Some thoughts and thanks.
or: James Worth in retrograde.
“The idea has been taking shape in my mind over the past twelve hours. I’ve been itching to get it all down in a notebook, start writing and see what is revealed to me. It’s still a very vague idea. Marshall is a guy prepared for the end of the world, though the book is not about the end of the world. There will be little signs throughout the book that the end is coming, but it’s ultimately about Marshall learning to care for himself the way he cares about others.”
A few months ago, when I’d decided I was going to share Mars in Retrograde via this Substack, I didn’t know what to call it. Literally in that I still hadn’t settled on the novel’s title, but I was also uneasy about the language I was allowed to use around it. Serial, I settled on. It’s a serial novel. Which is true, this is the primary format through which people have read it, this label made sense, but I felt in my heart that I was using that label to limit myself and the scope of this body of work that meant so much to me.
After I announced MIR and its imminence, I received feedback from a few subscribers that they were excited but they would much prefer if they could read the whole thing at once rather than waiting for new chapters each week. And the whole thing was ready so I formatted it as a little e-book, purchased an ISBN, and upgraded my personal website to be able to sell stuff. It wasn’t until the day of the first chapter and the e-book dropping that I really understood what I’d done: I self-published a novel. Which is another somehow reductive way of saying: I published a novel.
I still feel almost that I’m not allowed to claim that. Because it is self-edited, because I didn’t follow the traditional publishing routes, because there is no physical run of the book, I can come up with a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t be allowed to call myself a published author. But I can also think of one very good reason why I can call myself a published author: because I published a book.
That book is Mars in Retrograde and it wrapped up in serial form last week. This means there are some kind folks who bought it back in October and finished it in a week, and others who have been following it for months, and some who are just discovering my publication and getting started on the chapters now. So, no spoilers here, just some words about how I’m feeling, what the content of MIR means to me now.
I started writing this novel in July 2023 with no real end goal in mind. Like most of my ideas, it started as a little kernel and slowly revealed itself to me under the pressure of being written. At the time of its conception, my then partner had just suffered a very intense mental health crisis and was struggling to bounce back from that difficult period, and I was trying my hardest to take care of them while knowing at the same time that our relationship was over and it was up to one of us to call it. The challenge that each of the characters in this novel face is rooted in their inability to give themselves agency. They withhold truths, they tell themselves lies, they do what others tell them to do, they stagger from addiction to addiction in the hopes that by never being in control they never have to account for their own actions.
I don’t think I intended it, but this was a clear reflection of my circumstances at the time. Me and my partner both unable to do the difficult thing, to reclaim a sense of agency over ourselves under this massive weight which felt, to me at least, like the end of the world. I’m a sensitive boy. My feelings can loom like apocalypse. The week after I finished the first draft of this novel I ended the relationship. I’m being a little bit generous but I think Marshall gave me the strength to do that.
Of course, the themes of doom and mistrust in the world’s benevolence have taken a different shape since I started sharing this story. The backdrop of the story, for me, had to be America unfortunately, steeped in the particular dread that comes with being a creature living in this country and paying attention to its ugly movement. But otherwise, I wanted the time to be sort of contextless. There are moments that call to mind the numbing anxiety of having seen too much online, and other moments that almost exist near the birth of America, when the very first colonizers spilled blood because this is how they’d been taught the world works. If this novel seems to exist at many points in time at once, that is on purpose. The evil that America is capable of and the power it stakes against the world as a whole continues to change, but it’s also always the same. Fear begets fear begets fear begets fear. So, though the political landscape of this country has shifted between then and now, the context is the same and the message is the same: we live on bloody, raped and pillaged land in the midst of endless horror and evil, and still we have to make these choices to care about ourselves and the people we surround ourselves with. Most importantly, we must forgive ourselves for the violence we’ve been taught and find better ways forward. For our own selves if nothing else.
I hardly remember this now, but a month into the writing, I hit a bit of a wall, wasn’t sure where the story was going, what the point of it was. This is both the danger and the point of starting with only a kernel and letting the story reveal itself to you as it comes. Staying in conversation with the story is essential, is the only way to keep in touch with both the personal and literary purpose of writing it. The above notes show me working through some of the anxiety of that first big roadblock that comes when writing any longform story. The initial idea seems to fizzle out and come to mean nothing, like maybe I’ve wrung out the whole thing and there’s no point in continuing. That moment can feel so hopeless, but it makes me smile to look back on this now knowing that the other end, where the novel is finished, imperfect, but the story told, is an inevitability even if it has to feel impossible for a while.
“This story matters to me now. I care for these characters like children or plants.”
What kept me coming back to the story even when it felt directionless and silly were the characters. In writing these people, Marshall, Beaver, Jamie and Lana, into existence, I knew I was feeling something special. These characters were not necessarily real; the way that they speak and act and think borders on absurd and rarely reflects the real behavior of real people. But their flaws, the patchwork love they knit through ugly forms of care, the empathy I felt for them despite the horrible things they were capable of, this was real to me. They were challenging to write, challenging to love, and yet they kept calling me back to the page to tear open their hearts and show all their ragged little parts. They needed their stories to be told and they came from my head so I had to be the one to do it. Being kinder to them taught me to be kinder to myself. They made me a better storyteller. They made me a more deeply empathetic person. I hope they can do the same for you.
The first draft fell out of my noggin in a little over two months, spanning two and a half notebooks. It took another two or three weeks to type the thing up (not too bad considering the atrocity that is my handwriting). A couple rounds of edits and then the fruitless furious querying. Rejection like a relentless hammer on my every exposed nail. Left to incubate in the catacombs of google docs for a half year and then cracked it open again to offer up as a part of this weird little experiment called James Worth, Author On The Internet. Y’all know the rest. It hasn’t yet cracked my skull that it’s done. It’s out and permanent and mine but also yours and it’ll be the same story until the end of time but no one person will read it quite the same way. I’m proud of it. I think there is value in this story and I only feel a little bit like a fraud for thinking that, which is progress.
Marshall would say, “fuck yeah stories have value. Tell them.” He’d like this story.
My apocalyptic feelings aside, this has been a thoroughly interesting experiment in what my writing can accomplish here on Substack. The announcement of the novel is one of my most liked posts from the whole year and brought me a whole slew of new subscribers. I worried that my audience would shrink in the process of sharing, the onslaught of emails, but my readership has only grown since the first chapter and I’m still meeting new people through their engagement with this story. I thought that allowing myself to share this book was the biggest gift I could possibly have obtained, but it’s proven to be the connection, the kindness of all you out there, and the renewal in my faith that longform art still has a place in this world. Humbled is a small word for this big feeling.
In the e-book version, which many more people purchased than I had imagined ever would, I included a brief and honestly rushed acknowledgments section, but I’d like to thank some people again for those who are just here reading the ‘stack.
, , , , , , , as big supporters of this venture either being the very first readers and praise-posters or following the serial and providing the sorts of keen and thoughtful analyses that have helped me understand that this work makes me an actual novelist, full stop. , , , and the entire fiction community here on Substack who have continuously affirmed my presence here, offered kindness I didn’t know I was worthy of, or stood tall as leaders and inspirations. The Substack world is big and there are people I’ve missed, but if you’re reading this chances are I’m grateful for you.Kelly, I genuinely wouldn’t be able to do any of this (gestures vaguely at life) without you, your love, your support, this lifelong friendship we somehow stumbled into like bumbling buffoons at 17. Behind every strong, gorgeous woman is a wretched evil gay guy, and I’m proud to be yours.
Meg, Kat, Matt, my actual best friends until the day I am all the way dead. Sarah, Amanda, Tara, a place I can return to no matter how long we spend apart from one another.
Anyone who bought this book with real money or tossed me a paid subscription. That’s crazy that you would do that. Thank you.
And finally, anyone who read any of this story, finished or not. I only ever dreamed that anyone might pretend to care about the stories I have to tell, these worlds that I have to get out my head so I don’t explode like a dead planet. I hope you enjoyed it and didn’t even have to pretend. I hope you’re walking away from it with something you didn’t have before. This has been the coolest year of my life. I cannot wait to do this again.
jw
P.S. the cover is available as an art print (last image is an example). Let me know if you want one. Love you.
P.P.S. You can send me a little tip here if you liked the novel. No pressure.
love both you and your literature, mr. jamesworth!
Ahhhh congratulations James!!! This novel was one of my favorite reads of 2024 and it’s cool to read about its fruition. I’m so happy to hear that its way of making it into the world has changed your writing life (and therefore your life as a whole) for the better. Your ability to believe in your own growth is heartening and inspiring.