Novel Problems

I announced to my husband that I needed to fix my novel problem.

“Novel problem?” he asked. “Is that anything like a novel corona virus?”

Without hesitation, I answered, “Yes, actually. It is.” Then I disappeared into my home office and started writing this blog post, procrastinating yet again on my novel problem.

Writing is weird. While nonfiction must be incredible in order to sell, fiction must be believable. While the author invents a story with make-believe characters, it’s usually set in actual real locations during a real time period. If you mess up, readers will catch every blunder. My genre, historical fiction, presents its own challenges.

For example, in my current work-in-progress, which takes place in Manitoba during the 1940s, I’d been charging ahead with my story in the interest of accumulating words instead of stopping to research. My main character enrolled in the St. Boniface nursing school. So far so good, right?

When I stopped writing long enough to do some digging, I discovered some serious flaws. My character was married, for one. Married women couldn’t enroll in that or most other nursing schools until the 1960s. I also had her going home on weekends. In fact, student nurses worked seven days a week and were fortunate if they got a few hours off at Christmas!

These discoveries meant I needed to make major revisions to my plot structure. Which, sadly, meant I’d abandoned the whole project for a week. When I finally devised a solution, the conversation at the opening of this post ensued.

My novel problem feels like the novel virus because:

1.      It’s painful. As in, hard work.  

2.      It’s scary, because I don’t know whether my “patient” will survive. Will I be able to fix this story or is it time to give it a proper burial?

3.      Isolation is required. It’s my book and nobody else is going to fix it. No one is going to cheer over my shoulder as I type. In fact, no one’s going to miss this masterpiece if it’s not resuscitated because nobody else ever knew of its existence.

So yes, dear. This is a bit like the novel corona virus, if only to me.

The word “novel” has two distinct definitions. As a noun, it’s “an invented prose narrative, usually long and complex and dealing with human experience through a connected sequence of events,” as in my book.

But as an adjective, it means “new and not resembling something previously identified,” as in Covid-19.

The two seemingly unrelated definitions of “novel” may share more than previously thought—at least for the writer in the process of creating a book. Where will this story go? Who will pay the highest price? How will it be resolved, and when? Will it result in a happily-ever-after? And, perhaps most importantly, will the characters learn and grow from it?

Novelists or not, we’re all writing a story of our own through this uncertain time. It’s one you’ll tell your friends when it’s over and your grandchildren in years to come. And whether it’s a story of fear and panic or a story of love and grace, it will be your unique story. Write it well.