Every time I finish a first draft of a novel1, I’m overjoyed—until I check the word count, and realise I’m below my word count goal… by some 20,000 words.

In an ideal world, the length of a book might be a more flexible thing; but when it comes to traditional publishing, things are stricter. For an adult fantasy novel, 90-100k is the sweet spot (slightly less for YA, more like 60-70k for Middle Grade). Every first draft I’ve written has come out at around 70,000 words.

You see the problem.

This sort of writing is called underwriting, and from a purely anecdotal perspective, it seems to be less common than its counterpart, overwriting. I’d find it so much easier to cut words from a too-long manuscript2—but adding them? What more is there to say?

I tend to write fast-paced, action-driven novels in the first place. When I start writing, I have a structure. I know what my major plot points will be. I know what my end point is—so why waste time getting there? I hurtle along, a train running off its tracks. I write technically well-structured novels. But by traditional publishing standards, and by my own admission, they’re not complete.

Because even an action-driven novel is so much more than just the plot. I’ve talked before about how good characters are essential to my enjoyment of a novel. And you show character in plot, of course, but what about the quiet moments in between? The space for reflection, or conversations that show how a relationship is developing. These scenes may not necessarily move the plot along—but what would a book be without them?

The other element that I often neglect in my first drafts is worldbuilding. When I begin working on a concept, I put a lot of effort into thinking about my world, its geography, its politics. I’ll make maps, and timelines. But often very little of this detail actually makes it into my first draft! When you’re so focussed on the story you’re telling, it can be hard to remember these extra aspects, and yet, they are essential to immerse the reader in the world you’ve created, to make the story feel grounded and real, even as the world itself is magical.

To help overcome my underwriting, I’ve been reading books that are on the longer side and trying to work out how those authors do it. George RR Martin’s approach is to have long paragraphs of world history, detailed descriptions of every new setting, internal monologues and reflections at every opportunity. Robin Hobb takes these internal monologues to an extreme, allowing her POV character to just think for pages and pages.

Caitlin Stirling’s The Luminous Dead, a psychological sci-fi horror about cave exploration, is probably the longest-feeling book I’ve read this year. When I say there are pages dedicated to the main character adjusting her caving suit settings, or considering turning back, or fastening her bolts into cave walls, then considering turning back again, I’m not exaggerating. The detail is exquisite, if at times verging on claustrophobic. I don’t think I have it in me to write such a slow-paced book (or even to read that many more, sorry!), but as an example of a writer who has a totally different style to my own, it was—for want of a better word—illuminating.

The thing that links all of these novels to me is the way their books don’t feel like they’re in a hurry. There’s no need to skip over things, no harm in reflecting. I worry that my Gen-Z screen/TikTok/meme-addiction has ruined my ability to take it slow—and one of the joys of the form of the novel is that there is no rush. It takes a long time to read a novel of any length. Why not linger in the story a little longer? Why not pull up a chair and really get comfortable?

All that is to say, when I’m on my solo writing retreat in France3 next week, my aim is to slow down—and maybe finally finish a draft at an acceptable word count!