A lesson on how to write a novel by spellchecking excruciating detail about the golden age of Unlimited hydroplane racing that's supposed to be about a wife's suicide and suicide prevention

A (pretty-much) weekly newsletter to share my book writing process and adventures while also sharing what I discovered as I researched nurses and medicine in the Civil War.

Two weeks ago, my partner dropped a nearly 300-page book in its first draft (he says it’s a final draft) in front of me and asked me to read it for errors. Not errors of fact, continuity, and that sort of thing, but errors in spelling and punctuation. In other words, he asked me to Spellcheck the book. I reminded him Spellcheck is part of the computer program that he uses. He said, “I know, but Spellcheck doesn’t know the difference between their and they’re.” I said that Spellcheck has come a long way, and even though it’s wrong sometimes, he should try it. Nope! Oh, and he figures I’ll do it at the rate of 50 pages per day.

About 15% of the way into the project, I discovered there are two books, one about the golden age of Unlimited hydroplane racing, and one a scanty memoir of life with the author’s late wife and a learning tool for preventing suicide—which is supposedly the intended point of writing the book.

When I suggested to the author he break the book into two books, he said, “I’ve been working on the book for eight years and I don’t want to write two more books.” I replied that the book about the golden age of Unlimited hydroplane racing was done, and the memoir needed some work, but would only be a week or two to complete. The answer was still no.

When I suggested to my partner that the book should maybe be split in two, he tuned me out and said he worked on it for five years and wanted it done, he was not about to do any more work on it, other than to use my work to correct the text.

The point of the book is supposed to be about suicide prevention. The author wants the book to show how readers can see how he missed the clues of his wife’s suicide and to educate them how they can prevent suicide in the future by learning from his mistakes. He thinks he accomplished this by writing a book that’s 90% excruciating detail about Unlimited hydroplane racing while excluding descriptions of his family life and his interiority. Picky me.

Q: What memoir is all engineering data and no emotion?
A: A boring one.

The book is replete with “my beautiful wife” with “perfect hair and nails” who is “amazing” and “competent” and she “took care of everything on the home front.” The words sounded like mantras after about the 100^thpage. After a while I wanted to scream whenever I saw them.

Another thing. The parts about the wife and family are dropped in without transitions, making the reader jump out of the racing data for a brief thing about wifey and kiddies and then jump back in to engineering detail.

For example, I read about fuel line adjustments and then about “on the home front, [she] did an ‘amazing’ job,” then I got jerked back into detail about how the pitch of sponsons keeps a hydroplane stable on the water.

For another example, the author writes in one paragraph about preparations for a major race. The next paragraph is about the whole family was at a race and they had fun. Then the next paragraph is a story about a race somewhere like in Madison, Indiana and he writes in detail about the problems of the boat, the team, their ranking in national points, and so on. After reading the paragraph about having fun, I was thinking, “HOW did they have fun? What did they DO as a family that was fun? Show, don’t tell.” Also, he missed a good opportunity to make me care about the wife and kids and what happened to them in the end. Make me cry!

I think the book is fine for the author, a famous Unlimited driver, a manager of several teams, etc. And it’s fine for my partner—a former hydroplane driver/owner and fan who followed the Unlimited races and published articles and photos about the races in national magazines. (I’m hearing, “Ah, a photojournalist, not a novelist or memoirist.” Although, to his credit, he was REALLY good at it.)

The book suits them and satisfies their needs, and the needs of Unlimited fans. They can walk down memory lane and relive the golden age of Unlimited hydroplane racing. However, the book is supposed to be about the wife’s suicide and how to look for clues and prevent a future suicide.

About 50% through the book, I got a shock. Up to that point, the author stated that he supervised his wife’s meds, that she attempted suicide several times, that she was hospitalized for many months after her fourth suicide attempt, and that he bought a gun. He goes on to describe the gun in detail and writes he bought it because he wanted one and he wanted his wife to protect herself at their “dream” place—40 acres off-grid in the woods somewhere a few miles from the Canadian border.

Did I read that right? Buy a gun for a chronic suicide patient who had been hospitalized for depression and suicide attempts, the last time for months because the hospital wouldn’t release her? Perhaps I was wrong: there’s the biggest clue in the book for suicide prevention—don’t put a gun near someone who will suicide with it. Maybe the book fulfilled its mission afterall.

There was a nice place in the story, about 70% into the book, where he talks about their private life. They sold their “dream” house and moved into a condo. They hiked, went to movies and ate popcorn, their kids and grandkids came over and swam in the pool, they walked around a lake, that sort of thing. Now we’re into memoir. But, there’s still no interiority, he just writes, “We had fun.”

I won’t say the book is not worth buying. It is definitely worth it . . . for Unlimited hydroplane fans—and there are lots of those around the world. There’s an abundance of good information in the book about how Unlimited hydroplanes were constructed, how they were made to go really fast and win races. Anyone who has been involved in the sport would love to read the inside scoop about owners, drivers, team managers, what parts were used, what tests were done, and all that.

Do Unlimited fans want to read about the wife and her suicide? Because Unlimited fans comprise mostly men, I’d say, “Not in the same book.”

This project hasn’t been all bad. I’m learning things: stay on point, what to include/exclude to move the intended story along, interiority, structure, and all the things that, hopefully, will make my book worth reading.

To paraphrase what someone once said, “A little knowledge [about learning to write a novel, e.g.] goes a long way to really mess up your mind.” And there’s my inner conflict: learning about how to write my novel and going to critique circles has corrupted and broken my mind . . . but in a fantastic, wonderful way. I so, so want to break this book in two. Funny, dat.

Thanks for reading!