I am now querying my sci-fi comedy, PRETTY FLOWER. It’s taken two years to reach this point. My last manuscript was ‘done’ in half a year. Why has this project taken so long? Was it worth it?
I’ve heard before that the second book is always harder. I gave myself a big challenge here, stylistically, and emotionally.
Do I want to finish the next manuscript faster? Heck yeah.
Am I proud of what I accomplished? You bet.
This post is about the genesis of my weird, funny baby. I hope this reflection will show the miracle of a book’s creation, and that, yes, it’s so worth it.
I. PROCESS
One thing I’m planning to change for my next book is pantsing vs. plotting. For my first manuscript (YA Contemporary Fantasy), I developed a thorough outline that ultimately extended into an (unmarketable) trilogy. PRETTY FLOWER was always intended to be more experimental, so I decided to also change up my writing approach. I composed several sketch experiments of the setting and characters, all while only knowing a few key elements of the story. I knew it would have bots, and climate change, and I knew the beginning, middle, and end. But that’s it.
Each experiment got me closer to the heart of the story, until I narrowed in on a first chapter. The initial draft was rough. For several months I toiled in an unfunny book; by the halfway point, I was losing focus, getting too wrapped up in tertiary world-building elements. A whole chapter was dedicated to a zany cameo character’s monologue, introducing The Great Puddle of Manhattan. The spirit of the book was diminishing.
I don’t remember how the revelation hit, but seven months in, I realized changing to First Person would fix everything. By leaning into Andie’s voice, I could keep most of the plot and lean into her funny perspective on her absurd situation. Plus, it would be more enjoyable to write. Andie’s voice is reminiscent of some of my favorite female comedians, from the ladies of Susan Be Anything (an all-women improv troupe I founded and coached), to the LA-based improv team Wild Horses, to twitter personalities like Sarah Schauer.
But it was a lot of work. I quickly adapted to Andie’s voice, similar to an acting performance. She’s fun to write, but rewriting any draft that deeply is labor-intensive. Next book, I’m outlining again. I’ll never know if an outline would have helped me or hindered me on this project, but I prefer the narrowed focus.
The latter half of the book came a lot faster, in part because I had the voice down, and also because I had started working with critique partners and therefore had stricter deadlines. I owe a debt to Shannon Basnett and Karen Myna Cantor, whose feedback helped me make sure Andie’s story clicked.
Getting insight from women was vital to me for obvious reasons. Working with the Susans had prepared me for writing comedy from a woman’s perspective—and prepared me to have constant humility before the subject. My wife is my first and constant reader; she, Shannon, and Karen protected me from inserting any truly stupid male-ness into the voice. Any reader of PRETTY FLOWER may have plenty to discuss regarding Andie’s gendering/gendered behavior and voice—and that opening for discussion is intentional. I don’t presume to have many answers regarding gender or sex; as an artist, this book is more concerned with proposing questions in that domain than providing quick solutions. Of course, the book is not done; I would love to get a sensitivity reader for the gender elements, and a couple other issues. And if there is any truly stupid or hurtful writing in this book, I take full responsibility.
2. BIRTH & DEATH
Yikes. Hefty subtitle. I thought this was a comedy?
Beside the creative trials PRETTY FLOWER put me through, this manuscript took me two years because of life. I’m not making excuses here. I’m more interested in the way art reflects life. This project’s creation interwove with my reality in ways I didn’t anticipate and still don’t understand.
A few months after I started writing, my best friend attempted suicide. I was first to respond to the scene, along with a police officer. I stayed with him in the hospital as long as I could and helped him navigate his recovery. That same week, my wife and I found out she was pregnant with our second child.
After my friend left town, I started work with two new guys who have developmental disabilities. We clicked quickly. From then on, I would have far less down time at work to write. Logistically, this was the single biggest contributing factor to my slower productivity.
Three months later, the pandemic hit. I got about six weeks unemployment. Around the end of that time, I had the first-person POV revelation. One field lay fallow (day job), allowing the other (writing) to flourish.
Our son was born in August. Healthy. Plump fella. Happy boy.
Four months later, my friend Phil died of COVID. He, like my best friend who attempted suicide, was my improv teammate of seven years. Needless to say, we’re not getting the band back together. Our improv organization was crumbling before the pandemic; it’s in shambles now. The pain’s enough. I’ve said my goodbyes.
And throughout all of this birth and death I was writing a comedy novel. HOW? In some ways, PRETTY FLOWER was a coping outlet, allowing me to process big change through the lens of art. In other ways, life transformed my direction for the book. By the time my son was around nine months old, I began to wonder why babies and parenting didn’t figure into my novel. After all, the story was about exploring identity, and the plot centers on diving into a family’s past to find meaning in the present. Suddenly, without warning, a mother interrupted my plot quite dramatically, and I realized the ways Andie’s brokenness reflected her need for maternal nurturing, both for giving and receiving. All the coldness of this future world (which is still a comedy!), reflected in unemployment, and suicide (yup), and invasive advertising, and prejudice, and a father with alzheimer’s, and a dead wife—and it took me until the climax of the book to realize that a mother’s heart and a baby’s weakness were missing.
That mothering element may sound like a load of traditionalist hooey (and maybe it is! I’m a pretty normal guy.), but I’m just describing how it got there, through life and pantsing. The book should speak for itself.
Life and art are funny. No, I didn’t insert suicide in the story because my buddy tried it first. Technically, I tried it well before him. Did my friend’s life and near-death impact the book? Sure, but in subconscious ways I can’t describe.
3. STORY, STORY, STORY
That’s all very heavy, and channeling that kind of creative energy for 2 years seems unsustainable, in hindsight. And it certainly doesn’t sound very funny. The thing is, I’m not interested in writing comedy for jokes. There are maybe two pop culture references in the entire book. And I’m not into absurdity for absurdity’s sake. I’m here for the story.
This story is packed with issues & themes, and deep questions, and reflections on our world, and silly situations, and NONE of those things would have sustained me over 2 years of writing. They are fun to think about in the shower and while mowing the lawn, but to actually WRITE, I needed to NEED my story and characters.
And the book couldn’t merely reflect my life:
– PRETTY FLOWER is structurally based on the same-named improv form. One big scene is an improv show. But it’s not about improv, nor is it a comedy nerd’s inside scoop.
– The novel is a metaphorical reflection of my experience receiving the 1-2 punch diagnosis of depression, then bipolar disorder. Andie also suffers from mental illness, but her actual narrative is unrecognizable from my own.
– Likewise, I am sure the above life events weaseled their way into my story, in the same way Tarantino talks about an actor being affected by, for example, hitting a deer on the way to work.
But none of those life-changing experiences sustained my work. The thing with art is, the art itself must be essential. The story. The characters. I’m not sustained by anything less. Otherwise, the act of writing is a cad, a fraud. Go deep, or go home.
If this act of love doesn’t get picked up by traditional publishers, then I’ll put it in my will to self-publish, so my kids can find out what daddy was up to those long nights on the couch, shaking his head and smiling to himself, and what mommy put up with for those two long years. And why they both thought it was worth it.
Phil Gross, Game Designer 