I am a prolific word counter. Yes, I’m a bit obsessed with how many words I’m writing at any given point during my novel-writing process. How did this weird compulsion to be?
Writing a novel is akin to running a marathon. A runner constantly check their time, pace and miles. Or maybe a better analogy would be like building wealth. Sure, you could spend all your money trying to hit the lottery. Or betting your life savings on the roulette wheel. But wouldn’t it be better to save some money every week and invest it? Build wealth instead of trying to make a big score? Of course the big score is sexier and more cinematic. But remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady sometimes wins the race, especially when it comes to writing. And how many of us can write a novel in a day? Or a week? Unless you’re Jack Kerouac writing On The Road on a 120-foot-long scroll of tracing paper.
I often wonder how people back in the day wrote without that little word count box on the right corner of the screen, keeping them in check. I did at one time, oblivious to the ways in which those numbers mattered. Now those numbers ground me, and speak to me about my daily progress. Often, I have to grind out a certain number each day, and I don’t stop until I’ve reached it.
People marvel when I tell them I’ve finished a novel. They often say that they could never achieve such a feat. Admittedly, it is difficult. But then I think about what they’ve said from their perspective. They look at a novel in its entirety, seeing it as singular, monolithic achievement. And it is, to a degree. But writers view that novel differently. Or at least I do. I see the novel as a series of word-building blocks stacked high. Like Legos. Blocks of words arduously formed into sentences. Blocks of sentences arduously formed into paragraphs. Blocks of paragraphs arduously formed into chapters. You get the point.
People say it’s too hard to write a novel. I tell them that if they wrote five hundred words every day for five months they would have a working first draft. An hour each day. An hour of discipline and a dash of inspiration. Sometimes it’s hard to teach the grind, but the grind is all I know as a writer. Not sure creative writing departments teach the grind, and that’s the hardest trait to develop. Grind. Never give up. Keep sitting in that chair and pushing out the words. And that’s where word counting helps me out.
I used to make myself write thirteen hundred words a day come rain or shine. If I wrote beyond that I could bank the extras for a rainy day. Or take a day off. If I didn’t meet my goal, I would have to write more words the next day to make up for the deficit. Couldn’t steal words from someone else.
In this day and age of literary austerity, managing word count matters for a novelist. The days of writing nine hundred page novels are a thing of the past, especially for crime writers. A workable word count for a mystery/crime novel is anywhere between 80,000 to 100,00 thousand words. Publishers have to manage paper costs, as well as cater to the demands of readers who have shorter attention spans. Thus, the need to keep an eye on that little box on the top left corner of the screen is imperative.
I could go on and on about this seemingly mundane subject. It’s not just good enough to be a writer these days. One needs to be an accountant of words. A CPA of literature. A story auditor. Bookkeeper of ideas. Words matter in this business, but so do numbers. Keeping track of them could be the difference between getting published and a rejection letter. So watch your words, brother. Numbers don’t lie, sister. Do the right thing and watch your word count.
I am a prolific word counter. Yes, I’m a bit obsessed with how many words I’m writing at any given point during my novel-writing process. How did this weird compulsion to be?
Writing a novel is akin to running a marathon. A runner constantly check their time, pace and miles. Or maybe a better analogy would be like building wealth. Sure, you could spend all your money trying to hit the lottery. Or betting your life savings on the roulette wheel. But wouldn’t it be better to save some money every week and invest it? Build wealth instead of trying to make a big score? Of course the big score is sexier and more cinematic. But remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady sometimes wins the race, especially when it comes to writing. And how many of us can write a novel in a day? Or a week? Unless you’re Jack Kerouac writing On The Road on a 120-foot-long scroll of tracing paper.
Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Brenda Buchanan (Monday). John Clark (Tuesday), Jule Selbo (Thursday), and Joe Souza (Friday).
Kate Flora: Sometimes to create a mood, sometimes looking for a theme for a character, and sometimes searching for the perfect epigraph for a chapter, I dive into one of the many books of poetry on my shelves. Often at the end of the exercise I will have four or five open books on the floor, along with my trust Rodale’s Synonym Finder. Today is such a day. The weather has been amazing, making it hard to stay inside and finish this darned book. There are bulbs to planted for spring, and there is something about fall that makes me want to cook stews and pot roast and bake a chicken and make apple desserts and a cake with Italian prune plums.
way:
Today, lacking inspiration for anything more complex, I thought I’d share some of my favorites. With colder weather coming on, picture yourself reading a mystery series from the beginning or reading linked books in the romantic suspense genre while curled up in front of a warm fire with your pet-of-choice sharing a comfy chair.
When I reflect back on growing up on a Maine farm, I think about the rush to get vegetables harvested before the frost. About our apple stealing expeditions on the backroads near home. There were many abandoned farms with apple trees. We would gather different varieties of apples to fulfill my mother’s dictum that you couldn’t make a good apple pie without at least five varieties of apples. Fall meant more evenings prepping vegetables for what was always called “the long, cold winter.” Stirring applesauce. Canning. Making pickles. The shed floor would be lined with newspapers and there would be rows of ripening tomatoes and mounds of squash. The coated egg baskets full of potatoes and onions would be hung up in the cellar. The shelves in the storage area in the cellar would gradually fill with jars of canned food.
happens to be football season, which now is not much more than an excuse to sit on the couch on Sunday and do nothing. Which is pretty fabulous. Autumn is also host to two amazing New England crime conferences, Crime Wave in September, and Crime Bake in November. The only pit-fall of fall is the shortening days. To me, that just begs more sleeping time.
Kait Carson: As an escaped Floridian, fall gets my vote for best season of the year. Nights cool, sometimes enough to light the first fire in the woodstove. Days are mild, the humidity is low, and there’s a taste to the air. It’s a heady combination of wine and apples. Just glorious. The scenery isn’t too shabby either.
Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson: Here in the Western Maine mountains there are already as many leaves on the ground as there are on the trees, possibly because we are in a serious drought. We’re being very careful about water use for fear our well might run dry. That said, there’s nothing like being able to walk out onto the back deck and see fall colors, especially on a day when the temperature is in the upper 70s. Of course at night it goes down to near freezing. Typical Maine weather: wait a minute and it will change! The entire month of September has been a roller coaster weather-wise and the forecast for the first week of October promises to be the same: 80 one day and a high of 60 the next. Close to freezing at night . . . or not. And NO RAIN IN SIGHT!
Rob Kelley: The view from my writing desk includes several ragged spruces, a swamp maple, and some ferns. When the swamp maple and the ferns turn to rust, it’s a harbinger of cooler nights and mild days, and it’s my absolute favorite time of year in Maine. It’s perfect sleeping weather in the cool nights, but no jacket required in the mild days. And, while I was only a teacher for a little while, I was a student far longer, and so still think of fall as the actual beginning of the year. After such a crazy summer, foggy, rainy, then hot, then dry, this fall has been an ideal beginning to my year.
which was created and managed by our own Maureen Milliken. We had enormous crowds, dozens of writers, but more than the (not inconsiderable) book sales, I had many of the conversations that I value: not so much salesmanship and connections as exchanges of ideas and beliefs. Over books, over reading, over Maine and the glory of summer.
Had a unique experience at Sherman’s in Damariscotta this month, where I met the first real live person who reads the Maine Crime Writer’s blog. (Shoutout to Dorrit!) I know you’re all out there, but we rarely connect in person. I’d value it if we could.
