How Do You Know if You’re a Pantser or a Plotter?
By JL COPELAND
Alright?
How do you know if you’re a pantser or a plotter?
The answer is not so straightforward, but we’ll get there, so read on.
Music for this post?
Well, this is one of my dad’s faves. I’m still waiting for those beta readers to get back to me, and the exhilaration of sending it off is starting to tip into dread. I see trouble on the way…
Yep, in the last post, I described when to use beta readers. I had just fired off the manuscript of my novel, Nicksgate, to some and was awaiting feedback.
You’d think I would have taken a week or two off, put my feet up with a cold beer, relaaaaxed.
But no. Within thirty minutes of mailing the manuscript to my beta readers, I began to think about the next novel.
This is where it gets tricky. I have half a dozen decent ideas for novels (or series). Not sure which one to run with at the mo.
What I do know is that this time it’s not going to take so bloody long.
I’ve been working on and off on Nicksgate for well over five years.
I essentially learned to write through this novel.
It was completely pantsed.
For the uninitiated, writers are usually divided into two groups: pantsers and plotters.
What is a plotter vs. a pantser?
Pantsers: these people just write forward with little or no plan and make it up as they go along (before making major edits later). They enjoy the act of discovery and letting their imaginations and characters take them wherever they like.
Why is it called a pantser?
It comes from the phrase, ‘flying by the seat of your pants,’ i.e. essentially making it up as you go along.
Plotters: those who plan in detail first: chapter summaries, cork boards covered in note cards, full character biographies, mind maps etc. (before making major edits later—yeah, I know, but hopefully a few less than the pantsers).
Why is it called a plotter?
The clues in the name, you’re plotting the novel (or planning it, if you prefer).
How do you know if you’re a pantser or a plotter?
You need to find out for yourself through trial and error.
The first novel I ever wrote (abandoned after two drafts) was also pantsed. I had a rough idea, and I ran with it. I was 36 years old, and it was the first fiction writing I’d done since middle school. It was a mess, but it was my mess. I really enjoyed the process, and one day I’ll return to that novel.
I talked about it in more detail here, and also that you should never let inexperience put you off having a go at a novel, because ideas trump the quality of writing.
For the next novel I began, I thought, ‘Right, the last one failed because there was no plan. This time it’s not going to happen; I’m going to plan it from top to toe.’
So I did.
I liked the idea.
I knew exactly what I was going to write.
I followed the plan.
30,000 words in, I’d had enough.
It was boring, dry. There were no surprises. I wasn’t enjoying it at all; it felt like a grind.
I abandoned it.
I’d discovered I definitely wasn’t a hard-core plotter.
So, with the current novel, I returned to pantsing.
But often, most writers find themselves on a spectrum somewhere between the two.
When I was four drafts into Nicksgate, my writer friend Karmen Spiljak (also a great book coach, by the way) took a look at the manuscript and gave me detailed feedback.
As part of this, she directed me towards Jennie Nash’s Blueprint for a Book, and most importantly, the Inside Outline. You can take a look at that here.
The Blueprint is a dozen or so questions about the story, characters, and your motivation for writing the book (this is CRUCIAL: you have to write about what interests/intrigues you. Some people can write for the market, but not many, and I’m certainly not one of them).
Here is an early attempt I made at it, to give you an idea of what you need to think about.
The great thing about the process she’s come up with is that although it is possible to draw up the blueprint before you start that first draft (and maybe also the inside outline if you’ve got an overview of the whole story already in your head), you can also sit down and write it when you’re several drafts in (as I did). It will help you reassess what your story is really about and if you have a narrative that flows like the Mississippi, rather than simply a series of things happening to your characters, but no plot.
The Blueprint and especially the Inside Outline really helped. I was able to ensure every scene drove into the next, to get my characters’ emotions and the meaning they took from each plot point (which subsequently influenced the decisions they made) onto the page.
I still think I’m a pantser at heart. But for the next novel, there’s going to be—a little—more planning.
I’ll start with a rough version of the blueprint. I’ll try to write the Inside Outline, too. But if that’s a step too far and killing my discovery process, I won’t sweat it and will come back to the Inside Outline after the first draft. But I WILL come back to it, it helped me so much with Nicksgate and I think it’s such an effective way to plot and order a story.
I can’t speak for the plotters out there; those guys each have their own particular method of nurturing the seeds of their imagination into a finished novel, but even if you’re an out and out pantser (as I thought I was), give the Inside Outline a whirl, see what happens.
Having some sort of plan is important in most areas of life.
This—now closed—business in our area could have been better thought out:
And another recent scheme that would have benefited from a little more planning (and also affected me) came to mind:
The Great Swimming Deception
My kids are currently grounded. No friends, no TV, no comic books, no snacks—for six weeks.
Their crime?
They are—were—attending swimming classes three times a week. A bus would pick them up and take them to the swimming pool (about twenty minutes away).
Their improvement had been painfully slow. They were even asked to stay in the beginner’s class for another semester.
A few weeks ago, we discovered why.
My wife asked The Boy (7) why his damp (ish) hair was smelly despite having just returned from a shower at the swimming baths.
He fessed up.
The Girl (11) just loves to play with friends.
So much so that it turned out that for the previous two months, they’d been skiving off from swimming to do just that.
They’d ride the bus around in a circle, then jump off at a youth centre (safely distant from our place).
Then, after playing up a storm, they’d go into a supermarket toilet and wet their hair in a sink to make it look like they’d been dutifully doggy-paddling for the last couple of hours.
Diabolical.
It was all The Girl’s plan, of course, but she knew The Boy was the weak link, so she had to rope him in, too, also bribing him with snacks as a sweetener.
Unfortunately, there were two flaws.
One, The Boy, who is a terrible liar and would have definitely been the ‘Good Luck’ guy in The Great Escape.
And even if he had kept it inside,
Two, if you don’t attend swimming classes—guess what, eventually, when you’re taken on to the pool by mum and dad, surprise surprise, you won’t actually be able to fucking swim.
I don’t know where The Girl gets it from.
Well, no, I do.
I have to admit, as my wife and I were screaming at them, there was a little dude in a corner of my brain who was bursting with pride.
With a little more planning (e.g. they should have attended class every other week), they would have gotten away with it, escaping the notice of their inattentive parental units.
Hopefully, lessons were learned (by both sides).
So, like me, you may think you’re a die-hard pantser. But whatever novel, scheme, system (or war) you assume you’ve got planned to a tee.
Maybe have one more think, hey?
Speak soon,
JL
PS: Whether you’re a pantser or a plotter, momentum is key to writing a novel. Read more in part 4 of my top 5 pieces of advice for writers.
PPS: For more free stories, and the good the bad and the ugly from the life of a writer trying to juggle work, writing, and the raising of two wretched children in the neon hellscape of South Korea, sign up for my free newsletter: