Any intellectually honest writer will face moments where they have to admit their work isn’t where it needs to be. A delicate way to say, “Man, this sucks.” These moments are like crossroads. You either give up, or you diagnose and cure the problem.

If you’ve followed my Monthly Musings over the last six months to a year, you’ve probably noticed the highs and lows I’ve experienced with this true crime book I’m working on. Last month, there was a high. I’d finished the book. More accurately, I’d limped through to the finish line. Still, it was a fully written manuscript. This month, however, there’s a low.

Confession: I’m not much of a Stephen King fan.

I’m not much of a horror enthusiast. And personally, I find Mr. King somewhat unpalatable in both his personal and professional lives. However, we’ve all read his master work, On Writing. There are points that I disagree with in that book, but they’re few. In fact, I credit King for my not abandoning my literary aspirations altogether back in circa 1998. It was a low point for me, confidence wise. Then, I read an article he wrote (or was it an interview?) for Writers Digest Magazine. Either way, his description of the writer’s experience, including numerous frustrations, convinced me I was on the right track.

The most significant lesson I learned from King, however, may be the one thing that salvages this true crime project I’ve been cobbling together for upwards of two years. In his iconic book about writing, he advises writers to take a break after finishing a manuscript. Step away. Forget the book. Do something else. Indulge a distraction. Do something—anything—other than work on the newly finished project.

Last month, after finally wrapping up this massive project, I failed to take that pause. I knew I needed it. I knew the work needed it. But I had a deadline to meet. The 45^th anniversary of the cold case loomed nearby. I’d booked and paid for the accommodations for the launch. I’d told those who wanted to attend when it would be. Everything was ready.

Except the book.

Sure, I’d finished. But no one writes “the end” or the non-fiction equivalent and then rushes to press. It’s that “end” that kicks off the hard work. The self-editing. The beta reads. The professional edit. Formatting. Pricing. Copyright registration. Working with a cover designer. The list is extensive.

For weeks, I’d look at the calendar first thing every morning around 6 am, when I’d sit down at my desk to begin my day. I’d evaluate the chapters and calculate the last possible date before I’d run out of time. It was a race, and I was determined to finish strong.

Instead of taking the Stephen King break I knew I needed, I forged ahead. I suffered through a quick self-edit of the manuscript, then sent it off to several beta readers and two of the finest editors I know. But even as I did, I knew it wasn’t ready. It is a massive work. Complex. Confusing. Worst of all, I’d let a couple of people get in my head.

The result? A book I realized I could never put my name on.

In its current form, it’s clunky and slow-starting. Hesitant. A lot of hedging when it came to including uncomfortable facts some may find offensive. Voluminous history on the area and its citizens. But there are valid reasons for included these things. I just neglected to level set the reader with an explanation.

I still go back to what I’ve said all along: I’m a novelist, not a true crime writer. Perhaps the biggest thing I’ve discovered in this process is how that bears out when switching genres. In a novel, we leave Easter eggs. Clues hidden in plain sight that the reader won’t see until they experience the big reveal or climatic scene. In true crime, that approach can spell frustration. It must be crafted differently. This made no sense to me until I saw it for myself, in my own work.

This month’s blog post is a curious mess. It’s an admission of failure. A white flag waved in defeat. It’s also a confession intended to edify other writers who are or have been in a similar position. Sometimes, we get things wrong. That’s no big deal, frankly. I’m as human as the next guy. But in addition to the admission and confession, this is a testimony given to those who may identify with the circumstances in the hopes they’ll gain new perspective as they salvage their own work.

You don’t have to give up. Sometimes, you just have to adjust your approach.

When it became evident there was no path by which I could get a good book out by the deadline, I called the family of the victims to tell them I wouldn’t make the scheduled launch date. I was miserable. They weren’t. In fact, they were incredibly supportive. So were my editors and betas. I’d bet they were relieved. They’d seen what I sent them. If anything, they probably breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to come back to me with, “This is wholly unreadable. I’m sorry. I can’t get through this.”

The problem isn’t that the book needs a serious overhaul to achieve its goals. The problem isn’t the obstacles I’ve had to navigate while writing it. It’s not even the fact that I’ve worked like a crazy person for the past eight months or so to finish. The problem is me.

I spoke with the gentleman who’s writing the Foreword for the book. He’s a former sheriff in the county in which the murders happened. We’ve been friends since fourth grade. When I told him I’d decided to push the launch, he too was relieved.

“I know you’ve been working like a slave,” he said. “But you’ve been a slave to the date even more than the project.”

That is the problem.

If you’re a reader, maybe this will offer insight into the writing process. Everyone’s into AI these days, with social media ads promising you can bypass all that pesky work and have AI write you “a book a week” without coming up with an idea or risking carpal tunnel syndrome. Sounds great, right? It’s also cheating. Real writers put a lot of effort and a helluva lot of time into creating a product they can be proud of…one that will, hopefully, entertain and enlighten audiences.

If you’re a writer, this blog post may speak to you on some level. But if you glean nothing else from this Musing, let me echo the recommendation of Stephen King. When you finish your book, stop—think again. It’s worth the three to six weeks away from your manuscript. Don’t think about it. Don’t work on it. Try to stay as far away from it as you can. Take a trip. Reconnect with the friends and family you forsook while concentrating on your masterpiece. Take a walk. Binge watch something on television. Whatever you like, but do it. Do anything you can to reset your brain.

When it’s all out of your system and you feel like a normal person again, it’ll be there waiting for you. You’ll be fresh and ready to take that deep, initial edit as you prepare for the next step. Trust me. Your betas, editors, and readers will be glad you did. So will you.

Thanks, Mr. King.

Have a great March, folks. Spring is coming. Days are getting longer. What a perfect opportunity to enjoy it!

TTFN