I’m a Plantser
To those of you who just punched your screen in rage, I’m sorry. To the rest of you, let me explain.
A Plotter is a writer who plots everything out, usually by way of outline. A Pantser is a writer who flys by the seat of his or her pants, as it were, and eschews extensive planning. A Plantser is a hybrid of the two.
Many blog posts have been written comparing, contrasting, extolling, and vilifying one or more of these writing methods. This entry will not join that throng.
Please understand that I love a good holy war, if for nothing more than the entertainment value. I was a programmer, for crying out loud, the veritable Council of Clermont of nerdy Crusades. I chuckle when I think about the effort I’ve expended arguing vi-vs-emacs and tabs-vs-spaces, to say nothing of the true fandom oriented rage fests centered on various sci-fi and fantasy properties (a discussion about the viability of the Potter-verse’s magic system, anyone?).
But I don’t have anything new to add to this argument. Instead, I’d like to share how I went from Plotter, to Pantser, to Plantser. My goal is to share my journey and impart a single bit of wisdom, which I will share upfront:
While it is wise to learn from others, never allow anyone else to dictate your writing process.
Plotter
I started my writing career as a plotter. I felt I had to. I read so many accounts of writers hunkering down to outline their novels that I accepted the practice as modus operandi for the authorial world.
It made sense to me. In my life as a software engineer and architect, we planned our work. Completely, if not extensively, meaning from the beginning to the end. We envisioned all the major pieces of a new system. We often thought in terms of abstractions (e.g. service layer, user interface, middleware), but we never left major components out of the reckoning.
Plotting was logical.
So I outlined a novel about Henry and William Givens, a couple of fictional brothers who lived in Idaho Territory just after its creation (c. 1864). I found I could make these characters do whatever I wanted simply by making some notes in the outline. I wrote a first draft based on my outline.
Problems
I gave the first draft to a beta reader, and it all fell apart.
The pacing was all wrong, my reader told me. And the characters were erratic in an unnatural way. I did a deep dive into the manuscript and discovered to my horror my reader was right. I traced the bug to its source: my outline. To be more precise, my practice of outlining. Unfortunately, I followed the lead of every young software developer and declared, “The defect is not in my code!”
I outlined another draft, this time taking more care to improve pacing and create more believable character interactions.
I wrote my second draft and another problem emerged: my outline and my manuscript were at war. I outlined something the characters did or said, but when I wrote the scene it never went to plan. The dialogue I planned in my outline felt stilted when I wrote it, so I took the conversation a different way. The action I outlined wasn’t realistic, so I changed the action while I was writing. I could never keep peace between my outline and my manuscript.
Pantser
The constant fighting dragged me into a malais. I was broken.
Two things shook me loose. First, I read On Writing by Stephen King, in which the author claimed his best writing was not plotted but was instead discovered. The mere notion there was another way gave me permission to think beyond my outlining process.
Second, I decided to take a break from my Givens novel and write something different. I solicited story prompts from my Instagram followers with the promise to write short stories for everyone who submitted.
I chose to become a pantser for those short stories. I tore up my outlines (metaphorically; they’re still safely archived on Google Drive) and dove into the writing with only a high-level idea of what the stories were and where I wanted to take them.
I loved it. I felt free and creative. I experienced the joy I hoped I would when I began my writing career.
(Pantsing a 5,000 word story is much different than pantsing an entire novel. A short story can be housed in a person’s head all at once, whereas a novel cannot. I guessed this would be the case at the time, and have verified it to be true since. Yet I wanted to do an experiment without committing to an entire novel.)
One of the story prompts surprised me. After 4,000 words, I realized I had written one chapter, not a whole story. I loved that first chapter and the pantser process I used to create it so much I decided to see where the story led. In the end, I wrote a novel, nearly 100,000 words, without an outline.
More (Smaller) Problems
I gave the first draft of this new novel to a beta reader, and it all fell apart.
That’s an exaggeration. The characters were much more compelling than the characters of my first novel. The action and plot were more engaging and believable…right up until they weren’t.
My reader pointed out the pacing of the novel was great until the end, when I rushed everything. My reader also pointed out that some of the climactic action that I had pantsed wasn’t terribly believable. I did a deep dive into the manuscript and discovered to my mild bemusement my reader was correct, but unlike before, I could see a solution, or at least a means to reach a solution.
I also discovered a flaw my reader hadn’t seen: I (the author) didn’t know the purpose of my own story. This lack of purpose clouded the way forward from first draft to second draft because said purpose would dictate how the novel would change.
So I sat and thought and paced until I found my purpose.
Full Plantser
The first draft, the one I wrote as a pantser, helped me learn a few significant things about my story. One, I learned about my characters. I learned their mannerisms, their tics, their fears, their dislikes, their foibles, their passions, their motivations. Two, I learned the setting and could place my characters in the setting with ease. Three, I learned plot elements that worked well and plot elements that didn’t. And four, I learned some core themes I didn’t know I cared about in relation to the plot and characters.
Armed with these lessons and my purpose, I plantsed.
I outlined a believable second draft according to my purpose, and in a way that agreed with my characters, setting, plot, and themes. I found this type of outlining to be a joy because I had specifics in mind. I could operate within the constraints of realistic characters and plot.
I wrote a credible and appealing second draft. My manuscript still meandered from my outline, but not in significant ways. I still learned things about my characters, plot, and themes, even in this latter stage, but I was able to make subtle adjustments to the outline to accommodate these discoveries.
I gave the second draft to readers, and things held together.
Sure, the readers found lots of things to comment on, but none of them were plot- or character-destroying. Their comments enhanced my purpose. Subsequent drafts honed that second draft, until it was something I was proud of, and was ready to publish.
Ending Unknown
So I am a Plantser, at least for now.
Adding to the advice I gave earlier I will leave you with a quote by Gene Wolfe (cited by Neil Gaiman in the foreword of his 10th anniversary edition of American Gods):
“You never learn how to write a novel. You only learn to write the novel you’re on.”
This is mostly for my benefit, to help keep my head on straight as I begin another novel.
