How I write my novels

In Short

How I write my novels is an autobiographical essay detailing the author's creative process, her early struggles with rejection, and the methods behind her fiction. The text explores how plots and characters emerge organically from midnight daydreams and fleeting observations rather than forced brainstorming. It has lasted as a charming, candid peek into the inner workshop of a Victorian popular novelist, offering a rare window into the unvarnished realities of literary production during the nineteenth century.

The Story

The progression of the author's argument and experience begins with a contrast between writers who consciously cudgel their brains for plots and those who, like herself, must wait for inspirations. She explains that while some fortunate authors command immediate concentration, her own ideas arrive unbidden, flashing into her mind during the dark watches of the night, while driving through crisp air, or from a stray word in a crowded room.

This leads her to recall her painful beginnings at age sixteen, when she sent her very first story into the world. That maiden manuscript was never returned; instead, she received a polite letter from an editor stating it would be consigned to the waste-paper basket unless she sent twopence halfpenny for postage. Too sad and poor to pay, she left it behind, feeling completely discouraged. Convinced by a real live editor's unspoken judgment that writing was not her forte, she abandoned the pen for a full twelve year-long months, submitting to the belief that her efforts were worthless.

Yet the creative impulse proved inescapable. Eventually, a new idea seized her, compelling her to write in secret behind closed doors to avoid the teasing of her brother and sister. This time, she completed a lachrymose tale and sent it, with remarkable absence of malice, back to that very same unsympathetic editor. To her immense joy and wonder, it was accepted, bringing her an insignificant cheque that provided unadulterated delight.

From this foundational triumph, the narrative shifts to her mature method of composition. She explains how characters and scenes assemble themselves, always centering on youth because nothing under heaven is so perfect. Her creative engine relies heavily on insomnia, where waking hours in the dark give rise to a bustling swarm of thoughts, ghosts, and marionette-like characters. From these midnight brain-wanderings, she builds several chapters for the next morning. She notes her unusual habit of sometimes writing the last chapter first and building the story backward from that single episode.

She concludes by describing her actual working habits, limiting her writing to two hours a day, refusing to force the mind, and happily casting aside the pen to play with children whenever the idle vein calls her outdoors. Spontaneity remains her guiding light, proving that true literary power arises naturally from dreams and unforced inspirations.

How It Unfolds

• Waiting for the spark — The author contrasts calculated plotting with the unpredictable, sudden flashes of inspiration that arrive during quiet drives, sleepless nights, or casual conversations.
• The first rejection — At sixteen, she experiences the bitter disappointment of a lost maiden manuscript and a blunt editor's letter demanding return postage she cannot afford.
• A secret second try — After a year of giving up on writing, a new idea forces her back to the desk, leading her to write a lachrymose tale in secret behind locked doors.
• The sweet taste of acceptance — She sends her new manuscript back to the original harsh editor, experiencing unforgettable delight when it is finally accepted and paid for.
• Midnight architecture — During wakeful, restless nights, her imagination builds scenes, populates them with youthful characters, and occasionally starts by writing the final chapter first.
• The daily rhythm — She caps her daily writing at two hours, refusing to force her mind and instead choosing to abandon her desk for outdoor play and sunshine.

The People

The primary figure in the work is the author herself, who wants to capture genuine inspiration and share her creative journey. What stands in the way are her own self-doubt following early failure, harsh critics represented by dismissive editors, and the playful mockery of her siblings. She ends up different by transforming from a dejected, hesitant sixteen-year-old into a confident, established novelist who trusts her spontaneous instincts.

Secondary figures include the anonymous first editor, who wants editorial standards upheld and stands in the way of the young author's confidence, ultimately leaving her sad and comfortless. The brother and sister want amusement at the author's expense, standing in the way of her peace of mind by mocking her initial literary failure, and they end up serving as the reason she writes her second story in fearful secrecy. Children appear as figures who desire play and sunshine, standing in opposition to forced writing, and they help the author return to a state of healthy frivolity.

In Its Own Voice

To sit down in cold blood and deliberately set to cudgel one's brains with a view to dragging from them a plot wherewith to make a book is (I have been told) the habit of some writers, and those of no small reputation.

The author opens her reflection by examining the deliberate, calculated plotting styles utilized by other successful writers.

Alas! for that first story of mine--the raven I sent you of my ark and never saw again.

She fondly and ruefully remembers the very first manuscript she ever dispatched into the world, which vanished forever into an editor's office.

Here in the silent hours the ghosts called characters walk slowly, smiling, bowing, nodding, pirouetting, going like marionettes through all their paces.

She describes how her mind operates during restless nights, watching her fictional creations move through scenes before she commits them to paper.

What It's Really About

The work explores the mysterious mechanics of the creative mind and the delicate relationship between inspiration and labor. It questions whether art can be manufactured through sheer willpower or if it must always bubble up spontaneously from the subconscious. Beneath the practical advice on writing habits lies a meditation on youth, time, and the preservation of wonder. The author examines how early discouragement shapes an artist, arguing that paths made too smooth leave the feet unprepared for rough roads. Ultimately, it is an inquiry into the value of dreams, the necessity of patience with oneself, and the pure, unadulterated joy of creation when art arrives unforced from within.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love intimate essays, literary history, and glimpses into the creative minds of Victorian writers will find this piece deeply rewarding. Reading it feels like sitting across from a warm, witty storyteller by a fireplace, listening to her confess her midnight anxieties and youthful blunders with gentle self-deprecation. What stays with you is her vivid description of insomnia as a bustling workshop of ghosts and marionettes, alongside her wise refusal to force the muse. While modern readers might note the quaint nineteenth-century references and the leisurely, polite tone of a bygone era, these elements only add to its authentic period charm. It offers both practical comfort to struggling writers and a delightful, unpretentious literary portrait that lingers long after the final page.

What part of the creative process do you find most fascinating—the initial spark or the discipline of daily writing?