From “One Day I’ll Write a Book” to “I’m Writing One”: Address the Real Challenges of Writing a First Novel
- Diann Schindler, Ph.D.
- 13 minutes ago
- 7 min read
You’re not imagining it: writing a novel really is hard. But the fact that you haven’t started yet doesn’t mean you’re not a “real” writer. In many ways, your hesitation is part of the journey.
If you’ve spent years saying, “One day I’ll write a book,” and never quite made it past a few notes or a half-hearted first page, this blog is for you.
Let’s look honestly at why writing a novel feels so challenging—and how people just like you and me have moved from thinking about it to actually finishing.
The Project Is Huge—and Your Brain Panics
A novel isn’t just long. It’s complicated: characters, plot, setting, theme, voice. Your brain looks at “Write a novel” and files it next to “Climb Everest” or “Run a marathon” when you haven’t even bought shoes yet.
Have you ever done this? You sit down to write, think about 80,000 words, and suddenly cleaning the fridge feels urgent. You tell yourself, “I’ll start when I have the story fully figured out,” and that day never comes.
Did you know? J.K. Rowling, when writing “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone,” didn’t sit down with a flawless, seven-book blueprint. She wrote in bits and pieces on trains and in cafés, discovering the world and the characters over time. The story grew through many small, imperfect sessions, not from one massive, perfect plan.
And, Stephen King famously threw the early pages of “Carrie” in the trash. The project felt messy and too big, and he doubted it was worth continuing. His wife rescued those pages and convinced him to keep going. The book that launched his career almost disappeared because it felt overwhelming at the start.
How to address challenges and distractions that delay your work:
1. Shrink the goal until it feels almost silly. Don’t “write a novel.” Write for 15 minutes. Or write 200 words. That’s your goal for the day.
2. Think in scenes, not books. Instead of, “I must know everything,” ask: “What happens today in this story?” Write that one piece.
3. Give yourself phases. Phase 1: rough discovery writing. Phase 2: shaping what you have. Your first job is to explore, not to engineer.
4. When you stop trying to hold the entire book in your head at once, your brain stops panicking—and you finally have space to write.
You Don’t Feel “Qualified” to Be a Novelist
Maybe you didn’t study literature. Maybe you’re not a big reader. Maybe you think “real writers” are other people—people with degrees, agents, or a certain kind of life experience.
Have you ever said to yourself something like this? “I’m just a nurse / teacher / engineer / parent. Who am I to write a novel?”
Or have you imagined agents and critics laughing at your attempt before you’ve written a single chapter.
Maybe you keep your desire to write a book mostly secret, because it feels presumptuous.
How successful authors faced this:
Khaled Hosseini – “The Kite Runner” Hosseini was a practicing physician when he wrote his first novel. He didn’t wait until he felt like a “real writer.” He wrote in the early mornings before work, learning as he went.
J.K. Rowling – When Rowling began, she was a single mother on welfare, writing in cafés while her baby napped. She didn’t have status, connections, or a glamorous life that “qualified” her. What she had was a story she refused to let go of, and the stubbornness to keep writing it.
1. Redefine “real writer. “A real writer is someone who writes—not someone who is published, famous, or full-time. If you are willing to sit down regularly and put words on a page, you qualify.
2. Learn in motion, not in theory. Read a single craft book. Take one short class. Watch a free talk on storytelling. Then apply one idea during your next writing session. You don’t need a degree; you need repetition.
3. See your life as material, not a barrier. Your job, culture, age, background—these are not disqualifications. They’re what make your voice and stories unique.
The moment you stop waiting for permission and start seeing yourself as a beginner writer in training, everything changes.
Life Is Busy: Time, Energy, and the Myth of the Perfect Moment
You probably don’t have long, uninterrupted mornings to sit in a quiet room with a view and a steaming cup of tea. You might have a job, kids, health issues, or other responsibilities. Waiting for “the perfect time” to write usually means never writing at all.
Perhaps you are guilty of saying:
“I’ll start when work calms down.”
“I’ll begin this summer, when the kids are out of school.”
“I’ll write on weekends… except this weekend is already full.”
And, the dreaded practice: Set a goal, delay, postpone, repeat.
Confession: I did this for 20 years! That’s the honest, embarrassing truth. When I was asked why it took me so long to my first book, “Just a Girl," I always said, “Life got me by the neck.” Yes, I was totally immersed in my career, but the honest-to-goodness truth? I was scared, insecure, worried I would fail…. I used all the delays in this very blog!
But, wait! Let’s look at Toni Morrison, an American novelist and editor. She was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1993. Her first novel, "The Bluest Eye," was published in 1970. The critically acclaimed Song of Solomon brought her national attention and won the National Book Critics Circle Award. And, listen to this! Morrison wrote while raising two sons and working as an editor. She often wrote in the early morning, before her children woke up. She didn’t wait for ideal conditions; she wrote in the margins of her day. Her masterpieces were built from fragments of time.
What can YOU do?
1. Embrace micro-sessions. Ten to twenty minutes is enough. Seriously. Write in the car while waiting, on your lunch break, during the time you’d normally scroll your phone.
2. Create a simple ritual. Same place, same time if possible: a corner of the couch, a particular mug, a playlist. This tiny routine tells your brain, “Now we write,” and you’ll drop in faster.
3. Protect one small, non-negotiable block per week. Maybe it’s Sunday morning from 9:00–10:00. Put it in your calendar. Let family know. Treat it like an appointment. Even one hour a week, held consistently, can carry you through a novel over time.
You don’t need the perfect life to write a novel. You need imperfect but repeated moments where writing wins over everything else for a little while.
Fear of Exposure: Your Heart Is on Those Pages
Even when you’re writing fiction, pieces of you end up in the story—your fears, longings, memories, opinions. That can be thrilling… and terrifying.
You worry that family or friends will see themselves in your characters.
Your afraid people will judge your inner world based on your story.
You hesitate not because of the work, but because of what finishing a novel might reveal about you.
How to overcome this:
1. Remember: first drafts are private. No one has to see your early work. You can write bravely in draft form, then decide later what to share, what to soften, and what to keep to yourself.
2. Create fictional distance. Change ages, jobs, locations, time periods. Combine traits from several people into one character. Move the story to a different culture or century. This not only protects you and the people you know, it often makes the story richer.
3. Set your own boundaries in advance. You might decide, “I won’t show this draft to family,” or “If I publish, I may use a pen name.” Knowing you have options makes it safer to tell the truth on the page.
Your novel doesn’t have to be a confession. It can be a transformed, layered, safely distanced version of your truth—and that’s often where the most powerful stories live.
Loneliness and Lack of Support
Writing is solitary. If no one around you writes or values creativity, you may feel silly—or even selfish—for wanting to spend time on a book.
Friends roll their eyes when you mention writing.
You try to share excitement about a character, and people change the subject.
You start to believe your dream is childish or unrealistic.
How to overcome this:
1. Find at least one writing friend. Join an online group, a local workshop, or a forum. Even a single person you check in with weekly— “Did you write today?”—can make a huge difference.
2. Use gentle accountability. Ask a trusted friend: “I’m going to write 300 words a day for two weeks. Can I text you when I’m done?” It’s harder to back out when someone else is quietly rooting for you.
3. Protect your dream in its early stages. When your idea is fragile, share it only with people who are likely to be kind. You don’t owe your deepest hopes to anyone’s sarcasm or skepticism.
You don’t need a cheering stadium. You just need a small circle—or even a partnership of two—that takes your writing as seriously as you do.
And, while this may sound extreme and cruel, those “friends” who roll their eyes are not really your friends. I say, “Let them go…silently, without anger or blame. Just let them go.” Keep the friends who love you, value you, and support you. They are genuine.
Putting It All Together: A Way Forward
Writing is challenging. Writing a novel is challenging because it demands time, emotional courage, imperfect beginnings, and persistence in the face of doubt. But those challenges are not evidence that you’re unworthy of writing a book. They’re signs that you’re standing at the edge of something meaningful.
Here’s a simple, practical way to begin moving from “I’ve always wanted to write a novel” to “I am writing a novel”:
Choose a tiny, specific commitment. For example: 15 minutes a day or 250 words, five days a week, for the next two weeks.
Decide what you’ll work on during that time. One scene. One conversation between two characters. One description of a place in your story’s world.
Make it deliberately low-pressure. Tell yourself: “This is practice, not a performance.” You are learning how to write a novel by writing one—not by waiting to feel ready.
Track your effort, not your brilliance. Put an X on a calendar each day you write. Celebrate the chain, not the quality of the words.
Reflect and adjust after two weeks.
What times of day worked best?
Did a particular place, ritual, or soundtrack help?
Did certain scenes energize you more than others?
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