on killing my novel

I’ve now put six weeks into writing “The Last House in Levittown” after putting it on hold for three years, and last night I realized that I’m not interested in finishing it anymore.

burning-book-001

This happened once with a play–I started writing it when I still lived in Los Angeles over six years ago, and then my entire life upheaved and I landed in NYC in a much, much better place. But still I had this part of a play, called “The Creation of Monsters”–what a great title, right! I was between projects in a writing workshop at the time, and I was nostalgic for what I felt this play could have been. My teacher told me to sit with it for an afternoon and see if I could find my way back into it, and if not, move on. He said plays have a shelf life, and once they expire, the best parts will come back in a new form. (BTW what a wise and wonderful teacher!)

My answer to that was to start a brand new play, first called “The Lights of the Parkway”–then I got rejected from all the top playwriting programs, again, and decided to focus on fiction, where I had total control over the process. I turned my scenes of a play into a novel, calling it “The Last House in Levittown”–WHAT A GREAT TITLE, RIGHT!

That was 3+ years ago. Since then, I got married, I quit my longterm, soul-sucking job, I had a baby–many, many other things have happened and I have gone through at least one evolution from where I was back then. And in the meantime, the shelf life expired–whatever I was grappling with when I came up with this story of Penny and her father, out to get each other on the fringes of a new society, I no longer care about (probably something to do with my father? serious yawn!). But I had nursed this idea as “my one great idea!” “this one will really put me on the map!” “people who i really respect really loved it back then!” etc.

When I told this to my husband last night, he replied that he had sensed this for a while. We both have experienced a lot of getting tied to old ideas over the years that wind up holding us back. The classic sunk cost fallacy, combined with two people who know we’re very good at what we do, can lead to some very precious thinking that can be, at best, counterproductive.

So here is to sloughing off the old and embracing the new–and faster and faster each time (hopefully). I’m not sure what that will look like yet, but I know that in writing “The Last House in Levittown”, I created a vibrant, addictive (to me) new future-world–I think I’ll stay in it, just move on to a more interesting place, character, and storyline that better suits the now-me.

It’s also come up before in my self-analysis that both of my finished plays star a 17-year-old girl. And the storyline I’m most interested in in my “Last House” world is that of a teenaged girl.

When I was growing up, my most voracious and addictive reading period was probably 10-14 years old. So maybe in a world where every story has been told at least a hundred times, and probably better than I could ever tell it at least once, the most exciting idea for me, going forward, is to be the first person to tell it to someone. Maybe that’s why reading was so much more exciting to me back then–books were the wide, open frontier that introduced me to the world of ideas.

So, I’m not sure how to proceed from this point–except to keep writing. Stay tuned! 🙂

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