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If I did this process consecutively from beginning to end, it would take a few years.  Also, my head would explode from the pressure of working on the same project all the time.  And I would have long gaps where I wouldn’t be productive, because I need breaks to gain perspective.

So I’ll do one step on one book, and then another step on another book while that one is simmering.  I’ll have somewhere between two and ten books in various stages of the queue.  Switching back and forth gives me something to do while I’m waiting (and waiting and waiting).

All this, of course, happens pre-sale.  Every book will go through at least one more round of revisions with an editor, and another few rounds after that for copy edits.

In truth, my favorite thing about having a book in print is that it’s one of the few things I’ve ever written that will never have to go through this process again.  (The other three being the novels I’ve trunked.  That’s not a pretty way for them to leave the process, but sometimes it’s necessary all the same.)

Because I am neurotic, I keep a list of all the projects I have going indexed by what stage they’re at.  There are books that are just ideas, or pieces of ideas.  Others that I’ve outlined.  Some that have been drafted and need revision.  Others that have gone through feedback and need further revision.  That last part is the place where some books seem to get stuck, going round and round and round through feedback and revision, waiting for me to become brilliant enough to get it right.

When I’m working on those projects especially, sometimes I feel like a rat in a wheel, going nowhere.  It’s at those moments that I most need to trust the process; it’s worked for me before, and will work again.  When it comes down to it, my favorite thing about writing books is the challenge.  Just because I’ve done it once, doesn’t mean I’ll ever believe I can do it again.

I just have to keep writing to find out.

Sometimes I discover (after all of that!) that I have written entirely the wrong book.  This happens much more often when I’m reworking earlier books; I’ve gotten better at writing the right book in the first place over time.  But there are several books that I have junked and started over from scratch, never looking back at the original manuscript.  Why?  Because there is no way to fix the problems in the book without redoing all the structural underpinnings and rewriting the characters.

Sometimes at this stage all that’s necessary is some fine tuning.  I need to write some new scenes, perhaps, and fix continuity, and make line edits, but the story is there.  These are easy revisions, but they’re unlikely at this stage.

Most of the time, what’s necessary is a heavy revision.  This means I keep my second draft, and just dig into each paragraph (again!), chapter (again!), and plot arc (again!).  I make changes, I reread.  I’ve been doing this thing lately where I revise a chapter, then the next day I re-read that chapter and revise the next one.  That way I go over the whole thing at least twice.

Often I’ll read the book out loud to my husband.  Or make him read it again.  Or read it again over his shoulder.

I’m listing this step as one, but really it’s many.  I do whatever revision I’ve assessed to be necessary, and then it’s back to the workshopping, the beta reads, the agent reads, and more revision.  Some books go through one round.  Some books I’ve put through the rounds of revision and feedback probably a dozen times, and they still aren’t done.  This is a long, long process, folks, because novels are monstrous beasts.

Once I have feedback from all my various sources, it’s time to assess the book.

I try address every problem I heard from more than one source.  So if someone in my writing group mentions a problem, and others chime in (oh!  I had that problem too!) then I make the change.  If I heard a comment from one beta reader and also from my agent.  I find a way to address it.  In addition I make all the changes that I heard from only one source, but that I agree with myself.

Here’s the thing: every reader is right.  If your critiquer says your book has a problem, there is a percentage of your readership who will also have this problem.  There’s no point in arguing with them.  They are right about their experience, and if one person feels this way, others will, too.

But there’s no way to please all readers.  So I try to make all the changes that bother larger percentages of my test group, plus any changes I just like.  And I let the outliers go, knowing that means I will alienate a few readers.

Here’s the truth, though: I mostly hear iterations of the same problem from everyone.  Readers will describe things differently, but usually they’re all getting at the same underlying issues in the book.  It helps to hear about these problems many times, because each critiquer will have a different perspective, which will give me different ideas of how to fix problems.

But at this stage, I’m not fixing.  I’m just assessing.  I usually open a fresh word document and write down the nature of all the big things I need fixing.  I make a list of all the massive changes, the medium (chapter or scene size) changes, and then the line changes.  Sometimes I print out the manuscript and mark it up, reading it over fresh.  Sometimes I cover that printed manuscript with post-its.  Sometimes I re-outline, and sometimes I just make myself some digital notes in a separate file, and keep that open as I work.

But once I’ve compiled my list of changes, it will be clear to me what size of a fix is needed: a rewrite, a heavy revision, a light revision.  I’ll wrap my mind around the work at hand, and then I’ll get to it.

In addition to sending my second draft to my agent and to my writing group, I often send it to beta readers.  These are people who will read the whole thing for me and tell me what they think.  I’ve used these readers less and less over the years, because after my writing group and my agent, there’s not a lot of need for yet more feedback, but there are always friends who want to read my books just because, and so I still send it out occasionally to a few.

These readers will give a different perspective than the writing group, since the writing group is going through chapter by chapter.  A beta reader will have a better grasp on the overall fluidity of the book.  In my experience they will almost always like the book more as well, because it’s more pleasurable to read a book at your own pace than it is to read one chapter a week, and probably also because they don’t listen to everyone else’s complaints as they go.  Perhaps because they like the book more, they tend to make far fewer comments than the writing group, which is why I find writing groups so invaluable.  But beta readers are fun.  They’re experiencing the book the way you want a reader to experience it, and it’s nice to hear from people who read the book quickly and enjoyed the experience.  It reminds me of why I wrote the thing to begin with: because I have stories I wanted to share.

At the moment I’ve sent the book out to my agent, I know it’s also ready to be workshopped.  I have a weekly writing group that I submit to regularly.  Sometimes I feel like I ought to be submitting every single week, but I have to remember that if I workshop while I’m writing the first draft, or after the book has been submitted to editors, it’s a recipe for disaster.  When I’m drafting, I need to feel good about what I’m doing; hearing about everything I failed to do is destructive.  After it’s out, I really need to not know what I missed, because it freaks me out.  So between the second and third drafts is my workshopping window.  It takes about three months to get a book through my writing group if we meet every week, which lines up pretty well with the time I spend waiting on my agent and the time I spend doing his revisions.

I know a lot of people don’t like writing groups, but I find them invaluable.  Some of that may be because I have the best writing group ever.  I’ve been in a lot of writing groups, but the one I’m in now is by far the best I’ve ever had.  They can go on forever about what they like about a book, and then dig into everything that would make it even more awesome than that.  I almost always leave group with a clear vision of how I can turn each scene into the scene I meant to write, rather than the scene I actually wrote.

I have to be careful, though.  My readers are so good that they will find problems forever and ever–no book is ever going to get through that group without gathering suggestions for revision.  That’s good; suggestions are what we’re all there for.

There are a few factors that make my writing group so good.  I’m going to bullet them for clarity.

• We talk about good things first, and usually at length.  It’s so important to know what you’re doing right.  It’s so helpful to hear that other people liked certain lines or scenes or themes as much as you wanted them to.  It also keeps the discussion positive.  We’re all there to build each other up, not tear each other down.
• We talk about big things next.  (Or level threes, as we call them–things that would make you put the book down.)  It’s always lovely to hear the silence when we call for level threes.  No one had a huge problem?  Great news!  But even on the weeks when the threes seem to go on forever, it’s nice to have them grouped together, so that when we also spend five minutes on why this particular sentence didn’t work, I can keep the size of the problem in perspective.
• We have different reading interests.  This can be both a positive and a negative thing: if I had a nickel for every time certain group members have told me they are not in the audience for my work, I would bury them under a mountain of nickels.  But I usually view this as a challenge.  I know if I can get my gushy love scene or my teenager angstyness past these readers–and still have them like the book!–that what I’ve written is golden.
• We recognize when we are not in the audience for each others’ work.  It’s tempting to always try to turn a book into something you like.  And to some extent, that’s what you’re in a writing group to express: your opinion.  But sometimes the polite thing to do is admit you’re not the intended audience, state your opinion, and understand that the changes that would make you like the piece are contrary to the pieces’ best interest.  We wouldn’t always read for fun everything we’re asked to critique.  There’s nothing wrong with that.
• We want each other to succeed.  That’s why we’re meeting together, after all.
• We’re friends, and we talk about things besides writing.  I love everyone in the group.  I want to see them even if it’s not for work.  We have fun.  We laugh a lot.  We talk about hermaphroditic nazi terantudogs.  A good time is had by all.
• We don’t require submissions.  Not everyone produces at the same rate.  (Or at all.)  Pressure can be the enemy of production.
• We apply social pressure when it’s helpful.  Some of our writing group members have volunteered to throw money in a party fund every time they don’t submit.  Participation in that is voluntary, but it applies some healthy pressure and also has yielded a sizeable party fund.  (So apparently at some time in the future, we will party.)
• We take the group seriously.  Attendance is expected.  If you’re not going to attend, an excuse is also expected. Readingis mandatory.  And for the most part, everyone shows up, everyone reads, and everyone participates in discussion of the pieces.
• But we don’t take the group too seriously.  If we don’t have enough submissions to meet, it’s okay if we cancel for a week.  If someone needs a break, that’s okay.  (Even a long break.  We’ve had members miss months at a time due to family medical emergencies, for example.  It’s okay.  They come back when they can.)
• Membership fluctuates over time.  People move, people have other life demands, people flake.  So over time people leave, and we invite others when we have space.  Sometimes people leave for a time, and then come back.  Sometimes they leave and we wish they would come back.  (Looking at you, Lesley.)

Writing group is a big commitment–a night of my week, every week, plus reading time.  But it’s one of my favorite nights of the week, so I’m glad we do it.  Plus, without the feedback these guys give me, my writing would be much, much worse.

When I’m done with the second draft, it’s time to send the book off to my agent.  I hate hitting that send button, because it feels like a declaration that I’m done, when I know there’s more work to do.  Still, I try not to send it off with problems I know about, unless I’m utterly stumped as to what to do about them.

Then I wait.  Agents are busy people, and my book has to wait in the queue to be read, which takes months.  The waiting is by far my least favorite part of this process.  I would take a rejection over waiting any day.  But it’s a normal part of the business, so I wait.  A lot.

I imagine this part of the process works differently for everyone.  I’ve never had an experience where my agent disliked a book I sent him, but he always has feedback, so what I’m waiting for is an email with a list of the problems he thinks need to be addressed before the book can go out.  Sometimes they’re big (I don’t think your plot events match what the book is about; please excuse me while I rewrite half the novel) and sometimes they’re line edits.

My favorite thing about my agent’s feedback is that I always feel like he gets what I was trying to do and can help steer me toward better ways of doing it.  (The complexity of the feedback usually matches with how far from the mark I was with my own goals.)

I know some people think agents shouldn’t be doing editorial work, but I feel like the more professional feedback I get, the better I can make my books.  I’ve heard some people say that everyone gets upset when they receive feedback, but the number one emotion I usually feel is relief.  Ah, I think.  I see now what’s wrong.  I see now how to fix it.  It’s like looking at a geometric painting and not understanding it, and then having someone point out to you the pattern.  Before I couldn’t see the problem; now I can.

And if I can see it, I can fix it.  So for me, feedback is power.  And I’m not going to feel upset about that.