When youāve published three novels through the traditional publishing route, and one of your books has sold more than seven million copies, how do you find inspiration and new ways to keep writing and challenge yourself, creatively? S J Watson has a fascinating and experimental answer.
His first novel, Before I Go to Sleep, was published in 2011 by Penguin Random House and heralded the new wave of psychological thrillers featuring memory loss. The book became a runaway bestseller ā selling the aforementioned seven million copies ā and was adapted into a film starring Nicole Kidman and Colin Firth. His second novel, Second Life, followed in 2015, and was described as āan edgy, disturbing readā by Observer. A third novel, Final Cut, came out in 2020 and follows filmmaker Alex as she shoots her new documentary in the suspicious community of Blackwood Bay, where nothing exciting ever happensā¦ or does it?
Ahead of his writing class with writers at The Novelry, S J Watson describes his experiment with a new writing method for his next project: serialising a novel on the email newsletter service Substack.
- Whatās it like to share first drafts of your chapters as you write them?
- How does the story, and its genre, change and evolve as you publish?
- What about receiving instant feedback from your followers to shape the story?
- And does this process unlock any new areas of creativity?
Over to S J Watsonā¦
No two novels are written the same way
For as long as I can remember, certainly for as long as Iāve wanted to be a novelist ā which come to think of it, amounts to the same thing ā Iāve been fascinated by how other writers do it. I suspect you are, too. Itās why youāre here reading this, after all.
But if Iāve learned one thing over the years, itās that there is no single, fool-proof way to write a novel. There is no one-size-fits-all approach that will see you safely to the end of your draft. For every writer who sets an alarm for 5am in order to get to the desk clear-headed before the rest of the world wakes up, thereāll be another who can only work after 10pm, glass of whisky in hand. While some novelists first write everything in longhand, others go straight to the laptop and would no sooner crack open a Moleskine than they would compose their work hanging upside down from monkey bars. Some play music, some write in silence. Some plan in painstaking detail while others fly by the seat of their pants, and for every writer who spends two years on a first draft that is (almost) perfect, thereāll be one who bangs out ninety thousand words in a matter of weeks but then spends six months trying to get them to make sense.
Pretty obvious, right? But what Iāve come to realise only fairly recently is that the methods an individual writer has used at one stage in their writing career will not necessarily serve them as well for every book they write. What works for one project might be completely wrong for the next. I now know that writers donāt learn to write; they learn to write the book they are currently working on.
And while, luckily, there are some skills that are universal, and some methods and techniques we can take forward ā Iām never going to be at my best at 5am, for example ā every project weāre engaged in makes slightly different demands of us and therefore requires at least a partial reset. Itās for that reason that I havenāt stopped reading as many āHow to writeā books as I can find. Thereās always something else to learn, something new to try. Itās too easy to get stuck in a groove, and stagnation is the death of creativity.
What works for one project might be completely wrong for the next. I now know that writers donāt learn to write; they learn to write the book they are currently working on.
Doing the same thing over and over is boring, too. And it was with these two things in mind that I recently decided I need to try something different. I wasnāt sure what that would look like, until I recalled a favourite quote from David Bowie, who knew a thing or two about creativity. āAlways go a little further into the water than you feel youāre capable of being in,ā he said. āGo a little bit out of your depth. And when you donāt feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, youāre just about in the right place to do something exciting.ā
So I decided Iād do that. Iād take the way I think I write novels and, rather than just tinker at the edges, turn it upside down. Iād go out of my depth, and purposely seek something that made me feel uncomfortable. And so, a few weeks ago, I began a new project called The Experiment.
Serialising the first draft of a novel on Substack
What is The Experiment? Iāve decided to write a serialised novel, and Iām uploading it (for free) chapter-by-chapter to my Substack newsletter. Iām posting each new section within a few days of it being written, while the ink is still wet, and resisting the temptation to have a few chapters in the bag as a buffer against a dry patch.
Whatās more, I started it a few weeks ago with no plan, and not only asked my readers and social media followers to suggest ideas for the story theyād like to see me write, but at the end of each post I ask them where theyād like the story to go next.
And, crucially, Iām doing my very best to not edit it, at all, before posting it. (Iāve found I canāt let typos go, but Iām trying to resist anything more than a very light edit before making it public.) So what youāre seeing is my work at the roughest stage possible.
This last thing has proven to be the scariest for me. I tell people time and time again that the first draft of a book must be written only for them, that itās important to write freely, to allow yourself to make as many mistakes as is necessary, safe in the knowledge that no one will see them. Itās for this reason that I like to call the first draft of any project ādraft zeroā. While it may seem arbitrary or contrary to not label what is effectively the first draft as such, for me it makes sense. By calling it draft zero, I am effectively telling myself that itās not important. This is the equivalent of a painterās preliminary sketches or a sculptor throwing three blobs of clay down on to the table, ready for it to be fashioned into a reclining figure. Itās a stepping stone, a part of the process that, whilst it may be essential, no one will ever see.
But here I am, showing everyone. Crazy, right?
As someone whoās risk-averse, with perfectionist tendencies and massive imposter syndrome, itās so far outside my comfort zone I might as well be writing my book naked in a Perspex box suspended from the end of Brighton Pier. (Donāt worry, Iāve no plans to do that). But being outside my comfort zone is exactly why Iām doing it. Iāve always envied writers who āfeel the tingle of an idea and then plunge straight inā, but I think Iām someone who canāt do that. I believe I have to plan a novel in advance, or know the main beats of the story at the very least. Before I can start, I need to know where it ends, and how the characters change over the course of the book. But is any of that true?
Thereās only one way to find out.
The Experiment contradicts everything I think I know about how I write novels. But thatās why I started it. I wanted to shake things up. I wanted to explore other ways of creating.
And ā call me an exhibitionist ā I wanted to do it in public. Iām always telling people that itās important to allow yourself to write badly, that first drafts are always awful. Iām certainly no exception, and what better way is there to demonstrate just how bad first drafts can be other than by showing you mine?
It sounds like a recipe for disaster, and if Iām honest I was worried thatās exactly what it would turn out to be. I thought I might end up spending hours staring at my screen, too scared to make a start, too worried about what people would think, too frozen to access the creative part of my brain, and have to abort the project before it even got off the ground.
But that isnāt what happened at all. Iām actually loving writing The Experiment.
Perversely, perhaps, thatās because Iāve realised it really doesnāt matter. If I get a finished book out of this project then thatās great, but if not then no one is going to shout at me. Iām not under contract with this novel, I donāt have an editor for it and havenāt even told my agent Iām doing it (unless sheās reading this, in which caseā¦) Iāve called it The Experiment, because it might fail, and thatās okay. Failure isnāt fatal, and if just one budding novelist out there sees The Experiment fail and thinks, āSee? No one finds this easy, not even a bestselling novelistā and is thus inspired to carry on, then thatās actually a success. So, in some ways it canāt fail. And, most importantly for me on a personal level, Iām writing for the sake of writing, rather than with an eye on publication, which is a really fun thing to do and the exact same way that Before I Go to Sleep was written. Creativity for its own sake. Ā
Serialising a novel on Substack can unlock new creativity
Something else is happening too. Whilst I wasnāt expecting it, I did wonder whether changing my writing habits might unlock new areas of creativity and give rise to a different type of story to the ones I usually write. And so far, it looks like thatās exactly whatās happening.
Iāve created a couple of characters quite unlike any Iāve written about so far, and the story thatās emerging seems to have dystopian elements and be set in a world subtly different from the one I know. Iām not sure what it is yet, but it seems like I might be writing something approaching sci-fi. (Not wholly surprising. I love sci-fi and did have āscientistā in my job title for fifteen years, after all!) The point is, Iām not sure, but thatās what makes it fun. Itās exciting to find out.
Thinking about it, thatās probably the biggest thing Iāve learned so far from this nascent project. Writing can ā and should ā be exciting and fun. At least some of the time. It certainly should be. And itās important to keep that spark alive, even (especially?) if you are fortunate enough to do it as a job. You need to find the joy in it, and keep that protected.
Bowie was right. Being a little bit out of your depth might be scary, but itās a good place to be in if you want to do something exciting. So donāt be too set in your ways. You never know the fun you might have until you try.
So how about you? What can you try differently? Is there some belief you have about the way you write that you can try shaking up a little?
It might reap dividends, and even if not then at the very least you may learn that actually, yes, you were right, you do need to plan a book in great detail, or write at 4am in complete silence, or naked in a Perspex box dangling off the end of a pier.
I hope youāll follow me as I grow The Experiment, and get involved along the way too. All the chapters are uploaded to my Substack for free, and those paying a small monthly fee can also access the āBehind the Scenesā posts in which I discuss the challenges Iām facing and methods Iām using to overcome them. Come join me on this journey: https://sjwatson.substack.com/s/the-experiment
Members can enjoy a writing class with S J Watson in your Catch UP TV Area. We offer a full calendar of events for our members with 40 live writing classes a month when you join us on a writing course.
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