By Ande Pliego

My debut was the first book I sold, but the fifth one I’d written. At that point, I knew how to draft a book start to finish. I knew how to edit. I had my revision method down, knew my pitfalls and what to keep an eye out for, knew how to use beta readers in the most efficient way for me. I assumed, then, because I’d rodeo’d this rodeo before multiple times, that I’d have writing Thriller 2—Book 6—in the bag. I mean, how different could writing under contract be?

Oh, the sweet summer child fool I was. In a bizarre Christmas miracle, You Are Fatally Invited took two months to draft, and nine months total to polish and sell. The Library After Dark took two years and five complete rewrites to land on a decent first draft. 

There are so many reasons for this—for one, I was launching my first book while I was writing. As exciting as it is, it’s also terrifying. Strangers were reading my words, reviews were rolling in, and overall, I was a spaghetti of crossed fingers that everyone would adore the book. But of course, at the back of my mind was that Wormtongue-whisper that I don’t actually know what I’m doing, that getting published was a fluke, and everyone’s going to see how much of an imposter I am.

Bottom line: imposter syndrome can strangle your ability to shut off your internal self-doubt and get words on a page. Add in the perceived pressure that Book Two needs to be as good or better than Book 1, and it’s a delightful cauldron of panic.

But. The show can go on, and that’s one of the most valuable things I learned.

Thriller 2 taught me how to work under pressure, and when there are other voices in the room. When you’ve sold a book that’s not written yet, it’s not just you and your paper anymore—you have a team of excited people with fantastic ideas, and that support is amazing! But so many ideas from the start can be overwhelming, and I learned I need to trust my own creativity when it’s telling me it needs to breathe. More often than not, I need to give myself time alone in a room with an idea first and open the door once I know what it’s meant to be.

But I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention another big factor, on top of the above: The Library After Dark sparked to life during some of my darkest years, when my personal life was a slowly sinking Titanic and I was desperate for a lifeboat. For me, writing is usually an antidote to depression, but for the first time it was a staring contest between my soul and my paper, and I’ve never so badly wanted to blink—quit—than with this book.

But recognizing that right there is exactly what made this book turn the corner into something I am fiercely proud of. I realized that the key to my creativity is to pour as much of myself into the story as I dare. I have to write about something I’m facing in my own life, a theme or question or topic I’m mulling over, because if it matters to me, chances are it’ll matter to someone else, too. If the words aren’t coming, I haven’t gone deep enough. 

To put it simply, I have to write with the ink in my veins; it’s the only way I know how. 

As I turn my attention to Thriller 3, I have a quiet confidence that wasn’t there before. I’ve learned more from my second novel than any other, and yes—I am here to stay. I am so proud of this book, and of Past-Ande for turning a difficult season into a story that’s dark, yes, but filled with hope and forgiveness. And beneath the bizarre book history bits, the glint of a knife and the haunting rooms where silence is thick as smoke, I hope you find something in it that’s a comfort to you, as it became to me.