The Writer’s Corner: The Craft of Writing Political Thrillers

Over the years, I’ve had people ask me all sorts of questions about the day-to-day writing process. One query that I’ve heard over and over is whether there is a certain part of the writing process that is more difficult than the others. Is getting the intro just perfect the toughest because I have such a short window to hook the reader in? Is it the middle when I’m striving to keep everyone’s interest as I develop the plot? Is it the ending, trying to ensure that it all makes sense, that it doesn’t come together too obviously, and that there are no loose threads left dangling?

Which is the most difficult part? Yes.

I can’t possibly differentiate between how hard one section is over the others. Writing novels is the craziest, most painstaking activity I’ve ever engaged in, in my entire life. I would much rather fly into a war zone and interview a terrorist than sit down in a room by myself with a cursor that is flashing at me and saying, “I double-dare you, Rosenberg, to fill up this page with anything that is worthwhile.”

I don’t think I have met a single author who loves the writing process more than they love being able to say, “I have written something.” Why? Because writing’s hard! And it’s not that other people don’t work harder. I’ve seen the show Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe. There are plenty of folks out there who sweat and bleed and stink getting the real jobs done that keep America going.

Still, there is something strangely arduous about writing a novel. In fact, I’ve always been surprised over the last twenty years how many people secretly desire to write a book. Trust me, it’s not the fun process you think it is. I would bet that the number of people who have started a novel is far greater than those who have finished one. If you are one of those with a half-completed manuscript in your desk drawer or in a file on your computer, you know what I’m talking about. I mean, kudos to you for at least getting it going. But a novel is a very difficult project to bring to completion.

Add to that the stress of doing this for a living, and I sometimes wonder why I don’t do something else. Maybe it’s because I can’t do anything else! The stress element derives from the fact that you are only as good as your current novel. Nobody cares that your last book was good. If they just plunked down $28 and they end up with a stinker, they’ll remember it, especially when the time comes next year for your newest release.

It is especially difficult to keep the audience in this current media-swamped culture. A couple of years ago, my son read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. When he finished this 800-page classic, he recommended it to me. So I took up the challenge. Part of the reason I went through it was because I was wondering how you hold a reader’s attention when the main character is the worst person on the planet. And then—spoiler alert—she kills herself! But somehow Tolstoy pulled it off.

But he wrote in a different time, and he was a national treasure, so many of the Russian people likely thought, If it’s Tolstoy, once I’ve finished farming and trying to feed my family each day, I’ll read a few pages by candlelight late at night, and in six months’ time I’ll finish the book. Today, if you fail to grab a reader in the first chapter or even the first page, they’ll drop the book and put on Netflix. Trust me, as an author, that stays in your head.

Writing is grueling. But then comes the day when the box containing your new release arrives. You carefully cut it open and lift out the first copy, and suddenly it’s all worth it. You praise God that he has allowed you to write stories for a living. Life is wonderful. At least until you walk into your office and turn on your computer. Because waiting there will be that blinking cursor mocking you and telling you that the book you just put out is likely your last and your writing days are over.

—Joel C. Rosenberg