How to Write a Novel in 10 Steps

Or, My Drive Through Hell (from Lone Pine to Palm Springs)

Warning: objects in distance are not closer than they appear.

Writing a novel is like a very, very long road trip.

Let me explain.

First, you should know: I’m an author. My debut young adult novel, D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T., will be published by Levine Querido in Fall 2025. Set in suburban Ohio, 14-year-old D.J. investigates her cousin’s mysterious death with a coterie of quirky friends, all while preparing for her delayed Bat Mitzvah. My second (!) novel, as yet untitled, follows a determined 14-year-old girl named Julie in Summer 1999 as she journeys with her kooky aunt and a pet bobcat from Reno, NV to San Diego, CA to find her mother.

I just finished a road trip through southern California to chart Julie’s path—asking questions as big as “How might she react to this scenery?” and as basic as “How large are the Sierra Nevada mountains?” (Very. This is an original thought.) This meant operating a 1.5-ton vehicle across more than 700 miles of desert by myself—no small feat. But it was only slightly more taxing than writing a novel. In fact, the steps map onto each other pretty well:

1.        You have a big idea. One minute, your brain is a hamlet, home to a chaotic but ultimately content community of thoughts. Then, senses intrude—a sight, a sound, a scent—and you and your thoughts need to go. It’s not unlike driving into Lone Pine, a pinprick in California, and noticing Mount Whitney, the tallest point in the continental U.S. You have to see more. Except…

2.        Reality derails your imagination. Quickly. You make a good-faith effort to drive up the mountain: You endure gravel roads and winding lanes, make wrong turns and redirect. In the end, though, you get to the foot of a mountain (not even the mountain!) and think: “If I keep going this way, I’m gonna die.” Whoops! Good news, though: You haven’t wasted your time.

3.        All that work gave you new ideas. After all, a mountain’s foothills are extraordinary, too. The bends and bulges below Mount Whitney inspire you to get back on the road.

4.        And you keep going. Writing a novel takes forever: Weeks, months, even years of work, more work, and have you met Work’s best friend, Werk? All the while, though, you’re learning. You’re adapting to a landscape that once seemed alien. You start noticing smaller bits of scenery, like nubs of sagebrush and ravens nibbling on roadkill. Now, this road is guiding you. You can follow it, just like you start to follow your characters.

But then.

Credits to Scott J. Corwin for this photo. Fittingly, he is a lawyer who represents victims of car accidents.

5.        Things get complicated. Just when you’re starting to feel confident, night falls, and you turn… onto the highway system of Greater Los Angeles. Everything is terrible here. The roads spin your head like Beetlejuice, pull your lungs through your throat, and etch fear into the pale pink of your cuticles. There are hundreds of cars and trucks and trailers. There are three lanes, no five, no seven?? There’s the exit—no, there’s the exit—ah, no, false alarm, it’s up a mile…

6.        You panic. You are driving alone, in the dark, on unfamiliar terrain, silent but for the surrounding cars, all of which could kill you in seconds. This is similar to writing a novel, too—to the plot holes you create but can’t push through, the hard feelings you give your characters like Christmas coal. They’re your feelings, aren’t they, and it’s agony to encounter them again. At least as bad as driving in Greater L.A.

7.        So you stop—and breathe. Maybe you even shed a couple tears at a gas station in San Bernardino. Then, you remind yourself of all you’ve invested in your journey. You think about your people and the new ways you’ve found to love them.

8.        And you pick back up where you left off. It’s easier this time, even though the road hasn’t changed. You have—and that makes a bigger difference.

9.        Finally, you reach your destination. It’s an oasis in the desert. (Hello, Palm Springs!) Everything is beautiful. But it’s also… expected. Weren’t you supposed to learn something new here? So you get back in the car.

10.  Then, you find your real ending. Because no road trip, and no novel, match our expectations exactly. Your destination may have been beautiful. But your ending is wondrous.

San Diego. Seriously.

Nothing is more fulfilling and awe-inspiring than building the mountain you couldn’t quite reach. I’m grateful for every second I get to spend with D.J. and Julie. And that’s a good thing—because I’m going to spend a lot of time with them in the months to come.

I hope you will, too. Until my books come out, you can follow my author journey in this newsletter or on my website, Instagram, or Twitter. As for me? I’m going to try to preserve a ray of that San Diego sun. I know I’ll have nasty drives ahead. But this afterglow, and the wisdom it nurtures like a hearth—dare I say it’s worth it.

***

Abby’s Pop Culture Pop-Up:

Bennifer are bound to one another à la Taylor and Burton. They will get back together in 20 years. This is the only narrative I will accept.

***

D.J.’s Digest:

Hey, guys. It’s D.J. Rosenblum. Abby, who might be my mom but also definitely isn’t but still has a lot of authority over my life, asked me to write here. She said she couldn’t think of good sections for her newsletter, so I’m supposed to provide entertainment for you. (Weird.) I don’t have much to say, but tomatoes are still in season, so I figured I’d share my favorite sauce recipe from Marcella Hazan. I actually made this in one of the first chapters of D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T… Take it for a (thoroughly blended) spin, and you’ll see why my family likes it so much!

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Julie’s Jams:

“Losing My Religion” – R.E.M.

Oh life is bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up…

She’s going through it, y’all.

***

This Month’s Favorites:

In case you didn’t know, I have a thing for elephants. To put it lightly.

Coziest Coffee Shop goes to… Palm Springs’ 4 Paws Coffee Co., for rejuvenating me after that awful drive. (They have so. Many. Dogs.)

My Kind of Kidlit goes to… Keeping It Real by Paula Chase. It’s set in DC (or someplace a whole lot like it) with spunky characters, sparky relationships, and language that entranced me.

The Most Excellent Elephants goes to… the eight elephants who live at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. They’re the only (I think) biological elephant herd at a zoo in the U.S., and it shows—in their active, easygoing, and loving mannerisms. Above, I tried to share a video of the elephants playing in the water, but it wouldn’t paste. God’s trials know no bounds.

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Announcements:

The existence of this newsletter is the big one! When I have more announcements, I’ll share them here. In the meantime, I’ll keep updating all the usual places.

I couldn’t find this meme’s source. Someone, please enlighten me, and I’ll credit the genius! In the meantime, long live Brandy.

Tata for now!