The first thought I have whenever I suspect I'm about to die

Or: how I measure the years while I'm writing a novel

Around 3 years into working on my first novel, The Incendiaries, I was in a wild car accident—hydroplaning, ricocheting across the entire width of the highway, skidding backward along the median, just far too much excitement—& the first thought I had was: I cannot fucking die before I finish writing my novel.

The Incendiaries would end up taking another 7 years to finish. With my second novel, Exhibit, I thought I’d surely speed up a bit, & I did! It took 8 years. I’m now 2 years into working on my third novel, & my great, fantastical hope is that this book will require, perhaps, a mere 6 years. Who knows. It’s possible. Meanwhile, publishing those first couple of books hasn’t changed what happens every time I’m worried for my life. If a plane jolts, if there’s an earthquake, I think, I refuse to fucking die before I finish writing my novel.

But what, I’m sometimes asked, was I up to all those years? I revise a lot, for one thing. The Incendiaries went through something like 60-90 drafts; Exhibit, maybe 50-80. (Do I wish I were a much more efficient writer? Yes. Is there anything to be done? So far, no.) I tell myself every novel is a palimpsest, that nothing is wasted—at the very least, it feels better to believe this. I write some of these drafts very fast, especially toward the beginning & the end, & I’ll have more to say in future letters about the different kinds of drafts I find to be useful.

& as the hours, days, years, & drafts accumulate, I draw upon a number of habits, rituals, & longstanding rules. Other books help, of course. Poetry, absolutely. The support of beloved friends. Vast reserves of spite. Rare bursts of joy. An abiding faith in the usefulness of grim, steady plodding. Along with what’s pictured here: a record of each day, measured in the number of words I’ve written.

In these letters to you, since people sometimes have questions about process, & I love thinking about process, I’ll get into what I’m doing as I continue writing my in-progress novel for the next, let’s see, 4 years, gods willing, knocking on wood, though already that doesn’t sound like enough time.

But back to the records! I keep brief notes on how things go each day, which helps me pick out patterns, to notice what’s helping & what isn’t. I count every days’ words, adding up the tally as I go. & if I’ve written, say, 31 words, it’s still something. Even if I know I’ll cut those 31 words the next day, my records tell me the words were here. The writing was here, & so was I.

Notes

• I plan to write short missives once a month or so, maybe more often.

• Shoutout to my dear friend Lydia Kiesling, who gave me the idea to add notes to these records.

• Because I tend to want to revise so much, it helps me get over myself if, in more casual spaces, I format the words differently than I would in a book. Thus the ampersands. I’ll say more in the future about what can help me let go while I’m drafting a book.

• A couple of brilliant friends—Fatimah Asghar & Ingrid Rojas Contreras—& I just started a teaching collective, The Ministry of Words, offering generative & workshop-based classes in fiction, nonfiction, & poetry. Classes will run for four months each. We’ll provide cross-disciplinary lectures open to all participants, as well as opportunities to form sturdy, long-lasting community. Scholarships are available! If you have any questions, we’d love to hear from you.