Nickolas Cook
asked
Robert Dunbar:
Dear Rob, I may already know the answer to this question, but which of your novels took the longest to write, and why? And a sort of addendum to the query: Which was the most emotionally difficult to write and why?
Robert Dunbar
That’s a complicated question. (Or possibly I’m just mentally incapable of simple answers.) If we look at the length of time between inception and completion, well, both MARTYRS & MONSTERS and VORTEX are composed of pieces that appeared in various publications over a period of years.
But, of course, the project I’m currently working on always seems like it’s taking the biggest conceivable bite out of my life. I suspect that’s a universal experience among writers. At least, I hope it is.
(Please, gods, don’t let it just be me.)
In terms of the largest investment in time and energy – I suspect you do know the answer. With THE PINES, my first book, I was determined to become an expert on the area, and I spent an amazing amount of time exploring all the little towns in the pine barrens: camping, hiking, canoeing. How else could I become familiar with the woods? Then you have to factor in all the locals I interviewed… and the fact that I even hung out with an ambulance crew (who turned out to be among the coolest people on the planet). Plus consider all the months spent on research, not just into the history and ecology of the region but about the indigenous folklore as well.
Let’s just say it was intense. And to go through all of that only to have the book eviscerated by the publisher? I don’t wish that on any writer. My first book was very nearly my last. How many years passed before a restored version finally appeared? I went through hell with that novel and still think of it as The Book That Ate My Life.
Yet it was not the most “emotionally difficult.”
WILLY just about killed me.
It would have been a noble death. Not only was the subject traumatic, but it was written in a highly subjective style that necessitated my experiencing every emotion. (I’ve always thought of this process as method writing. You know, like method acting?) Everything had to be completely authentic, completely honest. And there are even more grueling aspects. It’s narrated by a damaged child, so the complex story could only be recounted from his point of view and filtered through his limited understanding – a real juggling act for a writer. His life is painful and sad, and the experiences he relates are terrifying, each one forcing him to change, to evolve, and this gradual process had to be reflected by continual developments both in his language and his perspective.
When I finished that book, I think I spent a month flat on my back in a darkened room. Possibly I groaned now and then. Ah, but then the reviews started to appear…
The number of book critics who recognized the joy and courage at the heart of that novel restored my faith in a sophisticated readership for literary horror. It was worth every drop of blood.
But, of course, the project I’m currently working on always seems like it’s taking the biggest conceivable bite out of my life. I suspect that’s a universal experience among writers. At least, I hope it is.
(Please, gods, don’t let it just be me.)
In terms of the largest investment in time and energy – I suspect you do know the answer. With THE PINES, my first book, I was determined to become an expert on the area, and I spent an amazing amount of time exploring all the little towns in the pine barrens: camping, hiking, canoeing. How else could I become familiar with the woods? Then you have to factor in all the locals I interviewed… and the fact that I even hung out with an ambulance crew (who turned out to be among the coolest people on the planet). Plus consider all the months spent on research, not just into the history and ecology of the region but about the indigenous folklore as well.
Let’s just say it was intense. And to go through all of that only to have the book eviscerated by the publisher? I don’t wish that on any writer. My first book was very nearly my last. How many years passed before a restored version finally appeared? I went through hell with that novel and still think of it as The Book That Ate My Life.
Yet it was not the most “emotionally difficult.”
WILLY just about killed me.
It would have been a noble death. Not only was the subject traumatic, but it was written in a highly subjective style that necessitated my experiencing every emotion. (I’ve always thought of this process as method writing. You know, like method acting?) Everything had to be completely authentic, completely honest. And there are even more grueling aspects. It’s narrated by a damaged child, so the complex story could only be recounted from his point of view and filtered through his limited understanding – a real juggling act for a writer. His life is painful and sad, and the experiences he relates are terrifying, each one forcing him to change, to evolve, and this gradual process had to be reflected by continual developments both in his language and his perspective.
When I finished that book, I think I spent a month flat on my back in a darkened room. Possibly I groaned now and then. Ah, but then the reviews started to appear…
The number of book critics who recognized the joy and courage at the heart of that novel restored my faith in a sophisticated readership for literary horror. It was worth every drop of blood.
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