Come to think of it,
the clock starts ticking as soon as
the reader is engaged.
A reader recently asked me how long it took to write a book.
According to Reedsy, a self-described “ecosystem for authors and publishing professionals,” it takes most authors between six months and a year to write a book (based on a 2021 survey).
Thinking back to my debut novel, Ghost Girl, my journey stands as an outlier.
“I started in 1995,” I said, although I didn’t know at the time that I would eventually publish it as an award-winning middle-grade novel in 2022. My youngest sister had died of breast cancer. She was 39. Her then-four-year-old daughter looked up at me with big brown eyes framed by a wispy pixie haircut. Pursing her lips, she had one question.
“Why did Mommy die?”
I wanted to tell her that death gives meaning to life, but explaining that to a child was impossible. Hell, explaining it to myself was impossible—until 2003 when I picked up a copy of The Celtic Book of the Dead by Caitlín Matthews. In it, I found appropriate motifs that could convey the Celtic Otherworld in a tween-friendly manner.
Calling my book Companion Moon, I followed the theme developed by Ms. Matthews—that the fullness of personal potential becomes clear on an immram—a journey of self-discovery based on a class of Old Irish tales involving a hero’s sea journey to the Otherworld.
My 12-year-old protagonist would embark on such a journey. Instead of being accompanied by 17 fellow sailors, however, Bonnie would be accompanied by an ageless dog and 17 ancestral ghosts as she visited islands of refuge, like the Crystal Keep, and confronted monsters, like fiery pigs.
Chapter One opened with Bonnie’s aunt telling her to find a dog. That directive, I reasoned, would lead Bonnie on her immram. Through a series of flashbacks, I would reveal the backstory.
In 2017, when I had finished a first draft, I joined the Thomas Jefferson Writers Group in Fairfax, Virginia. Filling my soul with bravado and pulling on my big-girl pants, I shared my first chapter with the assembled writers.
Well, the big-girl pants fell down. Feeling naked among peers, I waited for applause. I was met, instead, with silence. Finally, Karen Hammond—God bless her—said, “Well, the paragraphs are well written.”
The paragraphs???
“What about the characters?” I asked. “Or the plot? The setting?”
“Oh, you’re not there yet,” Karen said kindly. “As a reader, I don’t know why a woman and a girl are arguing about a dog.”
I began to explain that Bonnie’s mother had died and that the dog would lead her on a journey of self-discovery. Karen shook her head slightly.
“You need to tell the reader that right up front,” she explained. “How did Bonnie get there?”
“On a train,” I said.
“Then tell the reader that.”
So, I went home, rewrote Chapter 1, and came back the next month. Karen then said, “You’re still not there. What is the relationship between the girl and her aunt? And why is the dog important?”
Month after month, Karen’s questions gently guided me to tell the story in a way that would entice—not confuse—readers. I put the book down. I picked it up. I rewrote chapters. I started and restarted from scratch. I went to workshops. I changed the title.
Five years later, Atmosphere Press published Ghost Girl. My original Chapter 1 is now Chapter 17—almost exactly as it was written in 2017. And in 2023, the American Book Festival named Ghost Girl the Best Children’s Fiction of the year.
Three books and a few awards later, I can say with certainty that I’ve learned a lot about the timelines of writing a book.
For example, I conceived of Hounded sometime around 2003, when I raided a friend’s bookshelf and stumbled upon Red Branch. Written by Morgan Llywelyn, it novelizes the legend of Cú Chulainn.
“Don’t you think it’s time for some contemporary Celtic hero stories?” I asked my friend as we sat around a fire. I envisioned a prison drama. When I decided to tackle the project 20 years later, it, too, started with a few “good paragraphs.” Eventually, however, I put the reader in the protagonist’s shoes. That’s when I found myself writing a middle-grade novel best described as the Karate Kid meets Percy Jackson. Hounded’s evolution is a testament to the power of allowing a story to tell itself.
The Chick Stories timeline followed a trajectory similar to my first two books. Having kept diaries and journals since I was 10 years old, the bones of a memoir based on adventures lived, laughter shared, and lessons learned with my girlfriends go back that far. I started organizing them into vignettes in 2015 and published the collection in 2025.
I wrote Ghost Girl as a pantser, i.e., someone who writes by the seat of her pants. With Hounded, I became more of a plotter—a writer who plots every turning point and scene. By the time I got to Chick Stories, I was definitely a hybrid.
Today, I’m more of a plotter. My rationale is that, at 75 years old, I don’t have 25 years to write another book.
For example, one current project evolved from a short story I wrote in 2020. When I unearthed it a few months ago, the 4,000-word tale screamed baby boomer rom-com. So, I created a plotline, character sheets, and production calendar. It should come in around 80,000 words when I publish it at the end of 2026. The same Thomas Jefferson writers group (though mostly different members than in 2017) is critiquing it. Members tell me they were engaged right from the start.
Another current project began with a brainstorm with Bill Green, who illustrated Ghost Girl and Hounded. Its production calendar is about 12 months.
My timelines for writing a book are getting tighter and more realistic because I know how to start and where I’m going.
I thank Karen Hammond every time I start any story. I share her lesson with any writer who is willing to listen—especially newbies. Before I consider plot, or characters, or even well-written paragraphs, I put the reader in the scene.
So, how long does it take to write a book?
Pantser or plotter, I now know the clock starts ticking when the reader is engaged.
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