How to Write a Novel

Joanne wants to write a novel. How can she do it?

          Joanne loved books and knew they had the power to change lives. She’d seen it happen in the library where she worked. Slipping books onto shelves, she envied those who could fill the pages with words.

She had an idea for a story she wanted to write. She’d tried to put the words on paper, but they felt flat and uninspiring. She’d set the project aside until she listened in on a group of writers who reserved a room at the library.

The speaker told the group they all had a story inside them, they just needed to learn how to get it out. She suggested some books to read. She went to the shelves and pulled out the books. She would read them.

Joanne set up a routine of reading, followed by research. She found pages on character building and filled them with her descriptions. She found the genre of her story and read as many of the published books as she could, jotting down the parts of it she liked. Why did she want this story? What made her turn the pages to the end?

When she finally began to write the story, it felt like she’d started a marathon, and she didn’t like running. She wrestled with doubt. Who was she to write a novel? Who would read it? The speaker’s words came back to her: “Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations.’ Those words had been written in large letters and taped to her wall. “I am going to do this,” She spoke the words out loud, so her ears and brain heard them.

Months turned into years. Still, she wrote, rewrote, and deleted. The story changed over the years. She lost sleep at times when the muse took over, and she didn’t close her computer until the wee hours of the morning.

Three years later, she set the story aside and began to study how to publish her novel. She examined the entire process of submitting to a traditional publisher. Doubt rose again. It wasn’t good enough.

At the library, one of her coworkers plopped a book on the table in the lunchroom. “I finally got my book published!” she sagged into a chair next to Joanne.

“How did you do it?”

“I self-published.”

“I have a novel I’ve thought about publishing.” Joanne looked down at the woman’s book.

“Joanne, you should. Do you need help? I can help you.”

“You would?”


“Sure. I can come over and help you through the steps.”

Joanne agreed and they set up a time.

The following week, they met a couple of days a week until the book had a cover, and she pressed the publish button. She felt proud of what she’d done.

A week later, she opened her door to find a box on her front step. She could feel her heartbeat faster, and she rubbed her damp palms on her jeans before lugging the box inside.

At last, she held her book in her shaking hands. It wasn’t the biggest seller. There were no billboards or a celebrity attending the launch party. In her house, with the soft desk lamp shining on the glossy cover, the book, built on grit and determination, reached its fruition. Joanne cried happy tears.

She took a copy to work and showed her coworkers.

“You did it.” They exclaimed and told her to bring them copies to buy.

The head librarian looked at Joanne through narrow eyes. “I knew you could do it. It’s been a long time, and I wondered if you’d given up.”

“I worried at times I would, but I kept at it.”

When the first reader messaged to say, “Your story made me feel brave again,” Joanne understood: the most beautiful destination wasn’t just the book in her hands. It was the person she became to write it.