We are not alone

I've just finished reading Yellowface by Rebecca F Kuang. In the acknowledgements, as a precursor to thanking the supportive people in her life, she says the story is fundamentally about the loneliness of being a writer. I can see what she means as the protagonist struggles with self-doubt and lack of confidence in new ideas without the benefit of a book-reading family, reciprocal writing groups or a network of friends. Like Kuang, though, I am lucky enough to belong to a few writing groups as well as having a large family & friends who actively engage with what I do.

For instance, yesterday a family member who I haven't seen for a while asked whether I'd finished my book. Knowing they remembered made me feel so validated for the time I spend typing-deleting-retyping that I was delighted to tell them that I had finished and hoped to publish soon. As a side note, part of my confidence came from reading that, even at her most insecure, the protagonist in Yellowface never lost sight of her identity as a writer.

Writerly support came after doing the editing mentioned last week (a couple of intertwined scenes made a reader feel bit sea-sick). After sending them my changes, they said the problem was solved - yay! - so I completed my self-identified chapter-by-chapter edits, including an expansion of some of the concluding scenes. I'm very pleased to have finished this edit, although suspect I'll need to read it through again then line edit before I'll let it out on its own.

I asked Emma Darwin on Substack when I should stop editing and just get the book out there, and she sent me links to some practical advice and pointed out that (a) I should accept that there's no such thing as perfect, (b) after the work I told her I'd put in, remaining imperfections shouldn't be deal breakers for agents/editors, and (c) I should have a day off with cake and wine when I'm brave enough to send it out. I like her thinking.

Before then, though, my plan was to send it to a particular friend. Like the woman who inspired Are We Still Friends? she was part of my teenage years and we share (amongst other things) a love of reading; browsing bookshops, watching (and disagreeing about) Guardian 100 best books of all time, and buying each other books for Christmas and birthday presents. I was (am) quite nervous about letting her read Are We Still Friends? as she is much more sophisticated than me - while I'm devouring Dorothy Sayers, she's reading Virginia Woolf, and her guilty pleasure is Kate Atkinson whilst mine is Terry Pratchett. What will she make of it? Is it too obvious, too plot driven, too one-dimensional? Last night she texted to say she'd read the beginning but had to finish her current book before continuing. I've re-read the message but I can hardly believe that she said she was hooked already - I'm so excited and now dreading what she'll say when she's finished.

So, the point is that, unlike Kuang's protagonist, there is no need to be alone when you're writing. You don't have to share everything but when you do people will, usually, be kind as long as you're kind back to them. Ask for the feedback you want - structure, line edits, voice differences, does it make any sense at all? And, once you feel comfortable, let your loved ones read - they can tell you what they enjoyed or confused them and you can foreshadow, explain or otherwise help the next person you show it to. I feel very privileged to have a good stable of early readers and hope you can find one too.

BTW, no more news on the publishing journey. Partly because I need to earn some day-job money but also because I want to wait until after my Jericho weekend when I'll talk to agents and some self-publishing gurus. Then, I think, I need to make some decisions and take some action.