Creating a Universe at Twice the Speed of God

I’ve written two novels. One took me a month to write. I vowed not to shave until I was finished and then when I was finished I kind of liked the beard and it’s been there ever since. That was one November, just after my fortieth birthday. The novel doesn’t have a title. The lead character worked in the recycling business, so maybe I could’ve called it Trash. But that would’ve been too on the nose. I have a fondness for works of art where the title of the piece serves equally well as a review.

The other novel is titled Seeds of Doubt and it was co-written with my friend Cath. We didn’t complete it in a month though, it was done in 3 days.

Why?

Why not?

It was an entry for the 3 day novel contest. This was a thing back then, a famous endurance event that had started life as a bar room challenge and grown to become an international phenomenon. I could write about it in some detail now, but I can go one better than that and take you back to thirty-seven year old me and just how I felt about the whole thing shortly after it was over.

(This article originally appeared in the fanzine Head and I’m grateful to the editors for allowing me to repost it here.)

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"Who was the twisted S.O.B. who first came up with this idea?" - E. Sparling, Toronto, ON

Everyone dreams of writing a novel. Any number of people will sidle up to you at some point and tell you that they have a great idea for a novel. The one thing these people don't understand is that writing a novel is damn hard work. Well I suppose some people do, those that actually take the trouble to sit down and begin to compose their masterpiece. They soon realise that while the concept of writing a book and having it published is a cool one, they'd rather there was a way that didn't actually involve the tiresome chore of having to write the damn thing.

(This, dear readers, is no longer a problem. Just get AI to write it for you. Never mind the quality, feel the word count…)

I've been writing since as far back as I can remember. I used to fill hundreds of notebooks when I was younger, crammed full of awful SF and fantasy adventures. Then I grew up, flitted through various writers' groups and started to write seriously. I've acquired a healthy catalogue of short stories, the odd one of which has been published. The novel, on the other hand, has by and large eluded me. Mostly, I must confess, through laziness. You see, it's true, writing a novel is hard work.

I did make a start once, but the thing seemed to stretch indefinitely before me. I started to worry that the plot would unravel before the end or that the characters were dull or the theme of the book, topical at the time I started, would be a non-starter by the time I was finished. I looked at all the months I'd spent and how little I'd achieved. I thought about all the other things I could've been writing. Unsurprisingly, my novel fell by the wayside.

"A bizarrely inspiring and frightening journey"- R. Millis, Toronto, ON

The international 3 day novel contest began life 27 years ago, back in 1977. It started out as a bet, a dare and a challenge, dreamed up in a bar somewhere in the heartlands of Canada. Apparently no one actually completed their novel that year, but the germ of an idea had been planted and over subsequent years the contest has gained a reputation as the ultimate writing challenge. Up to four hundred people now enter. Each year the winning entry is rewarded with publication.

The contest was not something I was familiar with, but a close friend of mine living out in Canada stumbled upon the information. She sent me an excited email saying how this was precisely the kind of cool thing she'd love to do, but with a caveat at the end that read simply: "... but I guess I never will."

I think there was something in that coda that bugged me. Sure, we all have dreams in our life and some we fulfil and some we obviously don't. However much you want to explore remote parts of the planet, you need some sort of finance to do it. You may dream of walking on the moon, but odds are that's going to be beyond you. To step out and open the batting for England against the Australians at Lords you need talent. But what does writing a novel in 3 days take? If you want to win then I guess talent might help, but to compete...? Where's the cost? What are the impracticalities? I was on a roll. I had my passionate reply all written out — here was one person's dream that could be fulfilled. Fine. I won that argument. Point proved.

Only how did it then end up that I was going to take part in this contest too?

"...mind boggling, I had to write you a thank you... most incredible high I've had in years" - A. Davis, Burbank, CA

The 3 day novel contest takes place over the Labor Day weekend, the annual end of summer holiday in North America. The rules are relatively simple. You can write your novel wherever you like, from 12 midnight local time at the start of the Saturday to 12 midnight at the end of the following Monday. You can write alone or as a collaboration of no more than two people. It's permitted to plan out and plot your novel in advance as much as you want, but you must not write a single word of prose before the contest begins.

The organisers operate an honour system, whereby trust is shown that the entrants will stick to the 3 day deadline. You do need to get two witnesses to sign your entry form and it's safe to say from visiting the contest website that obvious examples of cheating are easily spotted by the judges.

"I can attest to the fact that Bob Mayberry wrote his short novel in the 3 days permitted by the contest rules. I know, because he wouldn't talk to me."- D.R. Stephenson, Sitka, AK

Once we'd decided to enter the contest, even I had to admit to a certain sense of excitement. Via exchanged emails and lengthy phone calls, first we brainstormed ideas for possible novels and then drew up the detailed scene plan of our chosen plot. Preparation work could safely be enjoyed under blue skies in parks and on beaches as the summer of 2003 progressed towards its end. Everything seemed fine until the actual event hoved into view.

Something I'd singularly failed to do in nearly 18 years of writing was now going to be tackled in 3 days.

"The natural product of three days of caffeine-induced dementia."- J. Francey

September 5th, 2003: Day One

Due to the five hour time difference between the UK and Canada, I'm up first and face the challenge of a blank screen. I immediately enter panic mode. What if I suddenly find I have writers block? What if I'm simply not capable of doing this? What if I just try typing some words? Then again, what if it's all complete garbage? I start mentally calculating how many scenes ahead I should be and what message it will send out to my co-author if she logs on and finds I've only written a couple of paragraphs.

The panic lasts about 30 minutes, before I reluctantly decide I'd better do something. We have an outline. We have a bunch of characters drawn up and stuff for them to do. How hard can it be? Thankfully it turns out to be relatively easy. I stop worrying about whether what I've written is complete crap and start thinking how smug and self-righteous I can feel when I have five scenes complete and emalled off before the sun will have even risen in Canada. This feels good.

To aid me in my work I've selected a few tapes to play as background music. I normally tend to work in silence as music (or more particularly, songs, with lyrics) tends to be a distraction. But a couple of picks, mostly downtempo ambient dance stuff, start to assume a fascinating mantra-like quality and as the hours roll on I find myself flipping them over again and again as time starts to take on a strange elastic quality.

I must admit by the evening of the first day I'm starting to feel blasé. I'm one scene short of finishing my portion of the first four chapters, well up to schedule and I'm now printing out the scenes Cath has written and putting together a rough draft of the opening chapter. At which point my creative energy levels suddenly nose dive. By the time I slope off to bed (bed? I bet the hardcore contestants write all through the night, with specially sourced stimulants keeping them going in a 72 hour amphetamine fuelled orgy. Still, I'm a wuss and I need my sleep), I have two chapters collated and am only one scene short of my planned schedule.

"I wish I had something witty and urbane to say at this point... but I'm past that."-H. Clitheroe, Calgary AB

September 6, 2003: Day Two

New day, new panic. My co-author is some way behind me, which in one sense is not so bad as I've been slated to write most of the last 2 chapters, but it means I'm constantly guessing at the state of mind of our lead character. It might seem logical to be writing whole chapters separately, but we've gone for covering different strands of the plot within each chapter, trying to write to our respective strengths. I figure all it will require is a little buffing up at the end to make things. read smoothly.

I reel off a few new scenes. Ha, this is a piece of cake. Outside it's turning out to be another stunning late summer's day. I decide a bit of fresh air and physical activity might stand me in good stead. I take fifteen minutes to go and buy some fresh bread, enjoy the sun and generally look smugly upon all the other people aimlessly wandering around. If only you knew what I was doing.

The smugness doesn't last. I reach a difficult scene. It comes out really well in the end, but it seems to have taken me an age to write. Due to the time difference, I still don't have all the scenes from chapter 3. Sunday is drawing on and there's still half the book to write, two thirds to collate and try and edit. The fact that I've been up ridiculously early the last two mornings is also beginning to kick in.

I call up Cath and we chat on the phone for about half an hour. Will we ever want to write another word after these three days are up? Why did we ever think we could do this in the first place? Isn't it just hell? Are you enjoying yourself? Yes, we eventually agree, it's amazing.

"... at times, it was fun."- B. Hoag, Brooklyn, NY

September 7, 2003: Day Three

Due to lack of sleep, the universe appears to have warped. In America it may be a public holiday, hence the date of the contest, but over here most normal people will be setting off for work. I try to shut the real world out, despite the tempting sunshine being once again present. I ended up day two with a dread feeling that the whole project was beyond us, that next time we should be more diligent and search out a four day novel contest.

Then I set to the task. It seems I'm a morning person. I can't believe how productive I'm being. As soon as it reaches daytime over in Canada I start receiving pitiful emails along the lines of "how can you be on to chapter seven already?" Maybe I've entered a higher plane or signed some unknown pact that I'll pay for later.

I'm flying. I even take time to have a spot of lunch. Straight back on the treadmill afterwards. Hmm, if I have signed some Faustian pact, it turns out payment is due sooner than I thought. I'm fumbling away at the keys, while my mantra music still loops on behind me. To combat the heat I'm semi-naked, sat in a room that's heaped with a thousand bits of printed paper strewn in random patterns that even I'm struggling to sort through. At this exact point I hear a knock at my door. Or I think I do, but I figure I'll just ignore it. After all, I've already unplugged the phone and left the answer machine to handle any calls.

Ignoring the knock turns out to be a bad idea. Next thing I know, someone's turning a key in my lock. I could be hallucinating, but I decide not to take the chance and rush downstairs. It turns out to be my landlord. What perfect timing for an unexpected visit. I realise that I'm only half dressed, no doubt bug-eyed from the lack of sleep and staring at a screen for the last three days, I've also not shaved and have my mantra music playing in the background.

Luckily it turns out the landlord was not planning a sudden snap inspection. I also manage to save myself from having to explain the concept and reasons behind my 3 day writing marathon. On the downside I decide I may soon need to find new accommodation. Well I suppose I couldn't expect to go the whole 72 hours without some form of distraction. Back to work. More scenes written. I'm beginning to think we can do this. On the other hand, the original plan of a half day at the end to edit and polish the whole thing has long since dwindled to the status of a fond memory.

I take a quick break to rest my aching fingers and replenish myself with a banana sandwich. I then make the mistake of checking my answer machine. There's a new message and it takes me 3 or 4 listens to decipher it. It seems. some elderly women has mistakenly dialled my number under the belief that I'm some sort of medical specialist. The message relates in a rather breathless panic how she can't make an important appointment and that she hopes someone will be able to come and visit her instead.

I'm tempted to ignore it - I have a book to write and I don't even know who this women is or how to get in touch with her. Then I remember that if I plug my phone back in and dial 1471 I should be able to get her number. Damn. At this point my conscience kicks in and five minutes later I find myself caught in a Kafka-esque conversation with someone who apparently has severe hearing difficulties. Once I finally get through to her the fact that she has dialled a wrong number and that if she needs help then she ought to try dialling the right number, she suddenly gets very huffy and starts telling me off for wasting her time. Gee, thanks.

Satisfied that I've done my good deed for the year, I unplug the phone again and labour on.

"It has been both wonderful and awful."- J. Domenichine, San Jose, CA

With the end in sight there's no stopping. I have to write all of the final chapter, but since it's the one I've been most looking forward to, it turns out to be relatively painless. The remaining holes in earlier parts of the book, edit work I still need to do, and the ever ticking clock seem less benign. I'm afraid the mantra music tapes I'm playing will snap or melt down. My body aches and I'm beyond even understanding the concept of sleep. If I type another word it feels like my fingers will explode

Apart from that, everything is wonderful.

I reach midnight, leaving the final corrections and collation in the hands of my co-author. My final thought as I slip into unconsciousness is to wonder if the last chapter - which seemed brilliant, some of my best writing ever - will tum out to be simply overblown and pretentious.

I wake up the next day, still immersed in the same fog. It takes a few more days for reality and normalcy to seep in. In hindsight I'm amazed at what we've achieved, proud of the standard of what we've produced and still realistic enough to know that there are limits to how good a book produced in 72 hours can turn out. And I still love that last chapter. I have no illusions of winning the contest, but I'm glad to have taken part.

"It was an exhausting and exhilarating, horrible and wonderful, enlightening and baffling experience."- R. Richards, Minneapolis, MN

Seeds of Doubt ran to 52,271 words and was completed within the 3 day deadline. The planned edit and re-write has so far taken slightly longer!