The Scary Thing—Done and Done

The Forager Chefs Club Book Cover

The scary thing has happened. The final print files for my second novel, The Forager Chefs Club, have been "locked" and sent to the printer. Official publication by Köehler Books is October 8th.

When you write a novel, it's a bit of a weird experience. You start out with an idea. You develop the arc of a plot. You develop characters. But then, as you write these characters over the months—years, in my case—they take on a life of their own. They become real. Not real as in they tell you they prefer dark roast to the vanilla-flavored coffee I like to brew every morning, but real in that you can write a whole scene—dialogue and all—and somehow they tell you, "umm, no, I'd never say that" and after a bit of internal contemplation you end up agreeing and hitting the delete key. Or you find yourself writing things about them that you didn't know, didn't originally conceive, but seem right and fit who they are. Some of this makes its way into the final novel and some doesn't because your editor—and a good editor is crucial—tells you that, while integral to the character, that 500-word scene you wrote isn't really necessary to advancing the plot. So you cut it. But just like your own history—whether a childhood memory, a win or fail in romance or business, every would've, should've, and could've—it still lives there in the character and, hopefully, helps make them real to your reader. You sit on your front porch swing or in front of your fireplace with your laptop or notepad, often wine glass at hand because I tend to agree with Ernest Hemingway on this one, and somehow you don't write your characters but rather they reveal to you who they are. And who they are further develops the plot you originally had in your head and shifts it in ways that you hadn't imagined, yet makes it better.

And that's why "locked" day is so scary. 

Because once your publisher delivers the final files to the printer—front cover, interior text, back cover—it's done. The lives of those people you've created—who have revealed themselves to you—are set. Time has moved on. There are no more additions, explanations, or revisions to that timeline. And these people who didn't exist before you wrote them into existence—who somehow are now real to you—well, the readers of your novel will decide whether you've served them well in telling their story.

The final files are sent. As the German idiom goes, it's fix und fertig. Done and done. I hope the characters of The Forager Chefs Club are satisfied with the lives and trajectory I set for them. 

I welcome your thoughts and comments on their behalf.