Elephant Juice: The Novel That Took Ten Years to Write

Every author has a story about how their first book came into the world. Mine took nearly ten years, went through several identity crises, and nearly ended with the main character waking up in hospital and discovering that the whole thing had been a bad dream.
Perhaps I should explain.
I began writing my debut novel, Elephant Juice, around 2011 or 2012. The original idea was simple enough: a young girl dies and returns as a ghost. That was it. No detailed plot, no carefully planned ending, and certainly no idea of where the story would take me.
Just a girl, a ghost, and a vague idea rattling around in my head.
Some writers plan every chapter before they begin. Others create elaborate storyboards, complete with character profiles and timelines. I admire people who can do that, but it has never been my way. I prefer to write the first draft and see where the characters take me. Once I've got the bones of a story, I go back and flesh it out.
Of course, there's always the possibility that the characters will take you somewhere you really didn't intend to go.
In my case, they took me in several different directions before I finally got them under control.
Charlotte's first brush with death
The original version of Elephant Juice was very different from the book that eventually reached readers.
Charlotte, my young protagonist, didn't actually die. She ended up in a coma in intensive care. When she eventually woke up, she discovered that everything she'd experienced had been a terrible dream.
Yes, I know. It sounds a bit like one of those television programmes where the writers run out of ideas and decide to reset the entire story.
What made it worse was that I'd included Charlotte's funeral.
One of my beta readers pointed out that having a funeral for a girl who was merely in a coma was, to put it mildly, ridiculous.
It was difficult to argue with that.
I was a new writer, still learning my craft, so I took the criticism on board. Charlotte died after all, and returned as a ghost. It was, after all, the idea that had started the whole thing.
Sometimes, you have to kill your darlings. In Charlotte's case, I took that advice rather more literally than most writers!
The trouble with beaming up
The next problem was how to tell the story.
My first draft was written in the first person, with Charlotte narrating almost every scene. Being a ghost had its advantages. She could travel around the village by what she called beaming up. If she wanted to get somewhere quickly, she simply disappeared from one place and appeared somewhere else.
It saved on walking shoes, if nothing else.
There was one drawback. If Charlotte wanted to venture beyond the village, she had to hitch a lift.
I thought it was rather a good arrangement. Apparently, not everyone agreed.
Another friend read the manuscript and pointed out that Charlotte's constant beaming up was becoming annoying. I had to admit that a character who could pop up practically anywhere was rather convenient for the author, but perhaps a little tiresome for the reader.
So, back to the drawing board.
I changed the story to third person and brought DCI Tim Cunningham to the forefront as the main protagonist, with Charlotte taking the second lead. This gave me the opportunity to develop the detective side of the story while keeping Charlotte's ghostly adventures firmly in the mix.
It also meant I no longer had to explain how Charlotte knew everything that was happening everywhere. A useful bonus.
Another reader, another rewrite
Just when I thought I was getting somewhere, another beta reader entered the picture.
I'd described Elephant Juice as a Young Adult novel. Her response was that it was too long and that younger readers didn't have the same attention span as adults. She suggested removing several characters who existed mainly to provide a red herring.
There went another chunk of the manuscript.
Once again, I listened, made changes, and tried to improve the story.
Looking back, I can see how much those early readers helped me. At the time, though, every suggestion meant another round of editing, rewriting, and occasionally wondering whether I'd ever finish the wretched thing.
There is a fine line between improving a novel and spending the rest of your life tinkering with it. I suspect I crossed that line more than once.
Eventually, I reached the point where I considered the manuscript finished.
Naturally, that was when the next challenge began.
Sending my baby out into the world
I submitted the manuscript to various publishers and waited. And waited. And heard absolutely nothing.
Rejection would have been disappointing, but at least it would have been a response. Silence was something else entirely.
Sending your writing to people who work in the publishing industry is a peculiar experience. You've spent years creating something, revising it, polishing it, and convincing yourself that it might be worth reading. Then you send it off to people who know the business far better than you do and wait for them to pass judgement.
I felt exposed. Almost naked.
Here was something I'd written from the heart, and I was placing it in the hands of complete strangers who might decide it wasn't good enough.
Perhaps that's part of being a writer. You have to be prepared to put your work out there, even when you'd quite like to hide behind the sofa.
Eventually, I began to think there must be another way.
Enter Johnny Redpants
That was when I became friends with a chap who called himself Johnny Redpants.
The name came from his days as a DJ in the Northern Soul scene. You may know him by his author name, John Warren, under which he'd already published several books on Amazon.
I told John I had a completed manuscript and asked if he could show me how to publish it myself.
Fortunately, he said yes.
John guided me through the process, including buying ISBNs and barcodes. A friend helped me design the cover, and suddenly the prospect of becoming a published author began to look rather more realistic.
Until then, publishing a book had seemed like something that happened to other people. People with agents, publishers, and perhaps a mysterious understanding of the industry that ordinary mortals like me lacked.
Now I was discovering that there was another route.
It still required plenty of work, but at least I could see the finishing line.
The moment of truth
Eventually, I had everything ready. The manuscript was finished, the cover was designed, and I was preparing to publish my first novel to the world.
You'd think I'd have been excited. I was, of course. But I was also nervous.
There is a considerable difference between writing a story for your own satisfaction and making it available for anyone to buy and read. Until that point, Elephant Juice had been mine. It had lived in my head and on my computer, where I could change it whenever I wanted.
Publishing it meant letting go.
People would read it. They would form their own opinions. Some might enjoy it, while others might wonder what on earth had possessed me to write it in the first place. And that was the frightening part.
I'd spent years bringing Charlotte's story to life, changing it, reshaping it, and learning from people who were kind enough to tell me what wasn't working. Now I was about to discover whether anyone else wanted to read it.
Elephant Juice was more than a manuscript to me. It represented years of effort, plenty of mistakes, a few uncomfortable lessons, and the determination to keep going when I could easily have given up.
It was a book written from the heart, and after nearly ten years, I was finally ready to let it go.
Looking back, I'm glad I did. Every rewrite taught me something, every reader made me look at the story differently, and every setback pushed me a little further along the road to becoming an author.
If there's one lesson I've learned, it's this: your first book doesn't have to be perfect when you begin. You just have to begin.
The rest is a matter of persistence, patience, and occasionally accepting that your heroine really ought to be dead.
After all, you can't have a ghost story without a ghost!