In January I wrote a post suggesting that if some Pantsers weren’t successful, that maybe, just maybe, for those specific writers, it might be helpful to ask if Pantsing is a habit, rather than their inherent, unchangeable writing process. And, since that habit wasn’t serving them well, whether they might consider breaking it.
It was a simple question. And it stirred up quite a bit of passion and controversy, which is always a good thing. I love a spirited debate.
But an interesting thing emerged during that debate. It was assumed by many that if Pantsing was off the table, there was only one other alternative: Plotting. Many people therefore assumed that I was advocating Plotting, even though I never once mentioned Plotting or outlining.
A quick recap for those of you who aren’t familiar with these terms:
- Pantsing refers to sitting down and writing by the seat of your pants, letting it all pour out to see where your creativity takes you. The idea is that if you write forward, the story will appear. And besides, the theory goes, the more you know about what you’re writing beforehand, the less you’ll want to write it.
- Plotting refers to sitting down and planning out your plot — that is, the surface events in your story — step-by-step, so you know exactly what’s going to happen from the get go.
So first let me set the record straight: having worked with writers for decades, I’ve seen that Plotting, as the very first step in writing a novel, is one of the most counterproductive things a writer can do. And, let me say even more strongly than I did before: for most people, Pantsing is not nearly as productive as it’s touted to be – and very often is downright damaging.
[pullquote]Both Pantsing and Plotting, by definition, bypass the key element around which a story is built.[/pullquote]This is not because the people in either of these camps weren’t good writers, or didn’t have a splendid story to tell – which is what made it all the more heartbreaking. It simply had to do with the nature of what a story is, and the fact that a lot of the common wisdom about writing is wrong.
However, as I said before, if either Pantsing or Plotting is working well for you – great! I am not for a minute suggesting you stop, or casting any doubt whatsoever on your process. In fact, I’m really looking forward to seeing your novel in the window of my local bookstore.
But for those of you who are not quite so sure about your process, or who are wondering why you’re not achieving the result you know you’re capable of, here’s what I am suggesting:
Both Pantsing and Plotting, by definition, bypass the key element around which a story is built. It’s the element that drives every story forward, which is why both methods often yield manuscripts that are primarily just a bunch of things that happen, rather than an actual story. It’s a big part of why agents reject 99% of submissions, and why most self-published novels sell fewer than 100 copies, and it’s simply this: your protagonist’s inner issue, her inner agenda, and the story-driven evolution of her internal belief system, is where the real story lives.
And lest it sound like I’m saying that Pantsing and Plotting are inherently bad no matter what, I’m not. ‘Cause the good news is that by shifting focus, and drilling down to your protagonist’s inner issue before you begin writing or outlining, you’ll find places where both Pantsing and Plotting come in very handy. Turns out understanding the specific “why” behind your protagonist’s inner issue won’t hamper your creativity at all, but will ground it. And in so doing, will cut down on the time you spend rewriting, give your story more depth, and make you a much more confident writer. Here’s the scoop:
Your Story’s Third Rail
What drives your protagonist forward is her internal agenda: she arrives on page one already wanting something very badly, and with an inner issue – a misbelief – that she has to overcome in order to have a chance of getting it. Overcoming this internal misbelief is what the story is about. The plot is constructed to force her to confront it — which is where the struggle comes in — ultimately causing her to change, internally. Otherwise, that thing she wants? Even if she gets it, it’ll taste like ashes.
Think of your protagonist’s internal struggle as your story’s third rail – the live wire that gives meaning and juice to everything. Which means that everything that happens in the plot must in some way “touch” it – causing the protagonist to grapple with it as she makes sense of what’s happening, and decides what to do as a result.
[pullquote]Readers don’t come to story for what happens on the surface (think: the plot), they come to get insight into what goes on beneath the surface.[/pullquote]Can you see where this is going? If you don’t know what she wants, why she wants it, what her misbelief is, and why she believes it, you’re just writing a bunch of surface things that happen. Readers don’t come to story for what happens on the surface (think: the plot), they come to get insight into what goes on beneath the surface.
In other words, the story isn’t about the plot, nor is it about the surface decisions your protagonist makes; it’s about why she makes those decisions and how she changes as a result. To quote T.S. Eliot: “The end of our exploring will be to arrive at where we started, and to know the place for the first time.” Likewise Proust: “The true voyage of discovery is not in seeking new places, but in having new eyes.”
How the Brain Rolls
This isn’t an arbitrary writing rule, or a “formula” – it’s how the brain rolls. It’s how we’re wired to make sense of, well, everything. Whenever we make a decision – from what kind of marmalade to buy to whether or not to leave our spouse – we do two things: we scan our specific past experiences to decode the present, then we leap to the future, to assess how the consequences of the decision we’re about to make will affect us: Will this new rind-studded, luscious-looking orange marmalade taste as good as it looks, or will those rind-bits stick to my teeth? Will life without my spouse be a major why-did-I-wait-so-long relief, or will it prove that old adage, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?
[pullquote]The story isn’t about the plot, nor is it about the surface decisions your protagonist makes; it’s about why she makes those decisions and how she changes as a result.[/pullquote]Thus when it comes to writing a story, the first order of business is to figure out the very specific events in the past that your protagonist will rely on to decode the present, and then use them as a yardstick to gauge the possible consequences of her actions. This is something she’ll do at every turn — that is, draw conclusions about everything she encounters, and not in general, but in terms of how it affects her, given her specific agenda. In other words: the past is the lens through which your protagonist will see the world and evaluate the meaning of everything that happens to her.
Plotting Gets It Backward
Can you see how Plotting gets it backward? Plotting begins by mapping out the surface events of the story with no regard to the protagonist’s very specific past. Problem is, the events in the plot must be created to force the protagonist to make a specific internal change. And that means that you need to know, specifically, what is going to change inside her before you begin creating a plot, and for Pantsers, before you begin writing. You have to know – from the get go – how your protagonist sees the specific world she’s going to have to confront: What were her past experiences, and what do they tell her things mean? Where is she misreading what’s happening, and, as important, why is she misreading it?
Plotting won’t get you there, because it’s about outside events. Pantsing won’t get you there because you begin writing forward without a clue about your protagonist’s specific past or how he or she’s seeing the world (except, perhaps, in very general terms) before you let ‘er rip on that first page.
So, Where Do You Begin?
First, you need to have a sense of what story you’re telling. What’s your point? What will your protagonist be grappling with? Armed with that fledgling info (and yes it will evolve as you dive into it), your goal is to create the lens through which your protagonist – and your reader – will see the world that your story will then plunk them into. I’ve gone into great detail about how to do exactly that already on Writer Unboxed: Story First, Writing Second.
The good news is that, once you have a clear idea of what you’re looking for in your protagonist’s past, you can do a bit of Pantsing. Look at it this way: Many writers think of Pantsing as Creativity, Unleashed. But here’s the thing: creativity needs context – it needs a leash. Creativity without context is like a two-pound jar of peanut butter without the jar. It gets all over everything, and makes a big fat hard-to-clean-up mess. But if you have a context – if you know what you’re looking for in your creative brainstorming, and why you’re looking for it? Let ‘er rip!
Same is true for Plotters. You’ll no longer be tempted to create a surface plot — that is, a bunch of things that happen – just to see how your still unfleshed-out protagonist will respond when tossed into the maze. Instead you’ll be able to construct a plot that will force her to make the internal change you know she needs to go through. And since you’ve already dug around in her past, you’ll have a lot of specifics that play forward, so you’ll know what needs to happen, and where your protagonist is going to balk, feint to the left, or charge full steam ahead – often in the wrong direction, which makes for a great story.
That’s why writing forward once you know your protagonist’s inner issue will make you a more confident writer, whether you’re a Pantser or a Plotter. After all, if you don’t know the specifics of what your story is about, how your protagonist sees the world, what she wants, what’s holding her back, or, let’s face it, what your point is, it’s so easy to end up writing in circles, hoping all that will somehow appear. That’s no fun, and can make for cranky writers. ‘Cause as Seneca so astutely says, “If a man does not know to what port he is steering, no wind is favorable to him.”
So, before you Pants or Plot, why not spend some time developing your story’s the third rail? Who knows, it might become a habit!
About Lisa Cron
Lisa Cron is the author of Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers From the Very First Sentence and Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste 3 Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). Her video tutorial, Writing Fundamentals: The Craft of Story, can be found at Lynda.com. Her TEDx talk, Wired for Story, opened Furman University’s 2014 TEDx conference, Stories: The Common Thread of Our Humanity. A frequent speaker at writers conferences, schools and universities, Lisa's passion has always been story. She currently works as a story coach helping writers, nonprofits, educators and journalists wrangle the story they're telling onto the page; contact her here.
I think a great way to help all of that plotting (or pantsing), is to create character maps that cover these aspects you’re referring to–backstory, faults, strengths, motivations, and goals. I spend time on these before I plot the course of the story so that I have a very real idea of just how my protagonist will react in specific situations. My protag still surprises me at times, but in general, I have a good grip on his/her character before I begin.
I agree! Well said. And let me take it one step further: I think they need to go way beyond maps, because maps tend offer a general view of the terrain. Rather, they need to be written in scene form — and focus in on the particular things that will matter in the story you’re telling. It’s so easy to lose sight of the fact that: a story is one problem that complicates. Thus, it’s key to focus on the things in your protagonist’s past that will relate to that problem, that story. The reason I’m wary of maps is because they tend to sprawl from birth-to-the-moment-the-story-starts, making them too general, so that it’s hard to figure out what matters and what doesn’t. Too much info can be as paralyzing as having too little. But by tethering your exploration to the story you’re telling — the specific misbelief/desire that the story revolves around — you will know just where to dig, and have a yardstick to determine what’s relevant, and what isn’t.
I agree. That’s exactly what I do. I have a “bible” of sheets for each character detailing exactly what you have listed above. As the story evolves, I go back and make additions.
Hello Lisa,
I invariably find your posts helpful, but this one has me confused. When you say “she arrives on the page already wanting something very badly,” is it necessary for your protagonist to know what that is? Or might her internal issue–“fear, fatal flaw, wound, misbelief,” to quote from your previous post–be so strong that she doesn’t recognize, or is not aware of, of this thing she wants so badly? What if she’s resistant to change, thinking she’s just fine the way she is.
Is it enough that *you as a writer* know what your protagonist should be wanting? Or must your protagonist also already be able to say: I want this thing very badly.
And what types of things are you talking about? Exterior motivations are a lot easier to put into words. I want to find the Holy Grail, or whatever.
Hoping for some enlightenment!
Deb
Great question! And the answer is NO, it’s definitely not necessary that the protagonist knows what she wants, or that she’s aware of her misbelief (actually, in the beginning she doesn’t think it’s a misbelief at all, but “the way things are”). In fact chances are pretty good that the thinks she’s just fine the way she is (or make that, that her belief system is accurate, and thus she’s doing the right thing). It’s the plot’s job to force her to see she’s not.
What I’m saying is that it’s the writer’s job to know these things that the protagonist doesn’t know – because that’s the very specific lens that the protagonist will use to evaluate and react to what happens from page one. And here’s the key thing about it: you really do need to write full, specific, in depth scenes that occurred in the past (i.e. before the story starts), to really grasp what you’re so aptly calling the Holy Grail. That is: what actually happened that caused your protagonist to, among other things, embrace this misbelief; and this desire. Not for surface reasons, but for what it means to her, which is often the opposite of what it looks like on the surface.
The great thing about writing these scenes is that it gives you incredible grist for the mill when you’re writing your novel. You no longer know, in general, what your protagonist believes — you know where it came from, specifically. The story is in the specifics. If you can’t close your eyes and see it, it’s still too general.
Hope that helps — thanks for the really insightful question!
Thank you, Lisa! Your answer definitely does help and may very well be the answer to something I’ve been puzzling over a lot lately.
Thanks so much for your insight, and I look forward to your next post!
Deb
Great article. One could link writing with acting, in that somewhere early in the development of the character, an actor searches for a through line. Based on this abstraction (“My character wants X and the problem is . . . “) the actor can select from the myriad behaviors, gestures, deliveries, stances, and so forth available. Otherwise the actor is just “doing stuff.” And that stuff might be interesting for the moment, but won’t sustain the arc of the drama and ends up just seeming like busyness. Rather like a novel with good scenes or great lines and images, but no staying power, not reason to go from scene 1 to scene 2.
You use the image of third rail. Sometimes I imagine a blue line (I like blue) that runs through the story. Or a tuning fork to which all elements of the story must respond. That has to be intensely real. I’m not sure it has to come out literally before the plotter sketches in the plot. That plot-sketching could actually be a way or revealing the “third rail” to the writer. So as the plot points emerge, you are thinking: what leads from A to B? So the plotting gets you to the rail and then you start the writing. It’s hard, sometimes, to imagine this third rail in the abstract. But, absolutely, it’s got to be fixed in the writer’s mind.
I think I’m a pantser in real life (unfortunately) but to be a pantser as a writer would drive me crazy. There is so much to keep track of in a novel: plot, character, drama, setting, historiocity (I do historical novel), imagery and all that is encompassed by style (pacing, diction, rhythm, etc). My brain won’t handle all at once. Having a through line/blue line/third rail/tuning fork down, means that every single global or local choice is validated or not by its relation to the rail. Anyway, that’s the goal.
Wow, talk about being pitch perfect — spot-on, beautifully said, couldn’t agree more!
This is a great post, Lisa. I especially like the T.S. Elliot quote and your idea of the story’s rail.
These days, I’m discovering the value of connecting to the story via character motives and inner yearnings a lot more with my current story than in past. When I “plot”, instead of writing out plot points, as is often taught, I spend a long time thinking about the story of the characters themselves, particularly how those stories get tangled up when they come together. Oh, how the story changes!
Until the very end, my manuscript looks a bit like an insane chemist’s laboratory, with no hope whatsoever of presenting something as coherent as, say, the periodic table, but all the while I’m eager to experiment with forms of story until I understand just what’s at the core. It’s all about character, and how well, as a writer I can get to know those characters who make things tick. Plot is a by-product, setting augments, safe-and-sound methods for writing a book (that “one and only” holy grail) are nonexistent, or at least, I find, they vary from story to story. There are days when I talk like my characters – sometimes it gets that intense. But, oh, I suppose the hazards of the job could be worse…
Thanks for this post. I am not alone, not the only insane writer on this planet. It is time to move beyond all the labels and the processes. When they are used as a crutch to begin to write a long story, I suppose they have their place. But, overall, they are as limiting as any rules.
Writing fiction is a creative process and the best work must call first on that creative connection – however it acts on a specific writer – the one that compels us to jump out of bed at 3am because the characters have become active and you’ve got to get it down while it’s happening. That’s not “pantsing” it’s Channeling. And I make an argument that Plotting is really just Outlining.
If you can free yourself from the expectation that one, either, or both are necessary “steps” you might experience a freedom that is very enoyable and that brings your characters closer, almost intimately so, like your best friend, or family, like lovers.
Allow time for “the people in your head” to just play through the movie and write it without controlling it. You must always go back to editing and fine tune.
But the initial process should be as blown open as your psyche can stand – open to what’s coming in, what they have to say, Who they are inside, what they must accomplish, be, become and the WHYS and WHATs that keep them from it. Once you “get it” coming from the source, the pen/computer/crayon you’ve grabbed is your translator, biographer, photographer and Director. You are ultimately a judge and jury, mom and dad, and if you can factor in your reader self too, it can all come together nicely.
The first process should be heavy on creativity, because once you move into plotting or editing it can become very difficult to hold that creative edge. If seeing it in front of you in every line as your begin that first edit is a wee bit disconcerting because you’re not used to it then think of it as a rich environment you have peopled with all you need and just go ahead and Plot Away with what you’ve got.
Beautifully said, Ellen! Wow. We can get stuck in our labels and not see the freedom we have if we only allow it. I’m constantly amazed at the constraints I put on myself as a writer, some unknowingly.
I always start with character and motivation, but this post and many of the comments have really given me tools to delve deeper and more widely.
Thank you!
Love it, well said! I’ve found myself talking like the characters I’m thinking about too — the only scary thing is when you do it in public and you don’t know you’re even talking about loud. ‘Course these days, you’re often saved because passers by assume you’re talking on the phone. Oh, the world we live in!
Lisa –
Thanks for another excellent post.
This concept makes sense and feels useful.
Thanks, Tom!
Thank you! Thank you! You’ve brought clarity to the process I’ve been using unconsciously for a number of years.
After I know what my story is about, I write the first several chapters as a “pantser.” Then I usually hit the wall and switch to “outliner.”
Now I understand the reason why working that way makes sense. It helps so much to have the “third rail” explained and clarified.
My pleasure, Pam! Sounds like you’re barreling down the right track, with a live third rail to boot! ;-).
Great post, Lisa. I’m more of a pantploter (plotantser?). When I started writing, I was a pantser all the way, but as I’ve gained more knowledge about the stories I’m telling, I’ve developed more of a mixed routine. I’ve always had to know the end, so I know where I’m heading. I can’t start writing before I know that, even though it might change. But now I’ll start writing until I’ve got an idea of the character’s want and need, then I’ll plot the seven main points of the internal and external arc, then go back to pantsing… and I rotate between those as needed for the story. It works for me right now, but writing processes are an evolution.
Love it, Lisa.
My characters need a lot of time to fester in my head before I know what they will and won’t do. I can’t just write them, I must feel them down to my toes. If I don’t cry when they do, or laugh when they laugh, why bother writing? These emotional connections are the reason I keep my rear in the chair.
Great post!
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth, and (coming soon) GOT
I actually read a very interesting post yesterday on Writers Helping Writers on a similar subject. The writer author argued that rather than starting a novel from the beginning (pantsing) or the ending (plotting) that you actually ought to start from the middle – at the point at which the main character has their “mirror moment” that defines what the novel is about. Similar concept with a somewhat different application. Interesting to think about.
For my part, I still don’t understand the common perception that writing has to be either/or when it comes to plotting and pantsing. I know I work with a combination of both strategies, as I’m sure many writers do. Every approach has its risks and rewards, and you’re right – the most important thing is to know what your novel is about, and build your story around that.
Me, I learned the lesson the hard way–by pantsing my way into a shapeless, 350-page mess, then some arbitrary plotting (I remember a really long paper scroll with a diagram and color coded Post-it notes that was of absolutely no help.) More pantsing, more plotting. But by rereading and rewriting, over and over and over, my protagonist’s inner drive was clarified.
I came to see and hear the book internally and put it on Scrivener so I could watch it as a whole, chapter/scene by chapter/scene. Still revising, pantsing and panting.
Definitely not the express method of novel writing. Thanks for a great post!
Sounds about right to me! good job.
Fabulous and helpful (as always). You are a huge gift to the WU community. Thank you for the insights and the imagery here . . . the “third rail” is especially helpful!
:)
Yeah, but when you’re writing thrillers that depend on a nasty situation the hero gets thrust into, it’s all about plot and how the main character gets through the mess he’s (she’s) in. Character is set at the beginning and the plot happens to the hero. So you’d better have a firm outline to insure that your plot doesn’t run out of gas halfway through. Agree with you about pantsing–unless you’re writing non-fiction, then the timeline takes command.
Absolutely true, no argument there! Especially when talking about a series. Although, the hero often does have his or her own arc, which can drive the creation of the plot as well. The deeper you dig internally, the higher the plot can go, externally.
Great points and I agree that you must know what your character desires and the character’s inner needs. It forms the spine of the novel and helps create character arc. On that note, here’s another T.S. Elliot quote that’s apt:
When forced to work within a strict framework the imagination is taxed to its upmost—and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom the work is likely to sprawl.”
Thanks, Karin! And I LOVE that quote — so true!
“she arrives on page one already wanting something very badly, and with an inner issue – a misbelief – that she has to overcome in order to have a chance of getting it” is EXACTLY it.
When a story is vouchsafed to you (I love that word), it comes as a unit, a whole, something you have to figure out how to tell – and then comes the part about what will happen, and you must acquire the craft to make the story ending (how she gets what she wants) unassailable.
Beginners may have an advantage here, if the reason they are writing is to tell that implacable story.
I wonder if you lose that – or forget that – when you’ve written many.
You’re so right: that core, that third rail, comes first.
Okay so I’m going to disagree here with the above praises and say I don’t think any one process or approach (pantsing or plotting or rewriting) is wrong or right. And everybody’s brain isn’t wired alike, that’s for sure. I like my characters to reveal themselves to me as I go along; I like the plotting to develop from the characters as they all function in the story rather than be manipulated by preconceived designs. But that’s just me. Here’s the thing: sometimes I don’t know my protagonist’s inner issue until I’ve written out the whole first draft and how exciting it is! I’m thrilled with the discoveries and breakthroughs of not just the protagonist’s revelations but the other characters too and it inspires me on to the rewrites. So I ‘go forward’ from this story foundation, rewriting with deeper insights and enthusiasm. This is the joy of writing for me! I believe that writers need to find their own creative paths to story and characters. The creative process is certainly a mysterious process and deserves utmost respect.
Thanks for this wonderful and informative post. Lights were definitely turning on all over the place for me as I read this. I’d decided that I was a “plantser” heavy on the pants because no matter how many times I plot things off, I tended to go off the rails once the writing started. Now I can see that might be because figuring out the deeper implications of some of my character’s past affect their current and future actions.
Definitely bookmarking this post.
Well said, Lisa. I’ve tried both ways and tend to end up somewhere in between. I think you’ve nailed it, though. I like to say all novels are character driven and all are plot driven. Any novel that isn’t both will fail miserably. For me, character development is like shopping for prom dresses with my daughter. I’d rather avoid it. So far, I’ve read nothing that really makes the task easier. And just about everything falls short. I tend to learn so much about my protag by chapter three that the story must change. Call it OJT character development. Somehow I have to get better at it, though. I’ve yet to feel like I really know my character, and I’m certain this is the main thing holding me back.
I love that Seneca quote. It first resonated for me in regards to my writing career. But what is a writing career if not an extrapolation of the various values of a writers works?
I can clearly see how my previous pantsing and its revision aftermath has ever been a search for the third rail of each manuscript. It’s clear to me how more efficient seeking it beforehand must be. Hopefully I can make it a habit.
I’ve read this post three times this morning, making notes throughout. You always offer plenty of fodder for mental mastication, Lisa. Thanks for that!
Excellent post! I’ve been struggling with my novel writing process for awhile now, and I am definitely going to give this a try.
Would asking the same questions, creating that lens, etc. be a good idea for the antagonist and other major characters as well or could that possibly be too overwhelming in the beginning stages?
Oh, and love the peanut butter analogy. :)
Excellent, excellent article. Thanks for sharing this with the writing world, Lisa. It’s funny how the more I think about my characters’ motivations the more I am aware that motivation is what drives “real life” too. Off to share this post with my writing students and Facebook.
In my personal writing journey, I’m just starting to come to grips with my pantser nature. I truly believe it is very much an ingrained habit – not necessarily bad – to want to dive into the writing, not looking at that which I am leaping into because I’m impatient to meet characters and sketch out scenarios. Preparing to dig deep into a new draft of my novel, I’m trying to restrain myself from making changes RIGHT AWAY because I want to go through and ask myself, on each point of contention, why things happen. Did I write that one particular passage because it struck me as funny at the time, or does it truly connect to the way this character sees the world? I’m writing a lot of notes trying to connect as many dots as possible – I don’t think it’s plotting. It’s somewhere in the middle between pantsing and plotting, and it’s taken a long time to find my place along that spectrum. But worth it.
I’ve found my writing approach to begin with dream plotting which is not as fun as it sounds. However my pantsing takes place when I’m writing dialogue. Good Seneca quote. And good essay. Thanks!
Interesting, I have never thought of plotting to just be the story part. When I write, I look at the facets of my characters first. If I know who they are and understand their goals, motivations, and conflicts, I can work out the kind of story they can experience.
I teach that there are few true plotters or pantsers. Most people fit somewhere between the two poles.
I agree with you. I don’t think that whether your character has a true drive really connects with whether you are pantser or a plotter; I always start by knowing what my story is about before I start plotting. I think the two are actually separate – character development versus plotting – and that you can actually start with either one to arrive at your destination. How you choose to get to your destination is where pantsing and plotting come in, and either one can work (it is all about how your brain is wired).
Lisa-
You and I sing in harmony on the subject of the inner journey. It’s a tune like an old spiritual here at WU, though never more convincingly belted from the choir box as in your post today.
I can only add this: Plotters tend to expect that story events will sweep readers into their vortex which will, then, automatically provoke in readers high emotions and a sense of change. Transformation flows from story.
Pantsers, on the other hand, tend to believe that highly evocative and emotionally gripping writing will elevate ordinary life events into a realm of transcendent drama. Story is built with small bricks of transformation.
Neither belief is entirely true.
Those somewhat misleading beliefs are grounded in the very culture and values of plotters vs. pantsers. Sometimes it’s a division between commercial and literary intents, a love of powerful plotting or its apparent opposite, beautiful writing.
Not always, but sometimes.
To orient as you’ve described, Lisa, writers may first need to examine not just their process but the self-image they carry of themselves and their writing. Are their writing choices made to serve story or do they support the secret script every writer has for his or her writing life?
Most writers would say that they just write the way they write, I realize. Nothing wrong with that. Yet the shortcomings of both approaches are evident to we whose jobs are to evaluate the results.
It’s time to move beyond the issue of plotting vs. pantsing. It’s in a way irrelevant. What matters is the emotional grip of a novel and whether or not it finally transforms not only characters but readers. Process has nothing to do with whether the final product does that.
Your post today is a good start to throwing away the old maps and getting on the true path–to story. Thanks, as always, Lisa.
Lisa, Wired lives on my HD, in the form of a table I gutted out of each chapter. Somehow, I distilled your book into 11 pages of things I needed to hammer into my head, then draw down into my heart.
I’ve accepted that I write “myself,” that my characters are made out of “me.”
So while Wired is brain born, she’s also blood born. The mingling of body, mind and spirit — perhaps the “third rail” for us all? And once you get there, plotting, pantsing, whatever
Gets me back to sitting around the gathering fire and telling the tale.
This is solid advice for literary novels, in which the conflict and action is internal rather than external. But echoing Tony’s comment above, readers of many other genres value external events over character growth.
Romance readers don’t care if the heroine is a carbon copy of a thousand other heroines and she never changes between page 1 and page 250; they want heart-thumping encounters with handsome men, dramatic misunderstandings, evil rivals, and sex. Readers of horror thrillers couldn’t care less if Sgt. Jake Jones has deep-seated Daddy issues and insecurities over his education; they want blood and guts spilling out of man-eating zombies. Protagonists in these cases are stand-ins for the readers, so making them too unique and fleshed-out can interfere with the readers’ vicarious experience.
To me, it doesn’t matter whether the conflict is internal or external–you need plot either way. You need forward motion and turning points. Plotting, pantsing, and everything in between can work no matter which genre you write in if you understand what your story is. Sometimes it’s a character-driven story and the key events drive internal growth, and sometimes it’s an action-driven story and the events deliver chills and thrills.
A welcome reminder! What do they want, why do they want it, what moral (or immoral) actions will they take to get it, and who wants to stop them. In other words, if you don’t know your destination (even though this will change over the course of the tale) then how will you get there?
I’m so happy to see this post, Lisa. I heard you at a conference a couple years ago and I immediately bought “Wired For Story.” I did the check points at the end of each chapter against my manuscript and went back and fixed everything. I loved doing the rewrites because I had a better understanding of my story – it came to life. Before I started my second book, I reread “Wired for Story” and used the check points – and the story flowed like a river. Last week I went through all the check points for my third book I’m getting ready to write.
My point? Every writer should read your book. I recommend it on my blog. I recommend it during conversations. At parties. I’d take out an ad if I could afford it.
You helped changed how I write and see story. Because of that I have an Amazon best seller in sci-fi post apocalyptic, and more books coming. I can’t thank you enough for your sage wisdom.
Bahahahaha, this is so cool. I’m not a plotter or a panster. I’m going to be a Railer. New debate, new debate, Third Railing is better than Potting and panting. Now all I need is savvy platform to spread my new gossip. Facebook! *Evil laugh*
What?
That’s not the point of this post.
Bah!
Semantics!
I will s p r e a d the word! This is some good shirt. *smile*
You will have no drive if you simply “plot” by the seat of your “pants”.
While I call myself a pantster, I’m actually a hybrid. I usually start out making some mindmapping/freestyle/brainstorming kind of handwritten notes. (Which, I just discovered an iPad app that lets me scan them in and turn them into pdfs that I can put into Scrivener, YAY!) I know “milemarkers” in my story, and I keep them in mind as I’m writing. I’ll even create documents (index cards, depending on my Scrivener view) with those scenes. I might jump ahead and write some of the scenes early on if they’re clearer in my head.
However, I’m not beholden to the “skeleton.” If the characters and story go in a different direction during the process of writing, I follow that. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t, sometimes they do but in the process make me yell, “OH MY GOD! I NEVER SAW THAT COMING!” as I’m typing as fast as my fingers will let me to keep up with my brain and “the voices.” LOL I actually see my books in my brain as movies, fast-forwarding and rewinding until I get a scene right, and then it gets transcribed from my brain into my laptop.
I think there’s a middle road. But whatever works for a writer, whatever gels “the voices” into cohesive mental speech and makes the words come, that’s the “right” way for that particular writer.
I should also add that I’m a “Save the Cat!” fanatic, and have customized my Scrivener template to include the beat sheets. LOL
I suspect that I don’t think of ‘pantser’ and ‘plotter’ in nearly the same terms as you’re using them here.
Self-described pantsers, in my opinion, don’t believe that ‘the more you know about what you’re writing beforehand, the less you’ll want to write it.’ This sounds like a misunderstanding of a relation that some of us have found to be true after a certain point of knowledge.
And I’m not sure if I’ve ever talked to a plotter who believes that the first thing they have to do when they sit down is detail the scene-by-scene plot events of a book/story, before figuring anything out about the characters, the conflict, or the theme.
Knowing your character, their goal, their beliefs, and their internal conflict are important no matter how you approach writing, yes. But this ‘third rail’ approach doesn’t sound like a drastic alternative to the pantser/plotter question–it’s a particular point on the continuum, probably closer to pantser than plotter because it’s generally very organic and intuitive. And it really is a continuum, not two absolute formulae.
This is so incredibly helpful, Lisa! I took a lot of notes to help me along the way as I feel suddenly stuck in my current manuscript. Also, “Wired for Story” was placed in my hands on tuesday night from a writer friend. Can’t wait to dig in – thank you!
Thanks, Amy, you made my day. Here’s to the power of story — yours!
“The true voyage of discovery is not in seeking new places, but in having new eyes.”
What a powerful, powerful statement. An extraordinary post, you can be as sure as hell that I going to read over and over. The quote is already pasted before me. Thanks.
It is a great, quote, isn’t it? And like old saw we always heard in college, it applies “In literature as in life” ;-)
Loved this–thank you, Lisa! Once again your article is very timely to where I am in the process (how do you do that? ;-) )…in this case I need to nudge my scenes back towards that third rail and give them some juice. Funny how the story train seems to slow down when that contact is lost…sigh.
I attended a workshop recently, where the well-known and highly regarded speaker suggested there were two kinds of story: “Samson” and “Job,” referring to the Biblical characters. In the Samson story you have a protagonist with a moral flaw, who needs to change, and does change by the end of the story. In the Job story you have a protagonist with no moral flaw, who needs to stay the same, despite his trials, and is the same at the end of the story. Both forms of story were deemed to be equally valid.
You may argue that “real” stories must by definition portray the evolution of a protagonist’s internal belief system. By “real” you may mean literary stories whose job is to provoke change in our culture, that anything that merely entertains the masses is not a real story. I just had lunch with two of my friends, one a professional violinist, the other a president of a financial firm, both well-educated and lifetime readers of classic and contemporary literary fiction. I asked each of them to tell me what they looked for in a good story. When each of them had trouble pinpointing it, I asked if change in the internal belief system of one or more of the characters was important. They each shrugged and said whatever. So I said how about putting a sympathetic character in an interesting world with a tough problem to solve and high stakes if he fails and showing how that works out, and they both said yeah, exactly.
We like to talk about stories being in our DNA, to cite the example of the first stories being the cave people sitting around the fire hearing how Krog defeated the saber-tooth tiger that attacked him when he went out for food. Krog’s only problem was hunger, which was made worse by the obstacle of the tiger who was also hungry. No one changed their belief system in that story, just like no one changes their belief system in a Jack Reacher story today.
Recall the story about an amusement park, where the attractions get loose and start eating the visitors? The one where the owner built the attractions by extracting DNA from mosquitoes trapped in amber? The one that sold a billion copies in hardback and made trillions at the box office and became a wildly popular ride at Universal Studios? Talk about changing our culture. How many people said to their friends: you have to read this, because there’s this guy in it who changes his opinion of children by the end? Is that what made Jurassic Park a “real” story? I don’t think so.
I think there are millions of “real” stories out there in which no evolution of a person’s internal belief system occurs at all. They’re just fun stories that people like to read. And what’s wrong with that, anyway? Why does every story have to provoke deep thought? What ever happened to just reading for pleasure? I listen to music because I like the way it sounds. I stare at art because I like the way it looks. I don’t think that makes me a less intelligent or cultural person. I think it makes me human.
Actually, people’s belief systems — core beliefs, even — often are changed by reading a Jack Reacher novel. Not saying they know it consciously — but they then act on it. Story enters through your gut (how you feel), looks out through your eyes (how you see the world) without ever having to go through your conscious, thinking brain. I don’t say story is in our DNA based on anecdotes or because “we sat around the campfire,” but based on how we’re hardwired to process information — much of it on a cognitive unconscious level. Glad you enjoy looking at art — me too. Ditto listening to music. But . . . there is a tad more to it than mere “enjoyment.” Same way there’s more to how food affects us than just tasting good. Ah, I love a good debate!
Actually, Jurassic Park is TOTALLY about a change in a
belief system. That’s why I think it stands out as such a great
story. It’s about the belief that we can control nature…not
realizing that nature will always “find a way.” Great
article!
Thanks so much for this wonderful post and for the folks who’ve made me think even harder about the point of it all. Esp. since I’m avoiding writing the synopsis. A clean one, that is.
I have to admit I don’t often know the why until after the 2nd or 3rd draft, but I usually know the key external events that will happen. Even a little story for kids has to go through a couple of drafts before I have that Aha! moment.
Thank you for this post. As a newbie figuring out my ‘how’, this was so helpful in addressing my confusion of identifying myself as a plotter or pantser. I’ve bookmarked this post with a * which means it’s at the top of my saved craft sites. :)
Fabulous post, Lisa. So thorough, thought-provoking while providing methods to apply right now. I’m so grateful for your generosity. After tweeting this, I will be adding the link to the Resources list I will be giving the students in my MG/YA novel writing class!
Thanks again.
Thank you for this articulate post!
An interesting and instructive piece. Thank you. I’m a panster, and always have been. BUT, I don’t begin to construct a story until I’ve done a character sketch, in some depth, for all the characters I envisage within the tale. I know them before I begin, and I understand their motives, opinions and history. Of course, during the evolution of a longer piece, new characters will invariably surface. Again, I write a character sketch of these, before I incorporate them into the story. My epic fantasy is about to appear on the scene via a great publisher. In that, I have 93 named characters, and, yes, each one has a dedicated character sketch. I couldn’t begin to write until I know who the people are who will populate my fiction.
But your observation that using any technique does not necessarily produce success in the form of book sales is true. Mind you, I suspect part of that may well be due to other factors apart from approach to writing.
“Turns out understanding the specific “why” behind your
protagonist’s inner issue won’t hamper your creativity at all, but
will ground it. And in so doing, will cut down on the time you
spend rewriting, give your story more depth, and make you a much
more confident writer.” I agree, Lisa. I don’t define myself as
either a plotter or a ugh! panster–horrible word. (My mother was
an haute couturiere and panster always sounds to me as if it’s a
badly-made item of clothing.) It’s not the method that creates
story, and not plot, per se, it’s the character’s core motive. I
put aside a novel I’d been working on for two years because I
hadn’t found the character’s core motive. I won’t pick it up again
until I have. In the meantime, I allow it mull quietly in the back
of my head and one day, I’m certain, either I will find the answer
or I won’t. As if to drive the point home, I was recently asked to
write a tribute to my parents (who were and are famous, my father
is at least, and my mother turned down the opportunity to become
famous). The piece flowed out easily because I knew my parents so
well–what their core motives were and what drove them to behave as
they did. When it was done it required very little editing, either
by me or by the editor. It reinforced my decision not to return to
my novel until I know my character’s core motive. I’m not big on
jargon to find the character’s psychological motives and actions,
and generally avoid most of it given to writers, because it gets in
the way of a natural communication between my subconscious and
conscious mind. Like driving a car, there comes a point when you
know what to do without forcing yourself to think, “Now I have to
put in the clutch in order to change gear.” But to know a
character’s core motive is, in many ways, to know what the plot is.
Character motive drives the plot, not the other way
around.
This! Yes!
“The piece flowed out easily because I knew my parents so
well–what their core motives were and what drove them to behave as
they did. When it was done it required very little editing, either
by me or by the editor. It reinforced my decision not to return to
my novel until I know my character’s core motive.”
Thank you. I apologise for the “single” paragraph comment. I’m not sure what happened. When I wrote and posted it (for certain when I wrote it), there were distinct paragraphs.
Pantsing is a new word for me, and I can’t imagine starting to write a mystery novel without knowing who the murderer is. I generally have written a detailed description of each of my major characters, including backstories (most of which will never appear in the novel) to explain their character traits and motivations. Then while I’m fleshing out the skeleton of the plot as I write, I ask myself “What would this character be feeling right now?” The answer sometimes surprises me and moves the plot in an unexpected direction.
If the characters don’t seem real to me, I know that they haven’t got a chance of seeming real to my readers. I like to think this technique is working for me, since some of my readers have mentioned they look for my characters in the vehicles they pass as they’re driving down the highway!
I can’t imagine any mystery writer not knowing who either the murderer or the victim is before writing.
Here’s something I’ve thought about since hearing it. I was in a workshop with Michael Gruber several years ago. It was about writing a mystery but really it applies to any genre:
He said the writer had to decide whether the main character believed in God or not. Because the character’s belief or non-belief would determine everything that unfolded thereafter.
Great advice. I’m in the midst of editing my second NaNo novel, and occasionally getting lost. Or rather my characters are – they know where they are supposed to be heading, but sometimes just are going through the motions.
Realized I need to step back and think about the story, their goals and obstacles. And how those goals will change as the characters develop further and figure out what they REALLY want.
Sort of did that with novel #1 before publishing, but now realize it could have been a lot better.
Thanks a bunch for the post.
I pantsed for many years without actually finishing a
novel. Then I began plotting and actually finished something. The
best approach for me seems to be a combination of the two. I think
I knew this intuitively – that the plot should be constructed
around the needs of the character – but doing it consciously could
be so much more effective. Thanks for the great post!
Yes! I’ve discovered this as well. I’ve been doing some of what Lisa describes intuitively, but her questions pushed it to a deeper level, which is very exciting. I had already begun writing some “before” scenes for my main character and now I’m going back to see if I can push them more.
Excellent advice. Great post. It puts into words my own
writing style and that insight is particularly helpful. Very well
said.
Of course. Put another way, plot is bones human flesh sticks to. Plot appears organically when not planned– something must drive the action forward which would be the protagonist’s motivation due to emotional and material needs.
What you are really talking about are character’s psychological profiles. Know thy character before you write– it’s fundamental. Everything has cause and effect, externally and internally. Deb Dixon’s book (Gryphon Press) Goal, Motivation and Conflict lays out the story behind story nicely.
The struggle to locate, Ms. Lisa Cron, what you so aptly lable internal belief, inner struggle, and others have labeled internal conflict, and others use many other terms for, has consumed me as a theorist seeking an answer that satisfies me and I pray may satisfy others as well.
I’ve understood this “internal conflict” principle for years. A dramatic conflict is a diametric opposition of dramatic circumstances: external conflicts are of the type life or death, acceptance or rejection, salvation or damnation, riches or rags, etc., stakes and outcomes related. Internal conflicts are, as you note, cognitive dissonances of moral values and such in conflict: wicked temptation and selfless nobility in opposition, for one example. Another might be in a similar vein, say, becoming aware of and overcoming a wicked habit ingrained by a social force acculturation. A sexist philosophical ideology patriarchal preeminence is a worthy and noble precedent that should prevail going forward, for example, is a potential both external and internal conflicted ideology.
Yet understanding dramatic conflict was not satisfying enough. Nor can I locate within the opus of poetics and narrative theory any satisfactory answer. The “silence” of a missing context and texture within poetics’ theoretical opus led me to research and develop one that, surprisingly, a dictionary yielded the first clue. “Denouement” is defined as the outcome of a main dramatic complication.
I looked long and hard for definitions of “dramatic complication.” From Plato and Aristotle, through Virgil and Horace, through Shakespeare and Freytag, Lubbock, Friedman, Chatman, Booth, etc., even Maass, who helped me partially understand “conflict.” Each scrapes at the edges of an idea what is dramatic complication. None firmly develop this “silence,” its missing writing principle and poetics theory.
Aristotle located causation as the driving plot force of drama. Freytag added tension millennia later. Freytag graphed causation and tension as two dimensions. What then if a third and perpendicular axis exists might it be? I was informed by writers and poetics theorists conflict is that axis. It didn’t fit the theoretical model.
Conflict is a diametric opposition more closely related to stakes and outcomes, like life or death. Not all opposition is diametric. A want for money may be a lack of enough money, though the wanter may be among the richest misers, for example; however, continuing wealth acquisition can become in and of itself a want on its own terms and not having satisfyingly enough wealth is a problem, that enough is never enogh. Therein I discovered the opposition of a want is a problem satisfying the want. Huzzah!
Wants antagonize problems; problems antagonize wants. “Stop antagonizing your sibling,” Mom said. Why? What do I want? Attention, even negative attention, especially negative attention, testing moral value system boundaries. What’s the problem? Not enough emotionally satisfying attention.
Antagonism is the answer I sought to what dramatic complication means: Antagonizing wants and problems wanting satisfaction.
A wealthy miser wants to hoard all the world’s wealth. Problem, the rest of the world wants to hold onto their wealth. Those are tangible, external antagonisms. An internal one might be a moral value system principle that causes the miser guilty feelings. The want might be meaningful social interactions for which hoarding wealth causes problems. No “might” about it. Hoarding wealth causes problems.
Dramatic complication and its antagonizing want and problem identities, as Aristotle’s causation identities are cause and effect, and Freytag’s tension identities are emotional caring (sympathy or empathy) and curiosity arousing (suspense), is the third plot axis I sought. I no longer start writing until I’ve defined a central dramatic complication, an internal complication closely related to an external one and their outcomes.
Say a teenager wants all the rights and privileges of adulthood. Say externally, wants sexual activity. Problem, the teenager isn’t prepared to appreciate the adult duties, responsibilities, and obligations that are inherent elements of those rights and privileges. Say internal, respecting the love interest as a person with her or his own want and problem complications, feelings, biases, and not as a mere object of desire. These two ideologies clash internally: respect and desire. Drama ensues.
I’m neither a plotter nor a pantser, neither and both didn’t work for me. I sketch and mentally compose, filtering though and figuring out a dramatic complication inspiration. One that is on my mind and wanting personal satisfaction, one that I want to understand the meaning of.
A sibling untimely died under dramatic circumstances before a natural span. I have the story’s title and the context: the who, when, where, some of the how and what, no meaningful why though. I’m prospecting for the meaningful dramatic complication texture that will help me to appreciate _why_ my sibling died. It’s a mystery so far, though the police closed the case as solved: no foul play. Catharsis will come.
I devoured this article, Lisa. I write romance (not published yet), and I think that’s the one genre where the writer, unless he builds stories following the guideline you present here, will fail. And you just made me realize why I enjoy reading (good) romance. If the reader doesn’t get the protagonist’s internal agenda from the very beginning, the book instantly loses its appeal.
Thank you for the valuable insight!
Maria (MM Jaye)
This feels like the sort of conversation where two people are vociferously arguing something, but they’re actually agreeing deep down — they just don’t realize it. Like someone saying “six” is far superior to “half a dozen.” :)
As anybody who knows me here can attest, I’m a die-hard “plotter.” But I see what you’re trying to say.
What you’re calling “story” I generally call “character” and it’s the precursor to any plotting. In fact, the way I teach, each protagonist should have his or her own set of “plot points” — turning points based on what the character wants, why he/she wants it, and what backstory has made that important to the character. It’s just as you say: ” the events in the plot must be created to force the protagonist to make a specific internal change. And that means that you need to know, specifically, what is going to change inside her before you begin creating a plot. ”
I think a lot of the passion — and anger — around the original post had to do with a mistake in terminology. Personally, I’d never consider what I teach as “plotting” as merely “the surface events of the story.” But now that I see that’s how you’re defining it, I absolutely agree — that’s not a useful way to approach writing a novel, at all.
I also think that there needs to flexibility in any approach. Plots and scene outlines are not carved in stone with a scepter dipped in the blood of a virgin, as it were. Pantsing can at least have the primary turning points as waymarks. And even “event driven” fiction can and should have character as its foundation, IMO, especially for today’s audiences.
Very briefly. As a pantster, I think I overcome the ‘third rail’ issue simply by adding a couple of questions to my detailed character sketches, which I create before I start writing. I ask each character 2 questions: What do you want? What are you prepared to do to get it?
This, combined with a fairly comprehensive background to each character, generally allows me then to construct the story from the characters’ povs and according to their individual motivations. Works for me, anyway.
Thanks for an interesting piece, Lisa.