In the previous post, we looked at how slim the chances that anyone is a true pantser. Sitting down and starting to write without any thought in mind about even genre seems unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely. However, even that slim chance recedes as the story takes shape. Let’s go back to my previous example – the Catamo story.
So, we started off as a pure pantsing story. We picked a name as if from out of a hat – John Doe – and had him awaken. We then looked at how he awoke – at a sound. Now, switch from a writer’s perspective to that of a reader. As soon as we read the word “sound”, our mind would automatically start cataloguing the possibilities: alarm clock, creak of a floorboard, door slamming, car in the distance, train whistle, gunshot. Now, not necessarily all of those, but at least a couple and likely some different ones. Then, as John went to the window, we’d start wondering what he’d see. And, again, we’d bring up a few possibilities: the street below, the building opposite, a cat, a bird, an open field, and so on. A thundering herd of mice probably never came up, so the writer surprised us with that. But if it had been a bird in a tree, we might congratulate ourselves with having solved that little piece of the puzzle.
When John reaches for the phone to dial 911, we’ve probably already thought about how he would sound to the operator before we read the confirmation from the author. Then, we’ll agree that John will have to go in personally. And before he grabs his keys, or heads outside, our minds will jump ahead to the likely reception that John will get from the mayor and city council when he puts forward the ridiculous notion that there’s a thundering herd of mice on its way, threatening the city. And, while still reading about his trip into town, while noting the population on the sign, we’re probably already wondering if John will be able to convince the town leaders that this danger even exists.
We’ve all read enough stories to know that it’s not going to be as simple as John going to town, passing along his information and then everyone jumps up to get weapons of various sorts to defend the city. Thirty thousand humans with guns, gasoline, mouse traps, and other weapons will surely stop a few thousand mice – especially since they’ll have several hours to prepare. No, that won’t cross our minds, because if the writer is any good at all, it won’t be that easy.
And some of us may even be wondering if John will say, “I told you so,” afterwards. Will he become a hero to the town? Will he revel in his vindication? Will he rub the noses of those who doubted him in the truth, or will he feel satisfied that everyone knows he’s not a kook? Okay, now we’re really jumping – all the way to the end of this 1000 page tome (or is it 2000 pages?).
So, why am I bringing this up? We’re not looking at readers, we’re looking at writers, right?
Well, writers do the exact same thing – whether pantsers or plotters. Most writers know where they want to go with a story before they sit down to either write it or outline it (which is pretty much the same thing, only one is in more detail than the other).
As the writer either writes or outlines, different possibilities occur to him or her. Let’s say our writer – you or me or some third party – wants to write a romance novel. Well, the Romance trope says that it will end with a HEA (Happily Ever After) or a HFN (Happily For Now). So, even before we start we know that the guy is going to get the gal, or the gal is going to get the gal, or the guy is going to get the guy – depending on just what sort of Romance we’re writing. So, there’s the end-point of the novel; it’s already slotted in.
Now, we need a place to start. And, as we can’t have the two together throughout the piece, we’ll generally start with them apart – not a couple – though we could start with a break-up and have them get back together to have that HEA. In any event, we now have two points on our plotline. The starting point and the ending point. And this before pen hits paper (or fingers hit keyboard – either writing or outlining). And we know that – typically – there will be some conflict between the two, some obstacle for them to overcome in order to get together. The appearance of that will likely come early on. But they’ll seem to overcome it and start trusting each other, working together on something – if not the major difference in their goals – until the betrayal. Or, more probably, the appearances of a betrayal which will make it look like they will never get together. But a final reaching out will overcome even that, and there we are: HEA/HFN.
This is all plotting or outlining, and both the outliner and the pantser are doing it before they’ve even started. The plotter/outliner, will then start filling in points on the outline, detailing the rising action, the obstacles, the overcoming of the obstacles, the dark hour just before the dawn, and all that good stuff – but not necessarily in order.
Meanwhile the pantser will take the idea that started the novel, pick a beginning and start writing towards that HEA, usually writing along the timeline, not jumping about (except for the possible flashback). And, as we begin writing, our minds will jump ahead, see how what we’ve already got down will effect what comes later. We’ll continually see lines branching off from our current end-point, then pick one and discard the rest. Then do the same again, and again.
However, with the ultimate moment of joyful acceptance of each character for the other in mind, we’ll narrow the possibilities down until there’s only one way left to go. We then write the climax and cheer as the two kiss and pledge their everlasting love for each other. A short denouement, and we write, THE END. Done. All through that entire thing, as pantsers, we’ve been plotting ahead, outlining in our mind. Not perhaps as far ahead as the plotter/outliner, and perhaps not in as much detail, but we’ve been doing it nonetheless.
We are all plotters.
The difference is the degree to which we plot, the intricacy of the outline that we create, and whether it is written down or exists only in our minds. Because “plotters” outline the entire story before starting to type it out, they limit their freedom of movement.
At this point, our plotter friends jump up and say that this isn’t true. They can always change their outlines if something comes up which they believe will make the story better.
I both agree and disagree. Although on the face of it, this is true, and many plotters do find themselves doing this, I believe that having the outline already written narrows their vision – at least somewhat. Because they KNOW what is coming next, a burst of creative thinking outside those lines will more likely be dismissed by them than by a pantser, who will delight in the possibilities and feel more free to explore them.
Our plotter friends – going back to The Catamo – would likely never have Fluffy and her band of heroes holding that line, putting themselves between the city and the rampaging mice. In fact, it wouldn’t be mice, it would be something totally different. The story would be about a man who struggles to make others aware of a danger that only he can see, to fight through the disbelief, to finally save those whom another might leave to their fate. We’ve all seen it before in disaster flicks and The Catamo is a disaster story.
They, too, follow their tropes. The possibility of a danger exists. The lone man/woman/group warn that the town/city/country/world should prepare for it. They are ignored. The possibility turns into a probability and then into an inevitability. The town/city/country/world turns to our protagonist and his or her allies. They go out and save the day after encountering obstacles. The plotter knows all this and begins filling in his outline, probably picking the danger first. "What if X happens?" The plotter has already decided that s/he's going to write a disaster-thriller book. Now, fill in the blanks. In the plotter's story, John may not even reside with a cat and cats may play no part in the book at all.
The squeak of the chair as our plotters sat down to the outline might bring up the idea of a mouse, but then it would get discarded because they've already picked John as their protagonist and X as their disaster. We pantsers, however, will feel no pressure to keep John as the protagonist. We’ll delight in making Fluffy our hero and relegating John to sidekick status. He may still get his vindication at the end of the book, be accounted the hero by the citizens of the city, and get the gal. However, we – and our readers – will know that this is rightfully Fluffy’s spot. But she’ll simply enjoy the can of tuna that John thankfully sets out for her, and accept the petting that John’s new mate gives her. The city may never know of the heroics of that outnumbered but brave band of alley cats who held the line until human backup became available and turned the tide.
The plotter, hemmed in by his outline, won't take off on a tangent unless it speaks very, very loudly to him/her, at which point it's back to outlining before proceeding. Usually the best that can be hoped for is a note for another book along the same lines. This book's story has already been completed and taking that mild tangent will force all sorts of complications with the already completed outline. It just isn't worth it.
But as for plotters vs pantser, we are all plotters – because that's the way the human mind works.
Stay tuned for "Plotters Wars IV: A Pantser in the Wild" where we will look at a real-life pantser and realize that the stereotype that the plotters would have all prospective writers believe, and the deadly fault of pantsing (going off on wild tangents) is nothing more than a caricature.
Stay well, keep writing, and keep on pantsing!
D.A. Boulter.
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