When the Novel Hits Rock Bottom: Embrace the Freefall
So, you’ve written 15,000 words of your latest masterpiece. You’ve poured your soul into it, convinced that this time, this one will be the one. The one that changes everything. Then, suddenly, you realize: this novel is a dumpster fire. It's a personal disaster, a black hole of wasted time. The dream of literary glory turns into a nightmare of regret. But guess what? This is when the magic happens. Seriously. Welcome to the glorious world of catharsis—the moment you throw your hands up, look at the trainwreck you’ve created, and say, "Well, this is my life now."
It’s Not You. It’s the Novel. Really.
Let’s be real for a second: sometimes the only thing worse than facing the failure of your novel is admitting that it’s failed. It’s like the moment you look in the mirror and realize you’re wearing your "you had one too many drinks" face in public. But here’s the thing—this is a necessary stage in your growth as a writer. Abandoning a project doesn’t make you a failure; it makes you someone who’s willing to accept that they’re not going to spend the next three years dragging a bloated, dead manuscript around like a tired ghost.
The real problem? The pressure to finish. You’ve sunk time into the novel. You've told people about it (maybe too much), and now there's a part of you that's terrified to admit it's not happening. Enter the "phantom novel"—that mythical manuscript you continue to talk about, claiming it’s "going great" while quietly giving it a decent burial in your file folder. It’s the ultimate act of writer’s denial.
The Phantom Novel: A Monument to Your Ego
Ah, the "phantom novel." We’ve all got one—or maybe a few. You know the one. It’s the book you used to work on, but now you just talk about it to keep up the illusion that you’re a Real Writer™. Friends and family nod sagely when you mention it, as if you're out there conquering the literary world. You’ve got a few thousand words that are technically done, and for some reason, you keep saying, “I’m still working on it” like it’s a badge of honor. Here's a pro tip: you can stop pretending it’s a work-in-progress. No one is buying it.
The phantom novel isn’t just a cop-out; it’s a defense mechanism. Instead of admitting that you’ve given up on it (maybe because you realized halfway through that the plot was built on a giant hole in logic), you just keep the façade going. It’s like telling your friends you’re "still thinking about going to the gym" after six months of not lifting anything but the TV remote. The longer you delay the “real talk,” the harder it gets to admit that you’ve let it go.
From the Ashes: The Glory of Starting Fresh
Here’s the good news: abandoning that novel is the best thing you can do for your writing. Seriously. Once you hit rock bottom with a project, you’re free. You can rise from the ashes of that failed manuscript and start something new. You’ve learned valuable lessons. Perhaps the biggest one is that you’re not chained to a single idea forever. Writing is about discovery, and if that discovery happens to include the realization that your last idea was terrible—well, congrats, you’re officially a writer.
The catharsis of letting go is invigorating. Once you stop clutching that wreck of a manuscript, you’ll find you’ve got room for real ideas. Ideas that don’t involve a contrived plot or a two-dimensional protagonist who is essentially just your own voice with a different name. You can reinvent yourself—and your writing.
So, How Does the Phantom Novel Inspire You?
Wait, what? The phantom novel inspiring you? Yes, I’m serious. Here’s the secret: in letting it go, you learn how to recognize when something isn't working. That’s a skill you’ll need for every future project. You know now how to pivot. You’ll never fall so hard for a bad idea again. And the best part? You get to talk about it like it’s a true badge of honor: "Oh, that novel? Yeah, it didn’t work, but I learned a ton."
So don’t cry over that “failed” manuscript. Embrace it. Hold it close. And then let it go, because there’s always a fresh idea waiting for you, one that won’t need to live in the shadows of your ego. Oh, and pass the matches please!
The Snark
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