Trying to Write my Disaster of a Novel (it's so bad)

TL;DR

She regains momentum by mapping “nested arcs” into clearer “Parts,” aiming for groups of 3–5 chapters with distinct narrative purposes.

Briefing Cornell Notes

Briefing

NaNoWriMo 2022 becomes a stress test for ShaelinWrites’ new novel, “Saul Birds,” and the central breakthrough is structural: the manuscript feels aimless until the work is reorganized mentally into “nested arcs,” especially by splitting the book into clear “Parts” of roughly three to five chapters. After months of slow progress and difficulty finding momentum, she identifies a pattern—early chapters feel distinct and workable, but the story loses traction once the narrative moves into the “rest of the book.” The fix isn’t a full outline; it’s a craft lens. By mapping what each chunk of chapters is doing—how scenes connect, how chapters serve the whole, and how pacing can be manipulated—she starts to “see” what the existing chapters are already attempting, which makes the writing feel less random and more controllable.

The transcript also tracks the day-to-day reality of drafting: even with clear scene objectives, the prose often refuses to move. Early NaNoWriMo prep leads to exhausting, low-momentum writing—around 429 words—focused on setting up a final character and a relational dynamic (a different kind of love, including a potential parental connection). Subsequent sessions bring burnout and frustration: word counts stall under 500, quality deteriorates, and the act of writing feels painful rather than immersive. Yet momentum returns in flashes, particularly when she gets into the main character’s head. A key moment comes when a reflective passage—triggered by a flashback about the character’s first relationship—suddenly makes the scene “write itself,” producing the kind of ease and quality she associates with her strongest work.

Across multiple sessions, she refines her approach to pantsing (writing without a fixed plan). One scene becomes a case study: she starts with a different plan but pivots based on character motives, then lets the conversation between Rowan and Susanna (a sister-in-law relationship) unfold beat by beat. The scene’s emotional core emerges through improvisation: flirtation and mutual understanding lead into a vulnerability-laden flashback about secret dating, comparison, and the character’s desire to be wanted “more,” even when the ending is withheld to protect that vulnerability. She concludes that scenes often improve when she stops over-focusing on objectives and instead chases what makes the scene fun, compelling, and emotionally revealing.

Still, structural and craft insights don’t erase larger problems. As she reviews what’s not working, she lists missing plot momentum and consequence, weak descriptions, stagnant “talking” scenes, and vanished threads (Rowan’s parents’ cult storyline, Heather’s presence, pyromania as tension, and the Elliot/Susanna relationship). She also worries the book lacks the tenderness and vulnerability that make readers care about Rowan, and she considers whether the manuscript needs a more vignette-like structure—something that previously worked in her earlier books. By the end, she commits to finishing NaNoWriMo but sets a contingency: if daily writing still doesn’t produce momentum by month’s end, she’ll step back for “massive rethinking,” potentially revisiting and polishing an older novel instead. The documentation itself becomes a lifeline—she keeps writing and recording because stopping would feel like surrender.

Cornell Notes

ShaelinWrites’ “Saul Birds” struggles with momentum until she reframes the manuscript using “nested arcs,” breaking the novel into “Parts” (especially groups of 3–5 chapters) so each section has a clear narrative purpose. She finds that drafting improves when she pants scenes toward emotional discovery—getting into Rowan’s head, allowing reflective flashbacks, and chasing what makes scenes fun to write. One standout scene between Rowan and Susanna shows how improvisation can reveal the character’s core vulnerability: a need to be wanted “more,” shaped by secret early relationships and fear of exposing that desire. Despite these wins, she still identifies structural issues—missing plot threads, weak descriptions, and a lack of action/consequence—leading her to consider a more vignette-like approach and to plan a major rethink if progress doesn’t come by month’s end.

What structural insight does she use to fight “aimless” chapters in “Saul Birds”?

She relies on a system she calls “nested arcs,” where the whole novel arc contains parts, which contain groups of chapters, which contain chapters, scenes, and themes. The key realization is that the opening chapters feel like a distinct “part,” while the rest of the book is where momentum collapses. Her immediate prep goal is to identify what the already-written arcs are doing so she can split the manuscript into clearer “Parts” (roughly 3–5 chapters per group) and regain control of pacing and scene-to-scene connections.

Why does she keep getting stuck even when she knows the scene’s objective?

She repeatedly describes a mismatch between craft planning and narrative momentum: even with clear internal/external goals for a scene, the writing itself feels exhausting and refuses to flow. She links improvement to psychological access—when she gets into Rowan’s mind, the prose becomes easier and higher quality. The “problem” isn’t always the scene; it’s often the inability to reach the character’s reflective core until later in the session.

What does the Rowan–Susanna scene reveal about her pantsing method?

She planned a different setup but changed it when it didn’t fit character motives. She then let the conversation unfold around what Susanna is reading and what Rowan picks up from it—using a romance-novel “guilty pleasure” discussion to spark flirting and mutual understanding. As the scene develops, a flashback emerges naturally: secret teenage dating, comparison dynamics, and the vulnerability behind Rowan’s desire to be wanted “more.” The flashback wasn’t pre-planned; it surfaced as the scene “unraveled” toward its emotional nugget.

What triggers the “writing itself” feeling for her?

She describes a pattern: once writing is going well, she stops writing and the scene continues developing in her mind, prompting her to return with additions. That reflective continuation—especially when tied to Rowan’s head and relationships—creates the ease she associates with her strongest writing. She also notes that forcing herself through low-quality stretches can eventually reach that point.

What larger manuscript problems does she identify during self-review?

She lists multiple issues: missing plot momentum and consequence, weak/stagnant descriptions, too much “people talking” without events, and vanished threads (Rowan’s parents’ cult storyline, Heather’s arc, pyromania as tension, and tension that should arise from Elliot and Susanna’s relationship). She also worries Rowan lacks visible tenderness/vulnerability, which is necessary to unpack bad decisions and make the character emotionally legible.

What structural alternative does she consider based on past success and reader feedback?

A comment suggests the book might work better in “vignettes.” She compares her intended style to “semi-vignettes” (shorter scene clusters rather than fully traditional scene structure), noting that her earlier work in vignette form was rewarding. She also acknowledges that comparisons to her earlier book can be distracting but still uses the feedback to consider whether a vignette-leaning structure would restore energy and clarity.

Review Questions

How does the “nested arcs” framework change her approach to revising “Saul Birds,” and what specific problem does she believe it solves?
What evidence does she give that pantsing works best for her when scenes are driven by character vulnerability rather than only by scene objectives?
Which missing plot threads and craft weaknesses does she list as the biggest threats to momentum, and how might a vignette-like structure address them?

Key Points

1
She regains momentum by mapping “nested arcs” into clearer “Parts,” aiming for groups of 3–5 chapters with distinct narrative purposes.
2
Even with clear scene goals, she often stalls until she reaches Rowan’s internal perspective and reflective vulnerability.
3
A standout Rowan–Susanna scene improves through improvisation: the conversation’s emotional core (desire to be wanted “more”) emerges via an unplanned flashback.
4
She treats low word-count days as a solvable drafting problem by pushing through, because scenes can “click” after persistence.
5
Her self-audit identifies structural and craft failures: missing action/consequence, weak descriptions, stagnant dialogue-heavy sections, and vanished story threads (cult, Heather, pyromania, and key relationship tension).
6
Reader feedback and her own history push her to consider a more vignette-leaning structure to restore energy and cohesion.
7
She plans to finish NaNoWriMo, but if consistent daily writing still doesn’t produce momentum, she’s prepared for major rethinking or switching to a different project.

Highlights

The manuscript feels workable until it hits the “rest of the book,” and the fix begins with splitting the novel into clearer “Parts” using nested arcs.

The writing “click” arrives when Rowan’s head opens up—reflective flashback material makes the prose easier and better.

A Rowan–Susanna scene becomes a model of pantsing: a romance-novel conversation triggers a flashback that reveals Rowan’s core vulnerability.

Despite small drafting wins, she identifies systemic problems—missing threads, weak descriptions, and a lack of action/consequence—that block momentum.

She sets a hard emotional boundary: finish NaNoWriMo, but if the book still won’t move, she’ll pivot to massive rethinking rather than dragging through the month.

Topics

NaNoWriMo Prep
Nested Arcs
Pantsing Scenes
Character Vulnerability
Manuscript Revision

Mentioned

NaNoWriMo

Trying to Write my Disaster of a Novel (it's so bad) | NaNoWriMo 2022