rest of the world, including those with whom we live and work, have no sense of this. I say, "I finished the book today," and they respond, "Oh, good. When should we start dinner?" There's something just a tad anti-climactic about the moment.

(The same is true of the day the book goes on sale in stores and elsewhere, by the way. A few people post "happy pub day" on your Facebook page and the rest of the world goes about its business.)

This is not a complaint; I don't expect ANYBODY to bake me a cake when I finish writing a draft, believe me. There's just a dichotomy between the way the author's mind works and the reality in the rest of the world. It's like the world of a Donald Trump supporter: We have a feeling we know to be real, but the rest of the world, operating rationally, does not recognize the commitment.

People like to talk about how writing a book (or writing anything else) is a solitary pursuit. Aside from those who collaborate, writing is something done by oneself; it's true. But we're not all that alone. We have the characters in our heads who need to show up, three-dimensional and breathing, on the page. And they are an eclectic and interesting bunch, at least in my case. I have to imagine Alison, Paul and Maxie, then Samuel and Janet and Vivian, then the (upcoming) Rachel Goldman and Duffy Madison, then the (even more upcoming) Kay Powell, her parents Jay and Ellie and the cast of characters, some of whom are not so human, who surround her.

But we also work with actual walking-around people like our agents (thank you for keeping me busy, Josh!), editors, copy editors, cover artists (although to be fair we just see finished work) and booksellers all the time. My life is so solitary that I have over 1,200 Facebook friends, and I actually know about 50 of them.

Others are readers, and if you're a smart writer, you have to have them in mind while you're working, too. Not that a writer should ever write something just because s/he believes readers want it. The adages about writing what you want to write and hoping people will like it are true up to a point. The healthy way to have readers in mind as we write is to remember what they know and don't know about the plot we're concocting, how they (hopefully) feel about our characters and the situations we write, and what we need to do to best convey the story in the most effective way.

When a writer finishes a manuscript, the temptation is to shout from the rooftops: It's DONE! I've DONE it! The key is to remember that everyone else is saying either, "Oh, good. When should we start dinner?" or "When do I get to read it?" And most times we don't have the answer to either question, at least not one the person asking will find adequate.

More than anything else, though, what finishing a manuscript means is: It's almost time to start the next one. And I did. I had allowed myself 14 days before the next writing had to take place. Instead I started in three days. I couldn't stand the inactivity in my head.

Writers are nuts. 

 

P.S. It is 35 days until Opening Day.

Comments

[Mike]

In that sense any progressive thinker is nuts. The problem with them is they can't sit idle

[Jeff Cohen]

Yeah, pretty much.

[Rick Robinson]

And it's the same with many other things.

"I bought a new house." "Great! I had the best lunch today."

"The doctor said I have cancer." "Really? That's too bad. Did I tell you we planned this wonderful vacation?"

"The house burned down." "Pity, hope you saved your things. My cat did the cutest thing yesterday..."

So at least yours is a REALLY, REALLY GOOD thing! And congrats, by the way.

[P. Casey Morgan]

Congrats, Jeff. I look forward to whatever it is you've just finished. But I feel compelled to point out that, in listing your writing accomplishments, you shorted yourself by not mentioning your screenplay. Or was it just a play? I can't remember. But I do remember it exists because I just found a copy of it the other day. The retirement cleaning out of files around here has turned
up some things I didn't remember having, including articles I'd written I'd forgotten about. I plan to re-read the Marx play; I remember enjoying it immensely the first time.

[Jeff Cohen]

Very kind of you, Casey. I actually wrote 20-something screenplays; the one you’re talking about is the semi-true story of Harpo Marx’s trip to the Soviet Union in late 1933. I’m glad you liked it (producers did not)!

[Donald A. Coffin]

Having once been married to a writer, I have some sense of what that must feel like. (By the second ms., we were no longer married, and that was the first one that actually sold.) Anyway, we went out for the best (and most expensive) meal we'd had in a couple of years...we both felt like celebrating.

[Lynne Patrick]

Please, PLEASE, Jeff, do not compare any part of your life with any part of a Donald Trump supporter's.
But do celebrate. Lots, even if you have to do it alone. You're worth it. And the draft you've just finished will turn into an actual BOOK, which is more than can be said for the nine novels I've completed.