The Novelist's Dilemma

Martin Hale had been working on his second novel for four years. His first book, a psychological thriller set in Vienna, had been praised by critics and had sold reasonably well. But the second one — a sprawling story about three generations of a Greek-Irish family — was proving far more difficult to finish. His publisher, a sharp woman called Diana Cross, had already extended his deadline twice. The original submission date had been eighteen months ago. Now, with only six weeks remaining, Martin had completed just two-thirds of the manuscript. He knew that if he didn't deliver by the new deadline, his contract might be cancelled. The problem wasn't inspiration — he had too many ideas, not too few. The real difficulty was structure. Every time he thought he had resolved one character's story, it created new complications for the others. He had considered cutting one of the three main characters entirely, which would have simplified the plot considerably, but it would also have destroyed what made the book unique. His writing mentor, a retired novelist called Professor Adeyemi, told him he should stop trying to control the story and let the characters lead. 'The books that feel forced usually are,' she said. 'If you find yourself fighting the material, the material is trying to tell you something.' Martin wasn't sure he agreed. He had always believed that structure came from the writer, not from some mystical force within the story. But at three in the morning, staring at a chapter that had been rewritten eleven times, he was willing to try anything. He closed his laptop, made a strong coffee, and opened a fresh document. He typed a single sentence he had never intended to write. By sunrise, he had completed twenty pages. They were, without doubt, the best he had ever written.