In which writing a novel is like stress baking when you live by yourself
Before this year, I would have told you that December is the best month to be a stress baker. Christmas cookies are numerous and fiddly, but most of them store really well, and you can buy little cardboard containers at the dollar store and give selections of cookies to everyone you know, and they will think you are a LITERAL MAGIC PERSON, because you can make thumbprint cookies, and they've only read about those in Victorian-themed Christmas fables. It's the most wonderful time of the year.
When I started writing, it was fanfiction. The emotional payoff was almost immediate. Not only did I get to "fix" something I'd seen, or expand on something I wanted more of, there was a WHOLE WEBSITE devoted to people who wanted the same thing, and would send me messages thanking me for doing it. When AO3 rolled around, and brought notifications with it, it was even better. Someone could FOLLOW my stories, find out when I updated, and tell me I was awesome right away. It was fantastic. Even now, sixteen years into my fic-writing career, waking up to the Kudos email almost every morning is a serotonin shot I look forward to.
This year, I did most of my stress baking in June. It was strawberry season in SW Ontario, and I went to the Mennonite store and bought a flat of strawberries. I googled recipes, and made coffeecake and ice cream and freezer jam and strawberry lemonade, and also just ATE two containers of them. Then I went back, bought another flat, and did it AGAIN (only with cheesecake this time, because it turns out roasted strawberries are AMAZING). Fortunately by this point, I was included in my brother's family bubble, so I was able to off-load some of what I made. But my freezer was, like, 90% strawberry-related for a while there.
I was, of course, deeply depressed at the time, but those two weeks of turning berries into something I could eat later grounded me, even though I had no idea who was going to eat all the stuff I was making (and was worried about my health if I tried to eat it all). It's not, you know, sustainable as a treatment method, but it worked long enough to get me through to a point where I could ask for help. This was important for a bunch of reasons, not the least of which was that I needed to write a book.
We're going to talk about depression a lot when we talk about Aetherbound. Or, at least, I am. I came up with the idea for the book in 2015, sold it in 2016, and tried to write it like five times before I finally gave up on being nice and forced myself to write it in the summer of 2020. It was, as they say, not fun. Andrew, my editor, was almost inhumanly kind to me during the whole process, letting me slide for three years before bringing down the hammer in May (which, to be clear: I had requested).
My parents have been married for 50 years as of this summer (we got a huge sign for the front yard, because that was all we could do. They bought themselves an ice cream cake), and one of the foundational aspects of their relationship is that my dad washes the dishes. You know how on cooking shows, dirty dishes just disappear as if they're carried off by the dish fairy? That's my dad. Mum will be elbow deep in a bowl or turkey or something, all "Where is my half cup measure?" and dad will have it in the sink. I do not have a dish fairy. That's the most sucky part of stress baking when you live alone. I sometimes let the dishes pile up for [mumble] days, until I run out of cutlery and have to take steps. This is when I question if baking is WORTH it.
At the end of the day, I have to eat. I can wash dishes while food is cooking in the oven. I can set a timer and fill the dish rack every three hours until the counters are clear. I can decide the spoon I used to make yesterday's breakfast shake is still okay to stir this morning's. One step at a time, you get the job done.
Writing a novel is like that for me in a lot of ways. I have to do it: it's my job (and I do NOT want to find another one). One way or another, the words have to get out. And I am very lucky: when it comes to writing, I have a dish fairy. My critique group and my editors are always ready when I have a manuscript ready to go. I really cannot recommend a crit group or partner enough.
When you post a lot of pictures of food you made online, people often say one of two things. The first is some variation of "that looks amazing", which is always an ego boost, the same way those fanfic reviews are. The second is a request for the recipe. My modus operandum for baking something is to google what I want to make, and then use the recipe that lists the things I already have in the house. I've accumulated a pantry since the pandemic started (turns out when you stop traveling, you maintain a spice rack), so I can usually bake whatever I want right away. I cannot stress enough that this is a skill I learned.
We talk about tool boxes in writing a lot, and how no writing is wasted, even the bad stuff, because you can edit and prune and tweak. It's amazing how transferable that skill set is to, say, organizing your kitchen because you can't leave your house. Even though I was spiralling, I still grasped that framework out of habit, and used it to build something, even if it was something different.
As I type this, reports are coming out of the UK about the first people to receive the Covid vaccine. Those things we've made and had to keep close will be shareable again, maybe even as soon as next summer. Publishing teaches you to sit on things forever, and it's not fun, but when the doors open and you do get to share? It's the best feeling in the world.
This December, I am making gingerbread, and that is all. I'm tired, and I am SICK of washing the food processor. And that's okay! I have books to write. I hope the end of your year is softer, and that bright lights lead you into 2021.
AETHERBOUND will release on May 25, 2021, and is available now for pre-order.
US: Old Firehouse Books (pre-order discount, signed copy)
Canada: Chapters (work in progress, keep your receipts!)