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Things That Go Bump in the Night

My last post got me thinking more about the similarities between pregnancy and writing–about how remarkably alike it feels to bring a baby into the world and to publish a book.  This is not, I realize, an especially original idea.  The whole “book as baby” metaphor has been used since Jane Austen called Pride and Prejudice “my own darling child,” and I’m sure long before then.  But what I was thinking about specifically was how similar the process of growing a baby during the 9 months of  pregnancy feels–to me, anyway–to the process of writing a book.

I mean, first you have the hideously queasy-sick first-trimester period.  For me that is exactly what writing the first, say, 30,000 words of a novel is like.  Before I start, I always have this fantasy that this time, I will just sit down and start writing and get it right on the first try.  I never do.  I always grope and feel my way and  have lots and lots of those days I mentioned in my last post when the writing feels like crossing the Gobi Desert on roller skates while herding cats.  And then I hit what my (very patient) husband likes to call the “30,000 word crisis,” when I realize that 70% of what I’ve written is going to have to be cut, tossed in the garbage, and rewritten from scratch.

But really, though, that’s a good thing–because it means I’m finally getting a handle on the book and on who these characters of mine really are and what this journey that they’re on is all about.  Not that I can see it fully, yet–but there are glimmers here and there.  It’s like those first little sporadic flutters and kicks you start feeling mid-way through the second trimester.  Those moments of startling realization when you say to yourself, “Oh, my goodness, there really is a tiny growing baby in there.”

And then both with a book and a baby, things really start to take off.  You start to really be able to plunge into your story, have your characters start talking to you and totally surprise you with what they have to say–just as you begin to get a sense of just who this little person inside you might be as you feel them grow.

And what surprised me most about being pregnant with my girl was just how much I felt I could sense about her personality–and how right I turned out to be, once she was born.  Basically she was and is exactly the little person I was expecting.  Except for one minor detail: she was, well, a girl instead of the boy I’d been sure she’d been going to be. 

It’s just the same for me with a book.  I can be sure I know exactly what I’m writing about.  I can think I know my characters like I know myself.  But really, it’s only when I actually finish writing that first draft and type “the end”–when I actually hold that tiny, red-faced little baby in my arms–that I let out a breath and say, “Oh, so that’s who you are.”

And then a whole new journey begins.

This entry was posted Monday, March 23rd, 2009 at 4:10 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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