A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog about two common approaches to novel writing. Some people are plotters, who create careful outlines or flow charts before jumping into the actual writing phase of getting a book on paper (or in Microsoft Word.) Other folks are pantsers, who “fly by the seat of their pants.” They jump into writing with a general idea of where the story will go, letting the characters develop and the plot specifics unfold along the way. There is no one right way. Both approaches will get a writer where she’s going—and preferences might even shift and morph from one writing project to the next. Maybe even within the same project?
This past weekend, I was scrapbooking with two girlfriends at my family cabin about an hour away from “real life.” It’s been a hobby/creative outlet for all three of us for decades. Kris and Jan had both read my earlier blog on plotting vs pantsing, and without prompting or explanation, Kris said to our small group, “I’m pantsing on this one, ladies.” There was pride in her voice, an awe that said I don’t know how this page is going to come out, and that’s okay.
Jan, who had just finished a two-page spread in her album—after carefully selecting a layout from an idea book—responded with caution edging her words, “Are you sure that’ll work out?”
Our trio burst out laughing. Of course, any method of getting photos preserved on pages is good. They always look great! The only “bad pages” are the ones not finished.
It got me thinking. (Yes, I’m taking you on a journey into the hamster wheel inside my head.) How many other aspects of life can we approach with one of those methods or the other? What does it mean if we employ one over the other? Do we tend to BE one more than the other?
Let’s take cooking, for example. I know people who love selecting a menu based on a photo in a magazine (or on Facebook), and they follow the recipe to a T. Maybe that gives them joy when they’re hosting dinner club, but what about on a regular Thursday night when a trip to the grocery store didn’t happen that week? That same person can likely whip up something from the hidden contents of their pantry. Do they prefer one approach over the other? Maybe, but they can do either. Both dishes taste good. Both outcomes provide nutrition and ward off hunger. Mission accomplished.
How about travel? Two families heading to Disneyland might get there by different means: One gets the GPS ready, Siri standing by. The other heads west and says, “We’ll find the theme park when we get to California.” Both methods will get the family to their destination. Neither is better than the other.
What other experiences can we apply this plotter or pantser approach to? Gardening. Choosing your next novel to read or Netflix series to binge. Sex? (Ok, I’m not going there, but you can imagine it…) Raising children, dressing for a night at the theater, deciding on a degree program at college—or whether or not to go to college. The list goes on.
And just because you like to play it by ear when you’re sitting on a beach in Greece, doesn’t mean you might not also get tickets in advance for a boat excursion in three days. Maybe most of us shift between the two depending on circumstances or deadlines or the companions beside you? Maybe we prefer pantsing when we’re in our thirties, but plotting feels more comfortable in our fifties—or vice versa?!
There are no right or wrong answers. Accomplishing goals and meeting needs is the priority (she says too confidently as she writes this blog at 7:00 a.m., sleep still weighing down her eyelids a bit). In truth, how do I know what life’s priorities are for you, let alone for me? I’m still trying to figure it all out. But I like thinking about this stuff and bringing you along on the journey. Thanks for making the time. Hope you have a great week!
Made with love by structure & heart studios
"Forks & Knives" was born as part of a long journal entry, a cathartic release. In 2003, despite being happily married to my second husband, insomnia visited me regularly. My brain pushed and pulled, working through hurtful and confusing memories that defined the rocky journey of my first marriage and its ultimate demise. The finished document sat inside my computer, unread, for seventeen years.
When I retired in 2021, I revisited the document, hesitantly. “Is this worth reworking into a novel? Would anyone care about this?” I asked my best friend, my husband Stephen, to read it. Bonus for me: He taught American literature for more than twenty-five years (!), so I knew I could trust his opinion. Happily, he confirmed, “Yes, it’s good. You should work on it.” Then he introduced me to Brian Kaufman (www.authorbriankaufman.com) and Penpointers, the Northern Colorado writer’s group that Stephen had belonged to years before I met him. Over the next year and a half, my self-focused monologue transformed into a work of fiction that would appeal to people outside my immediate circle of friends and family. At least that’s my hope.
Whenever I mention what this book is about, I'm invariably met with, "Yeah, my mom was a drinker," or "My son was sober for a while, but . . ." There are millions of stories like mine out there -- people who have loved/lived with alcoholics/addicts and struggled to hold on through the pain. But there are ways we can help and support those we love without losing ourselves. This novel alone can't help those still working through those dark days, but maybe some of the resources here can play a role.
