If you're part of the online writing community, you've probably seen the glowing praise for The Novelry—author Louise Dean’s writing program for aspiring novelists, launched in 2017. And if you're anything like me, you're curious.

Here's My Story

In early 2022, still smarting from the underwhelming sales of a self-published debut novel (Who knew you had to promote a book for people to read it? Or that it should, say, have a coherent plot?), and reeling from a cancer diagnosis, I wanted two things: to escape into a world where the dragons were metaphorical and to write a book that would actually sell.

My plan—foolproof, I thought—was to lift the basic structure of a story I admired (The Scarlet Pimpernel, in this case), and rework it into a fantasy novel. Swap in a few witches for French aristocrats, and Bob’s your uncle.

Reader, Bob is not my uncle.

First to go were the witches, and it only got harder from there.

By late 2023, I hauled myself and my friend Cindy off to a writing retreat in Wales, dragging behind me 140,000 words of a story that wasn’t anywhere near finished. The plot had knotted itself into a rat's nest of tangled threads, the witches had scampered, and poor Cindy—who thought this was a “vacation”—spent the weeks inventing new ways to avoid the swamp demon wearing my face, who snarled over its laptop every time she entered our shared cottage.

Far from the help of my literary village.

My brilliant critique group—memoirists and literary fiction writers—couldn’t help me this time. I was lost in the wilds of fantasy world-building, far from the quiet lanes of our usual literary village. I kept getting tangled in genre-specific brambles: If someone consumes another person’s Dream Mist, what happens next? What if the guardian-child of the dream realm dies? If Za'ala can see the future, why doesn’t she just escape?

In the middle of this mess, I was following fantasy author Tasha Suri on Instagram after reading The Jasmine Throne (read it, you won’t be sorry), and she mentioned The Novelry. I clicked the link and could hardly believe the promise: a full curriculum tailored to your genre, a community of writers, and coaching from bestselling authors across the spectrum.

Come On In, The Water's Fine

I’m cheap, and a dyed-in-the-wool DIYer. So I spent two months circling The Novelry’s website like some kind of moth-eaten vulture before I finally signed up. And wow—the water’s fine! Yes, I can see that mixing moths, carrion birds, and swimming metaphors is a poor idea, but this is a blog post, not War and Peace.

The Ninety Day Novel

First up was The Ninety Day Novel, a series of daily lessons and encouragement, following founder Louise Dean as she writes a novel in real time. Writing a novel is lonely work, and half the time you feel borderline delusional for even trying. But these lessons—full of humor, wisdom, insight, and the reassuring sense that someone else is slogging through the same mud—kept me going. I started writing every morning at 5 a.m. Even when I didn’t feel like slapping another damn word on the page, the daily lessons nudged me gently into the flow. It was procrastination that felt (and actually was) productive.

Classes

Fantasy Cartography, Anyone?

As part of the Ninety Day Novel, I was given weekly options for live Zoom workshops, classes (Fantasy Cartography? Yes, please!), and social opportunities. These are run by best selling authors and industry professionals, and offer a chance to engage with people who are deep in the trenches of current publishing. Missed sessions are banked in a library so full I've only begun to scratch the surface.

Community

How often do you meet someone who’s writing a novel? Unless you live in New York or London, the answer is probably “about as often as you see a a toad knitting socks.” Not only is the novelist population a thin, often-introverted sliver of humanity, but the whole process is so antisocial you'd have better luck finding friends in a sensory deprivation tank. At The Novelry's comment forum, writers can post snippets of their writing, wring their hands about sagging middles (in their plot), or spiral over whether first-person present tense is too intimate. Try that on Facebook and you'll get dick pics or ads for Spanx. But here? Here, you’ll find your tribe.

Coaching

Participation in the Ninety Day Novel includes six coaching sessions with successful authors in your genre of choice. This coaching is primarily directed at the structure of your novel, and not the prose itself. I don't want to name names here, in respect of The Novelry's confidentiality agreements, but I will tell you that my coach was kind, enthusiastic, insightful, and had my rat's nest disassembled within thirty minutes of our first session. Also, she was amazing in every way. Following sessions nudged things even more firmly into place and (perhaps most importantly) settled me into the idea that I could do this.

The Big Edit

Next up was The Big Edit—which sounds like a glamorous reality show and, for me, was just as exciting. A professional editor (in your actual genre, no less!) digs deep into your chapter synopsis and proceeds to ask ALL the questions. Then they send you off with homework. In my case? Several major plot organs were removed and reattached, and I spent three months stitching the poor thing back together with fresh prose and incantations. When the manuscript was finally Putting on the Ritz, I submitted the first 30 pages, synopsis, and query letter for another editorial round. What I got back was glorious: kind, incisive, and thorough markups—the editorial equivalent of a deep instructor-assisted yoga stretch with someone whispering “you’re doing great” the whole time. Painful? A little. Necessary? Absolutely.

I made the recommended alterations, extrapolated the critique out to the rest of the novel, and resubmitted my materials.

Next Steps

Now comes the part where I chant my Nam Myoho Renge Kyo's and practice non attachment. (Also where I lock the Scotch in a cabinet.) When The Novelry sees potential in a project (fingers crossed, toes curled, breath held), they send it off to their lineup of literary agency partners—free of charge, though not of nerves. I’ll hear back in the next two weeks, which means I’ll be oscillating between zen meditation and binge-eating stale vinegar chips on the floor of my kitchen.

No matter what happens, I know I’ve written the best novel I’m capable of at this point in my writing life. I can already see the next books queuing up and blowing their horns like the hopeful extras on Thomas the Tank Engine. And I owe a lot of that clarity and confidence to The Novelry.

Bottom line: 10/10 recommend. Why are you still here? Go sign up right now.