Lessons from Writing Non-Fiction

And why I learned to love Excel.

By almost every conceivable metric, as I have found with subsequent, ill-fated book proposals, my first experience with publishing was not, let’s say, typical. 

With an idea for a book generously planted by my then-editor in the late summer of 2019, I wrote a speculative email to a publisher well-known in Westminster circles for political memoirs and the like, many of whose offerings I had read and enjoyed. I attached work samples, a bio and other requirements as set out in the publisher’s submission guidelines. Not long after, I received an invite for a meeting.

I had pitched a biography of the House of Commons Speaker John Bercow. Though yet to set a departure date, it was pretty clear that Bercow’s controversy-laden decade in the chair was nearing its end. For a project like this to succeed, time was of the essence. 

We stress-tested the idea during a half-hour meeting, during which I tried to stay focused on the matter at hand and not the beguiling view of the Houses of Parliament from the publisher’s tenth-floor office on the south side of the surging River Thames. 

It seemed to be going quite well, though I wasn’t certain. Then there was a pause.

“When can you submit your first draft?” 

I gulped. Cold sweat seeped out my pours. 

I had pitched the idea only a week or two earlier. Now, it was actually happening.

DOWN TO BUSINESS

For me, the hardest part about writing a non-fiction book has nothing to do with writing. The challenge lies in the logistics.

I have never been one for colour-coded spreadsheets, meticulously planned calendars and other hallmarks of the anal organised individual. But from the moment I was commissioned to write a book, with a deadline for the first draft of just a few months, I became, without giving it too much thought, a new person.

The same has happened — if you’ll allow me this unforgivable remark — with my latest book (urgh, I know, what an arse. For context, this will be my second published effort. There’s an unpublished novel knocking around, where it will likely remain, and a separate, yet-to-be-commissioned, 10,000-word non-fiction proposal. As I say, getting published is much harder than my first experience might lead you to believe).

Due in September and published by the same kind souls behind my biography, the book will look at political whips: those who work away in the background to ensure the government gets its legislation through parliament. How they go about this work is the subject of great intrigue, mythology and even cultural works; I assume at least some of you have watched Netflix’s House of Cards, whose central character, a chief whip, plots, maims and connives their way to the White House (or No. 10 Downing Street, as in the original book of the same name and British TV adaptation in the 90s).

To greater and lesser extents, every single current or former living Member of Parliament has dealt with whips (plenty, of course, have also served in the whips’ office). And so, I took the foolish decision that they, as a result, would be viable interview targets. 

As such, I’ve had to draw up a long, multifaceted and increasingly complex Excel spreadsheet, each entry highlighted with a colour depending on whether they’ve rejected, have yet to respond to, or shown interest in my advances and, indeed, spoken to me for the book (red for no, yellow for agreed to speak and green for complete). 

Keeping on top of these interview bids is no easy task; however, it is essential to ensure everything ticks over as you balance the multiple needs and competing requirements of non-fiction writing. 

All the while, you need to do your research. That entails trawling through newspaper archives and books by leading, middling and more obscure politicians, following leads from interviewees, tapping up individuals who know far more about this world than you do, being open-minded and thinking creatively about the different avenues you could pursue to tell your story. 

The writing itself is comparatively more straightforward — as long as you have paved the way.

This is, again, why I’m trying to do a frankly ridiculous number of interviews. With each one, my knowledge and depth of resources I can choose from for each relevant chapter — mapped out in my head — grows and grows stronger. There is, naturally, a saturation point — where more information becomes too much and somehow detrimental or repetitive — though that is fairly easy to discern. Because if you’re at that stage, you won’t bother trying to organise more interviews or trawl through more books in the first place. 

I suggest rather flippantly that the writing stage is easier — it isn’t (I guess it’s like saying running a marathon is more straightforward than the training, which is kind of a good comparison. If you’ve done the training — the hard yards — you give yourself the best opportunity to do what’s required on the day. Running the marathon is still a huge challenge, the zenith, the hardest of all the many runs so far. But without the prep — for me at least — it would remain insurmountable. There are some annoying bastards who can just rock up with little to no training and still get a good time, but honestly, who needs them). 

I have, as of now, 72 hours worth of interviews. Three whole days would pass if I ran each interview back-to-back at normal speed. These need transcribing, annotating, dividing and pasting into the relevant Google Doc for each chapter.

Four months into the process, I have typed not one word in anger for the book itself. Yet again, I have a target word count of 80,000. But I’m not panicking — I have the material. Writing is much harder when you don’t have everything you need. If you’re stretching out a quote for all it’s worth just to meet some arbitrary word count you’ve given yourself for each chapter, you know you have more reporting to do.

When everything is aligned and in place, there’s no need to turn two hundred words into a thousand. Each quote, person, anecdote, incident or controversial moment is dealt with in a manner commensurate with its importance. Only when you know you’ve done the chapter justice —  and honestly, you just know rather than anything more than that — is it worth looking at and checking word counts.

The most daunting point, of course, is when you’re on zero. The blank page. Eighty-thousand can feel like a world away, an impregnable summit. On that, you just need to get started, grind out those first words or that first page, and accept that you’re a machine on some days, and on others, you get stuck. Roll with the punches.

BE RUTHLESS

My biography came in at around 102,000 words. There were many points early on where meeting the 80,000 goal seemed impossible, implausible even. In the end, I struggled manfully to cut it down, and only with the approval of my publishers did we keep it in six figures. That’s because I had done a tremendous amount of intensive reporting and research, and we felt it proportionate.

The danger then, of course, is everything becomes valuable to you. Parting ways becomes harder. This is where you need neutral eyes on your manuscript to tell you in no uncertain terms what needs chopping, what works, and what doesn’t. Stomaching a few blows to the ego at this stage is far more palatable than after it’s published. Believe me.

Having time away from your work — a gift I didn’t have, given the global pandemic whirring away in the background and Bercow’s decision to resign soon after I was commissioned — is also important. It’s amazing what you spot with a bit of distance.

The further up the food chain you go, the more control and time you have to carry out these projects. In November, I interviewed a well-known, prolific British writer, who told me they have worked through fourteen edits of their latest novel. I was amused to read in a book recently signed and given to me by an interviewee that he had multiple researchers, nearly three years and a typist to help him put his book together.

Those kinds of terms can come, but when you’re starting out, you’ll have to do most of the heavy lifting yourself, all amid tight, rigid deadlines and tight, rigid advances.

For those of you considering having a crack at a non-fiction book or any type of long-form writing, my advice to you is this: get organised, dust off your Excel skills and throw yourself into it. There are few things I’ve done more rewarding and enjoyable than writing a book. A good bit of considered planning will help get you there.

I hope you enjoyed last week’s guest article from Geoff. See you next week! x