By Ellen Baker

Three years ago, I listened in shock to my new agent telling me that Random House had not only just bought my first novel, Keeping the House, they’d also bought my second novel. I was thrilled. I was confused. But I’ve only written the one. They do that? “It can be about whatever you want it to be,” my agent told me. “They just really love your writing.”

She might as well have been my fairy godmother.

I cut back to eight hours a week at my bookstore job. I’d spent three years writing and rewriting Keeping the House, but now, I’d be working nearly full-time on my new novel, which seemed to suggest I’d be able to get it done in—a year? Maybe two? Besides, I’d already done some research and character development, plus written a detailed outline and three chapters.

When I sent the material to my agent, though, she didn’t think it showed promise. So I scrapped it and spent the next few months working on a different idea, ultimately writing a 23-page proposal for a novel that, much like Keeping the House, would span 50 years and two world wars. My agent loved it; my editor did not.

I was more panicked than disappointed. Was I ever going to come up with something Random House would like? Was the fact that I’d managed to write Keeping the House just a fluke?

To my relief, my editor loved my next idea, which concerned a group of women working as welders at a World War II shipyard and the farmhouse that would become the center of a feud among them.

Next came the false starts—about six of them. There were the1969 scenes featuring an inquisitive photographer stranded by car trouble near the farmhouse; the first-person chapters about a girl growing up there in the 1930s; the chapters about characters who just weren’t yet who they were meant to be. Six months into the process, I went to my semiannual retreat with my writing buddy, Lara Zielin, armed with a chart of my many characters’ stories and relationships. “I just can’t figure out how to fit them all together, or even where to start,” I said, hoping she could help me clarify. She looked with wide eyes at the multicolored chart, the notes scribbled at every angle, and said, “I have no idea.”

And then Keeping the House was released; I didn’t write again until November. My agent and editor told me not to worry so much about my deadline, but it was only seven months away! I determined to write at least 1,000 words a day; finally, my novel started to grow. Lara read an unfinished draft in early April 2008 and another, much longer one in late May. In early June, I sent a barely finished draft to my agent, who said it read like a “sprawling, early draft” (but it’s my 10th sprawling, early draft, I wanted to protest) and that she would ask my editor for more time. Her detailed comments helped me see the many (horrifying) ways in which the novel lacked focus; that summer, I cut about 150 pages and one point-of-view character, restructured the novel, and changed my “present-day” (now set in 2000, rather than 1969) plot line. My agent liked the new version much better—and had several suggestions for how to improve it further. Finally, in October 2008, the manuscript—now titled The Work of a Woman—finally went to my editor.

A month later, my editor called to say she loved the book, but, in general, it still needed to be better focused. Our hour-long conversation gave me new direction and renewed energy. By April 2009, I’d cut and consolidated enough scenes that 54 chapters had become 32. I’d rewritten most of the text again and changed major details of character and plot. This time, my agent was pleased with the book, asking me only to replace one of the scenes I’d cut. Then it went back to my editor.

The waiting was more difficult, this time, but I was rewarded with a fabulous set of detailed comments—and the words “next time might be the final draft.” Now, I’m rewriting again, working on solidifying characters’ motivations, their idiosyncrasies, their unique voices—and consequently rewriting much of the text again. I’m thrilled to watch the novel finally taking what seems to be its real shape. Occasionally, I catch myself thinking, Why couldn’t I have seen this from the beginning? But I also realize that, as much as I might outline or plan, I can only find my way to my characters and story through writing and rewriting, and through feedback from people who can see the story’s shape and potential so much more clearly than I can.

So, looking forward to my third book, I’m practicing deep breathing and deep gratefulness for the many smart people who support me—not only my agent and editor and writing buddy, but also family and friends who read drafts at a moment’s notice and provided helpful and encouraging comments (and reassured me I wasn’t going crazy). Next time might be a totally different process, but I think it might be a little easier, too: I’ll know that, even if I’m not always sure where to start or how to proceed, I have the perseverance and support to get to the end—no matter how many times that might be necessary.