I am not an author. This is a pretty big disclaimer as far as advice-giving goes. I have never had a book published. I have started three novels and finished one, a 120,000-word behemoth begun when I was 14 and featuring a plot that was more unimaginatively dystopian than I would like to admit. It has not moved beyond my computer screen, and looking back now I can see that's a good thing. But, as every workshop teacher I've ever had will tell you, just because you haven't been published doesn't mean you're not a writer.

Here are some of the things I've learned on my journey toward becoming a better novelist.

It's kind of a slog

Whenever I start something I'm excited about, I throw myself into it full force. I'll stay up late to finish a scene or do extra research for a story instead of finishing my homework. But that fades fast, and unless I establish a regimen for myself my motivation quickly trickles away. (It doesn't help that I'm now a college student and have approximately zero free time.) When I'm not completely busy, I try to write 1,000 words or so a day (about four pages). And I bribe myself with snacks. Finding ways to keep your passion for your project alive is essential - like any relationship, your success with your project depends on how much you're willing to put in. And how many fun snacks you eat.

You're allowed to skip around

During this time in my life I wrote, for the most part, in sequential order- prologue, then chapter one, and so on. Which is not something I do anymore, the reason being that it gets boring fast. Really boring. Once you hit the point where your manuscript is longer than a long story, it becomes tough to find specific lines, and it's easy to find yourself saying things that are totally contradictory. The middle fifth or so of mine was pretty boring, largely because I wanted to skip the exposition and get to the exciting parts. If someone had told me that it was acceptable to write the ending before the middle, I would have been way more excited about all the different parts of it - and I probably would have avoided a lot of purple prose along the way.

You will hate some (or all) of your characters

I started out with a spunky, sarcastic lead with short hair and an irrational fear of snow. I ended with that same character. The difference was that, by the final lines, I couldn't stand her. The wry comment she'd made in chapter four seemed stupid in chapter nine. Her on-again off-again with her long-time mentor went from dark and suspenseful to whiny and cliche. Part of this was, I'm sure, the way I developed in the two years I spent writing my book. I grew my hair out, got new friends, started reading John Steinbeck for fun. My early characters were a manifestation of me, and it was only natural that I would outgrow them.

But at the same time, it's easy to get irrationally attached

I spent a lot of time writing my villain - a shadowy dude with connections to an all-powerful government organization. Needless to say, he didn't make it all the way to the end. And that killed me. I had spent months with him, building up his character flaws and writing what I thought at the time were hilariously dry jokes for him to say. And then he was just.. gone. It didn't make sense, but in a lot of ways I had liked him better than my main character- and certainly better than many of the forgettable "good guys". As they say, love hurts.

You'll be happy - and sad - when it's over

When I wrote the last sentence on the last page, I mostly felt relieved. But when I looked at it again the next day, I realized that I was done- beyond editing and adding things in, I didn't have anything new to do. I'd been working on this for two years- that was longer than I'd played golf, longer than I'd kept a goldfish alive, longer than I'd done much of anything. It was tough. But you're never really done with a book, or any piece of writing- every time I look at mine again, I see something that I could (and probably should) have done differently. I've heard published authors say the same.

I learned recently that in antiquity, the Romans believed that bear cubs were born as shapeless balls of fur, and they had to be licked into shape by their parents in order to become what they were supposed to be. As strange a metaphor as it is, that's how I feel about my novel: it's a little misshapen, and it's kind of silly, but it's something that I made, and it wouldn't exist if I hadn't written it. And that, if nothing else, makes me glad I did.