Tag: novel

Things Continue To Zip Along With The First Draft Of This Scifi Novel I’m Working On

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

Thankfully, virtually no one reads this blog, so I can continue to talk about working a novel without any shame. I’ve been writing way, way, way too long about working on a novel without anything of note to show for it. Though, I will point out that I do have a finished thriller novel done, it’s just not good enough to query.

Anyway.

I’m using AI to speed up the development of the first draft. I’ve figured out a way whereby I do all the writing and just using AI to guide development. I made a mistake in the past by letting AI write the first draft for me. This was a mistake for a number of reasons, one of them being it’s writing was so much better than mine I felt bad.

My biggest problem right now is how AI wants to be my hypeman. It tells me how great and wonderful my writing is, even though I know for a fact it sucks because it’s just the first draft.

But first drafts have to written so you can write the second draft and so on. I’m thinking I can probably wrap up this first draft much, much sooner than I might otherwise. I’m reluctant to give any sort of specific timeline, but…let’s just say sooner than otherwise.

Once the first draft is done, I’m going to really get into character. I really want this novel to be character driven. Now, obviously, if I was 25 years younger, I would just write a screenplay.

But I’m old and live in the wrong place. And did I mention I’m poor?

So, a novel it is.

And in about a year I’m going to query this novel. But so much could go wrong in my life between now and then that that just might not happen. And, yet, I need something to keep me dreaming.

Things Are Moving At A Nice Clip With The First Draft Of This Scifi Novel

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

I have finally — finally — figured out some basic elements of a scifi novel that I feel comfortable with. And now that I have also figured out how, exactly, I’m going to use AI to develop the novel, things are moving really fast.

AI — specifically Google’s Gemini 2.5 Pro — is laying out the nature and plot of the novel and I go through and actually write it. I am annoyed at how much “glazing” goes on even at this level, but just having someone to help me, even if it’s an AI, goes a long ways.

And when the second draft comes, I plan on ditching AI altogether. I may use it some to expand scene summaries, but, in general, I’m just going to do my own development and writing for the second draft.

I continue to be a little bit uneasy about the possibility that someone is going to steal a creative march on me because the basic premise of the novel is pretty “duh” all things considered. And, yet, you have to have hope. You have to believe in yourself and put your stick where the puck is going to be, not where it is.

Variations On A Theme

by Shelt Garner
@shetgarner

The novel I’m working on at a nice clip is a mixture of the movies Her, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Annie Hall. And maybe, in its own way, a bit of Ex Machina.

Now my fear is the general concept is so obvious, so much a part of the zeitgeist that someone is going to steal a creative march on me. There have been a number of thrillers written in the same vein as what I’m developing and writing, but none of them that have been melancholy romcoms.

Of course, you have to take all of this with a grain of salt — I worked on and wrote about a series of novels for a long time and nothing came of them, so this could just be more of the same. But things are really working out well — so far — with this project and so I’m hoping that by some point early next year I will have a second draft done.

Now, for various reasons, my life is going to go to hell in a handbasket at just about the same time, so…I don’t know. But it would be pretty cool to finish something, anything that I could be proud of and hand over to my family and a few beta readers without being embarrassed by all the sex in it.

But, we’ll see, I guess.

What I should do if someone steals a creative march on me is keep going because I know my, specific, story is so unique. And, yet, lulz. I know I’m going to piviot to something else if I feel someone else’s story is too close to mine.

A Bit Of A Chuckle

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

So. I finally — I think — have settled on, at last, a new novel idea. It deals with some pretty big themes in AI. One amusing things is one of the characters is inspired by Emily Ratajkowski.

Emrata

Now, this is amusing on a number of different levels because since I consider “Emrata,” as she calls herself, the best looking public woman in the world, and so there is a level of wish fulfillment going on. Even more amusing, Emrata is best buds with Lena Dunham, who I have a distinct distaste for.

Anyway, the point is, because I’m a dreamer, I find myself musing on the novel not only being sold (an iffy proposition) but maybe one day being successful enough that it might adapted into a movie. Just the idea that Emrata might “play herself” (in essence) in any movie adaptation of the novel definitely puts a spring in my step.

But I’m also very well aware that all of that is something of a phantasm — it’s just not going to happen (all things considered.)

And, yet, it’s always nice to have hope. And as such, I find this very unlikely possibility amusing enough that it helps keeps me going to actually finish the novel.

It’s take me some effort to figure out how exactly to use AI in development of the novel and I think I’ve figured it out — I’m just not going to use AI at all for the second draft of the novel.

This works well because I can zip through the first draft and then hunker down and write the second draft a lot more slowly to make sure it doesn’t seem, well, robotic like.

So, in a sense, I think this just means I’m an “AI first” writer, while still not, like having AI write the entire thing.

For now, Emrata doesn’t need to call her agent or anything, but…maybe? Down the road?

I Hope This Works Out

By Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

The key issue about the novel I’m working on now is it’s very character driven. There’s no mystery to solve, it’s more of a “boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl” type of story. I’m hoping that if the story is simple enough that I can actually finish this damn thing, instead of spinning my wheels.

Now, obvious, the case could be made if I had, like, friends and stuff, that maybe I wouldn’t have spent so many years on a thriller that went no where in various forms. But…I’m ok with what happened.

I really think this novel is going to turn out ok. I’m really going to steer clear of having AI write too much of the novel during the development process because I don’t want to get discouraged because my writing just isn’t as good in comparison.

Finding My Novel: A Writer’s Journey to Creative Momentum

After years of false starts and abandoned manuscripts, I think I’ve finally cracked the code. Not the secret to writing the Great American Novel, mind you—just the secret to writing a novel. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

The Ambition Trap

Looking back, I can see where I went wrong before. Every time I sat down to write, I was trying to craft something profound, something that would change literature forever. I’d create these sprawling, complex narratives with intricate world-building and dozens of characters, each with their own detailed backstories and motivations.

The problem? I’d burn out before I even reached the middle of Act One.

This time feels different. I’ve stumbled across an idea that excites me—not because it’s going to revolutionize fiction, but because it’s something I can actually finish. There’s something liberating about embracing a concept that’s focused, manageable, and most importantly, writeable at speed.

The AI Dilemma

I’ve had to learn some hard lessons about artificial intelligence along the way. Don’t get me wrong—AI is an incredible tool for certain tasks. Rewriting blog posts like this one? Perfect. Getting unstuck on a particularly stubborn paragraph? Helpful. But when it comes to the heart of creative work, I’ve discovered that AI can be more hindrance than help.

There’s nothing quite like the deflating feeling of watching AI generate a first draft that’s objectively better than anything you could produce as a human writer. It’s efficient, polished, and technically proficient in ways that can make your own rough, imperfect human voice feel inadequate by comparison.

But here’s what I’ve realized: that technical perfection isn’t what makes a story worth telling. The messy, flawed, uniquely human perspective—that’s where the magic happens. That’s what readers connect with, even if the prose isn’t as smooth as what a machine might produce.

The Path Forward

I have an outline now. Nothing fancy, but it’s solid and it’s mine. My plan is to flesh it out methodically, then dive into the actual writing. Though knowing myself, I might get impatient and just start writing, letting the story evolve organically and adjusting the outline as I go.

Both approaches have their merits. The disciplined, outline-first method provides structure and prevents those dreaded “now what?” moments. But there’s also something to be said for the discovery that happens when you just put words on the page and see where they take you.

The Real Victory

What I’m chasing isn’t literary acclaim or critical recognition—it’s that moment when I can type “The End” and feel the deep satisfaction of having completed something truly substantial. There’s a unique pride that comes with finishing a novel, regardless of its ultimate quality or commercial success. It’s the pride of having sustained focus, creativity, and determination long enough to build an entire world from nothing but words.

The creative momentum is building. For the first time in years, I feel like I have a story that wants to be told and the practical framework to tell it. Whether I’ll stick to the outline or let inspiration guide me, I’m ready to find out.

Wish me luck. I have a feeling I’m going to need it—and more importantly, I’m finally ready to earn it.

Back to the Page: Preparing for Another Novel Attempt

After years of circling around it like a cautious cat, I find myself psychologically ready to tackle a novel again. The familiar weight of possibility sits on my chest—equal parts excitement and dread. But this time feels different. This time, I’m determined to approach it with the deliberation that age and experience have taught me.

The Eternal Question: Am I Any Good?

There’s something uniquely humbling about calling yourself an “aspiring novelist” for years on end. The word “aspiring” starts to feel less like hope and more like a permanent state of being—a creative purgatory where you’re neither established nor entirely amateur. After all this time, I still don’t know if I’m any good. The question hangs there, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable until you actually finish something and put it into the world.

But maybe that’s the wrong question entirely. Maybe the better question is: “Do I have something worth saying?” And increasingly, I think I do.

The Power of Preparation

This time around, I’m taking a different approach. Instead of diving headfirst into prose with nothing but enthusiasm and caffeine, I’m forcing myself to slow down. To think. To prepare.

The preparation feels crucial now in a way it never did before. When you’re younger, you can afford to write your way into a story, to discover it as you go, to throw away thousands of words without a second thought. But when you’re older—when time feels more finite and precious—every word needs to count more.

So I’m starting with character motivation. Before I write a single scene, I want to understand why my characters do what they do, what drives them, what they fear. I want to know them well enough that when they surprise me on the page (and they will), those surprises will feel inevitable rather than random.

A Genre-Bending Vision

The idea that’s captured my imagination is a science fiction story that blends elements from three films that have stuck with me: Annie Hall, Her, and Ex Machina. It’s an unusual combination—Woody Allen’s neurotic romanticism, Spike Jonze’s exploration of human-AI intimacy, and Alex Garland’s philosophical thriller about consciousness and manipulation.

Twenty-five years ago, I would have immediately started outlining this as a screenplay. The visual possibilities, the dialogue-heavy scenes, the intimate character study—it all screams cinematic. But I’m not 25 anymore, and that realization comes with both loss and liberation.

The loss is obvious: the dreams of Hollywood, of seeing your words transformed into moving images, of red carpets and industry recognition. But the liberation is perhaps more valuable: the freedom to explore this story in the medium that allows for the deepest dive into consciousness and interiority—the novel.

The Weight of Age and Wisdom

Being “older” (though not quite “old”) changes everything about the creative process. There’s less time for false starts, less tolerance for projects that don’t truly matter. But there’s also more life experience to draw from, more understanding of human nature, more appreciation for nuance and complexity.

The romantic neuroses that fascinated me about Annie Hall now feel lived-in rather than observed. The loneliness and connection explored in Her resonates differently when you’ve experienced more varieties of both. The questions about consciousness and authenticity in Ex Machina feel more urgent when you’ve had more time to question your own.

Contemplation Before Creation

So before I get swept away by the excitement of a new project—before I start imagining book tours and literary prizes—I’m making myself sit with the questions. What is this story really about? What am I trying to explore through the lens of human-AI relationships? How do the themes of connection, authenticity, and consciousness intersect in meaningful ways?

This contemplation isn’t procrastination (though the line between the two can be thin). It’s preparation. It’s the difference between building a house with blueprints versus hoping the foundation holds as you add rooms.

The Long Game

Perhaps that’s what changes most with age: the understanding that good work takes time, that the best stories are the ones that have been allowed to marinate in your mind before they hit the page. The urgency is still there—if anything, it’s stronger—but it’s tempered by patience.

I may not know yet if I’m any good as a novelist. But I know I have stories worth telling, and I know that this time, I’m going to tell them with all the care and consideration they deserve.

The blank page is waiting. But first, a little more thinking.

The Art of the Pivot: On Killing Darlings and Finding the Story Anew

The engine has been idling for long enough. For anyone who creates, the feeling of being stuck in “creative neutral” is a quiet, persistent hum of dread. It’s the sensation of motionlessness when all you want to do is move forward. But today, the clutch is in, and I’m shifting back into gear. It’s time to return to my secret shame, my private joy: the novels.

For a while now, my creative energy has been split between two very different worlds. One is a science fiction novel that’s been humming along nicely for a few months, its universe still new and full of potential. The other is a mystery-thriller, a project I’ve chipped away at for years, a story that has become an old, familiar friend.

And it’s that old friend I’ve had to say goodbye to. At least, in its current form.

The conceit is set in the fading days of 1994 and the dawn of 1995, a setting I still adore. I wrote a first act that I felt was electric, that crackled with promise and grit. And then… nothing. I slammed into a solid brick wall. The characters stood there, waiting for me to tell them what to do next, and I had no answer. The narrative road had crumbled into nothingness.

It’s a strange kind of grief to shelve a project you love. But a post-mortem is necessary. The story had elements I was deeply attached to—specifically, a dive into the world of exotic dancers. I loved the atmosphere and the voice it brought to the page. But in my more honest moments, I had to confront the fact that this beloved element might not be serving the larger story, and could, in fact, turn off a significant portion of the very readers I hoped to connect with.

Writers are always told to “kill your darlings,” but no one tells you how much it feels like a genuine loss. You’re not just deleting a chapter; you’re dismantling a piece of yourself that you painstakingly translated into words.

So, I’m not giving up. I’m executing a pivot.

The novel that was meant to be the second in the series will now become the first. The dead-end story isn’t dead; it’s now the rich, unseen history that informs a new starting line. What felt like a failure has opened a door to a potential trilogy. The wall I hit has become the foundation for something larger. I’m going back to the drawing board, but this time, the board is bigger and the blueprints are clearer.

To fuel this new chapter, I’m returning to one of the most essential parts of a writer’s life: reading. Voraciously. Intentionally. I can’t just daydream my life away. As long as the pilot light is on, there’s always a chance to reignite the flame.

As the old saying goes, while there’s life, there’s hope. And while there’s a blank page, there’s a story waiting.

Finding My Place as an AI-First Writer

I’ve come to understand something about my writing process: I’m what you might call an “AI-first” writer. But not in the way you might think. I don’t use artificial intelligence to replace my creativity—I use it as a sophisticated tool to accelerate my work.

When it comes to my novels, I maintain clear boundaries. I would never allow AI to write my entire manuscript, especially not the second draft where the real craftsmanship happens. The first draft, however, is different territory entirely. Since first drafts are inherently private—rough sketches that no one else will ever see—I’m more comfortable experimenting with AI assistance there.

This approach does create some anxiety. I worry that an AI-enhanced first draft might turn out surprisingly polished, making my subsequent human-written version feel like a step backward. When I review the scene summaries that AI helps me generate, I’m genuinely impressed by their quality. This creates a psychological challenge: will I feel discouraged when I have to rebuild these scenes entirely in my own voice?

The broader implications of AI in creative writing concern me. Human laziness is a powerful force, and I fear we’re approaching a tipping point. We might see fewer people willing to undertake the demanding work of actually writing novels. Perhaps more troubling is an alternative scenario: the same number of dedicated writers continue their craft, but their carefully created work becomes a tiny fraction of the total literary output, drowned in an ocean of AI-generated content.

I’ll be honest about my own compromises. I do use AI to polish my blog posts sometimes. I rationalize this by telling myself it’s harmless—after all, my blog readership is practically nonexistent. But even as I make this justification, I recognize it as part of the larger pattern I’m concerned about.

The question isn’t whether AI will change how we write—it already has. The question is whether we can harness its capabilities while preserving the irreplaceable human elements that make writing meaningful.

AI as a Writing Tool: A Personal Perspective

Much of the current debate surrounding AI in creative writing seems to miss a fundamental distinction. Critics and proponents alike often frame the conversation as if AI either replaces human creativity entirely or has no place in the writing process at all. This binary thinking overlooks a more nuanced reality.

My own experience with AI mirrors what happened when authors first began adopting word processors decades ago. The word processor didn’t write Stephen King’s novels, but it undeniably transformed how he could craft them. The technology eliminated mechanical barriers—no more retyping entire pages for minor revisions, no more literal cutting and pasting with scissors and tape. It freed writers to focus on what mattered most: the story itself.

Today’s AI tools offer similar potential. In developing my current novel, I’ve found AI invaluable for accelerating both the development process and my actual writing speed. The technology helps me work through plot challenges, explore character motivations, and overcome those inevitable moments when the blank page feels insurmountable.

However, I maintain a clear boundary: AI doesn’t write my fiction. That line feels essential to preserve. While I might experiment with AI assistance during initial drafts when I’m simply trying to get ideas flowing, my second draft onwards belongs entirely to me. No AI input, no AI suggestions—just the raw work of translating human experience into words.

This approach isn’t about moral superiority or artistic purity. It’s about understanding what AI can and cannot offer. AI excels at helping writers overcome practical obstacles and accelerate their process. But the heart of fiction—the authentic voice, the lived experience, the ineffable something that connects one human soul to another—that remains our domain.

The real question isn’t whether AI has a place in writing, but how we choose to use it while preserving what makes our work distinctly human.