I’m always amused on creative writing groups when someone asks a question about using a particular technique or approach to their story because someone ALWAYS comes out and says “when it works, it…” or “when it’s done well…”  

Well, yes, when it works skydiving is a wonderful experience where you free fall toward the ground until you successfully deploy your parachute and drift earthward. When it doesn’t work, you go splat.

Let’s take a moment to look at writing group advice as if we were seeking skydiving advice. First, we’re going to have to assume that for skydiving advice, we’re going to join a large group of people who want to skydive but have yet to successfully jump out of a plane. And we’re going to ask those people to help us decide how to jump out of a plane.  Now, if we asked about, oh, say jumping without a parachute and someone said “well, when it works…” we’d probably want to know - how often does it work? How do I make sure it works? Would I be better off trying something else?

Alas, in writing groups, we think we can jump from “when it works” to “well, of course I do it so that it works” as long as we close our eyes to “why it fails.” 

SPLAT!

Hi, okay. This is the first of a series of posts that will appear sporadically and when I feel like writing them. This is my How to Write a Novel series.

We’ll begin, logically, at planning vs. pantsing.

Actually, I’ll take a step back for a moment, and explain why I’m not talking how to come up with a novel plot idea.

The short answer: I have no idea how the hell it’s done.

The longer, more explained answer: I cannot teach you how to come up with ideas. Not only do I not know how to do it, but it’s something that just happens, like a mental hiccup, or shivering. You can’t exactly help it. There is a change in the external or internal environment of You And Your Life, and something in your belly stirs.

You go, “Oh. Oh.”

That’s idea-making. That’s how you get a plot.

I can’t coach that kind of thing.

Now, back to the topic at hand: Plotting vs. Pantsing

Let’s say you’ve got your basic idea. You’ve got your laptop, or your notebook, or your typewriter, if that’s how you roll, and you want to get going. You write “Chapter One.” And pause. And start playing around with font styles and sizes for your title. You can do this for hours.

Don’t.

There are two really basic methods everyone splits the writing process into: Plotting and Pantsing. I don’t believe they can really be separated, but more on that later.

Plotting

“Plotting” is where you outline before you write. This is pretty straightforward, and varies according to individual. You can be the type of writer, like my friend Heidi and her 10,000 word novel outline, who outlines extensively, where you know every ebb and nook and cranny in that damned plot. You can be the kind of writer who knows you’re starting at A and getting to B, eventually, but you’re still figuring out how, but the hell with it, write A and figure it out as you go. There’s the in-between, too, the people who know their beginning, their middle, and their end, and that’s all they need.

Pantsing

This is the anti-outline. There are some pretty hardcore writers over here, crazy folks, people I look at in awe. These are the people who grab Character A and Character B, throw them into a scene together, lock the door, and scramble around the front to watch and write what happens. And their story metastasizes from that. They write by the seat of their pants (hence, pantsing) and they adore it.

Those are the two most basic camps. People ally themselves accordingly.

I’m telling you this dichotomy is silly.

Let’s pull a Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance thing here, and I’ll show you why they cannot be separated.

These absolutes cannot exist. No matter how you choose to plan to outline your book, it will never be purely pantsing or purely plotting. It’s impossible. They cannot exist without one another.

You can have an incredibly detailed outline, but there is still going to be room for making things up as you go. Maybe an extraordinarily small amount, but a scene here or there will change, or a character will act differently than you expected, and that’s okay. The outline is breathing. The story is growing. That is totally okay.

You can have no idea what your novel is about, just that you have these two really dynamic characters you enjoy writing about, but it is not purely a pantser. Even if you don’t write it down, your subconscious does plot and plan and shape out the story. The severity of that varies person to person and story to story.

The big point of this post is: Figure out what planning method works best for you and run with it.

Find the balance between plotting and pantsing that floats your boat and use it. This is not something that’s easy to figure out for most people. It’s taken me five novels to get it right, but I’ve got it. I bet some people can get it on their first go around (we don’t like those people here).

Spend enough time planning out your novel, either mentally or physically jotting down notes, that you feel like you’re somewhat ready to go. Find your happy medium.

For me, I get a concept. I spend a long time thinking on it and thinking on it until I’ve turned the concept into an actual plot, a real, malleable thing with a main character and a conflict. Then, once I’ve got that, I tear into the first draft. I plot as I go along, dreaming up scene after scene until I’ve got a backlog of them. I write them down, make up the ones that follow, and then write those down, too, until I get to the end.

So, that’s how that works.

Procrastination: It’s not a four-letter word, but it should be.

And if there’s anything that’s easier to procrastinate on than doing homework or going to the gym, it’s writing.

No matter who you are, how dedicated you are, or how much you love it.

I consider myself a pretty good fighter against procrastination — 9 out of 10 days, I’m writing 2-4 hours a day — but none of us are invincible, and I find myself slipping a lot, too.

Yesterday, in particular.

The day before, I had written for 4 hours, and finished 6 pages of an outline for my next script. (Which, in outline world, is a pretty good chunk — most of my outlines are 20 pages on the low end, 30 on the high end.)

So I was ridin’ high. All geared up for another day of hard work, after finishing my morning cup of tea.

I set my fingers to the keyboard and wrote for an hour. Got a couple pages done. I was satisfied so far.

I was so satisfied with myself, actually, that I decided I deserved a break. So I turned off Word, got on facebook, and played a round of the most ridiculous yet addictive game ever — which I will fail to mention here, so you don’t fall for it too, and so I can retain at least some of my dignity.

After half an hour, I was hungry. So I made lunch and watched some 30 Rock — always a great combo.

After lunch, I was ready to work again.

So I sat down, put my fingers to the keyboard again, and then…froze.

I just didn’t FEEL like writing. The magic was gone. I wasn’t too amped about writing the next part of my outline.

And so I said to myself that I had done enough. Especially after I had gotten so much done the day before.

The rest of the day was mostly spent playing the aforementioned ridiculous game, and then feeling terrible about myself afterward, because here I am, supposedly a “writer,” yet I had only written for an hour that day.

Do you think that mechanical engineers, or teachers, or lawyers can work just an hour a day, and say that they are a member of that profession?

I agree with you. That’s what I thought.

So what brought me to this? Why had I procrastinated? Am I just a lazy bones?

I prefer to think no, so I think I have a different answer.

The procrastination came with one thought in particular — I’m pretty satisfied.

And it was all downhill from there.

Once I was satisfied, I thought I didn’t have to work anymore. After all, I had done my share — why do more?

And that’s the thing with writing, or any other type of art — you can never, ever be satisfied. Because once you are, you’ll stop working, and you’ll stop fighting, and you’ll stop seeing yourself as that special little nobody that’s gonna be a star someday.

This doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate yourself or your work. Sure, go out for a fancy dinner after you finish your script, your book, your articles — that’s good. That’s reinforcement. You deserve it.

But satisfaction? Never. You must always push to be better than you were before. It’s the only way you can improve. The only way people will appreciate you for your originality.

The only way you won’t waste time on ridiculous facebook games.

So stop procrastinating by reading this tumblr post, and WRITE!