Plotting for Pantsers 5 - The confidence game

One of the most powerful scenes on broadcast television was dictated on the set of NYPD Blue by David Milch. Dennis Franz as Detective Andy Sipowicz brought the scene, a rant against God, to life on camera just minutes after it had been created. (I just read about this in The Revolution Was Televised, a book I recommend.) Pantsers, you are not alone. And some wonderful writing comes from a spontaneous flow of words.

And yet, as I indicated last time, pantsers often feel less confident than their (equally wonderful) plotting colleagues who, in theory, always know what they will be writing about. Pantsers write themselves into corners. They doubt the value of a scene, a chapter, or even a whole book. They run out of gas. They wonder if the last book they wrote is really the last book they ever will write.

There are traps that pantsers need to avoid. Looping, skimping on preparation and research, jumping to new projects when the going gets tough, and dodging emotional engagement can sap confidence and trigger paralysis. But you can also take steps to build and maintain your confidence.

Write one true sentence. This is especially useful when you seem to have painted yourself into a corner. Writing the whole scene or finding the plot point that will allow threads to come together may be impossible. Don't ask too much of yourself. Ask for one true sentence. It can be the next one in the story or it can be a question about what you need most to continue. (Yes, questions are sentences. And, chances are, your subconscious will answer the question later, in the garden or the shower or on the treadmill.)

Rediscover the fire. I hope you have adopted the practice, before you even begin a new work, of writing down ten reasons (in full sentences) why you love this idea and must write about it. If those sentences are good, they can revive your interest and reassure you that this project must be completed. If you don't have the sentences, either try to construct them now or go back to the best scene you have written (preferably in the work in progress, but it can be in another work you wrote) and reread it.

Know what drives you. Why do you need to write? Do you have a message? A person you want to communicate with? An image you have to get out of your head? A part of your life you need to understand? Find your best reason and remind yourself of if.

Understand what you do well. I'm a great one for lists, so I have written down what I have to offer as a writer. We tend to concentrate on our weaknesses, worrying about them and trying to overcome them. That is not a confidence builder. What do you do best? If you know what that is, use that gift to write another piece of your work in progress.

Create small successes. This may be the best. Success begets success. Find something small you know you can do, and do it. Then do the next thing. Don't be scared. Just scale back your ambition for a few days and get on with it.

Read something by your favorite author. The short stories of Harlan Ellison, Edgar Alan Poe, and James Joyce are the reasons why I became a writer. They thrill me by demonstrating what is possible. When I go back to them, I find the old impulse to put words on paper is revived and refreshed. Who inspires you?

All of these are positive steps you can take. And if you have a lucky hat or an affirmation that works for you, go for it. Oh, one thing to avoid - don't look for empathy from a plotter. Too many see the path they take as the only true path. Don't be bullied into following them. Instead, come to love your own twisty, turny, absurd and dangerous path.

Plotting for Pantsers 4 - Reviving conflict

The essence of a good scene, chapter, or novel is conflict. Vivid descriptions, evoking mood, and introducing a quirky character all have their places, but stories are driven by the clash of opposing forces.

A good plotter plans these out ahead of time. Often, just as a reader experiencing conflict can't wait to see what happens next, a plotter is driven to get that next scene on paper so he or she can experience the already mapped out conflict.

Pantsers may have conflicts emerge from the strong premise or from a collection of traps they built unconsciously into the story. An odd couple of characters may strike sparks every time they come in contact. And, since our lives are naturally filled with conflict, a dedication to truth and authenticity in fiction can cause conflict to bubble up.  All of these -- selecting a good premise, putting starkly different characters together, and writing honestly -- should be part of the pantser's pledge. Every time they sit down to write, these three should be already in progress, motoring away in the background.

Unfortunately, pantsers may be immersed in distractions (those vivid descriptions, moods, and quirky characters, not the temptations of Web surfing) or drawn to the weak conflicts of irritation and complaint. Both of these lead to a malaise that grinds the writing process to a halt. Realizing that you are distracted or bored is the first step. (Often, reading the last few paragraphs or pages confirms the problem. If it is painful, conflict may be lacking.) What do you do next?

• Cut and cut deeply. Work backward, removing everything that is boring you from the manuscript, and maybe a little more. (Since this will be painful, set it off in a "cuts' file. Chances are that you'll never look at it again, but it feels like less of a loss if it isn't completely killed.)
• Find a way to get interested again. I generally go back to the ten reasons I must write this story. (Everyone needs to have a ten reasons list.) I might also review my premise (usually expressed in a logline). Sometimes, I just read a passage in the WIP that I already love.
• Write in a different way. Once I get the feeling back, I go back to composing the manuscript, but I don't pick up exactly where I left off.  I usually jump to a scene further on or put in a scene I skipped (or now realize I need) earlier in the manuscript. Often, I will change the mechanics -- moving from typing to dictating or writing in longhand.

If none of this works, something else may be in play -- confidence. Plotters are annoyingly confident because they have their tasks laid out in detail each time they sit down to write. Even a pantser can and should have a prompt, created the day before, for the day's work, but ambitious works tend to make those prompts melt away. How can a pantser build or restore confidence? I'll write about that in my next entry.

Plotting for Pantsers 3 - Characters to the rescue!

My characters talk to me.  In my sleep, in the shower, and sometimes even when I am typing away. There voices are always distinctive, and certainly insistent. But they are not always helpful.

• They may fail to tell me truthfully about their backgrounds.
• They may give me the wrong reasons for what they are doing.
• They may work hard, often in devious ways, to keep me from putting obstacles in the way or making them suffer.
• They may abandon me at inopportune times.

When I was a plotter, this didn't concern me too much. I already had lists of things that were going to happen to them, I had profiles that included aspects of their childhoods and their strengths and weaknesses, and I didn't depend upon their input. Since I approached the work with confidence and a clear idea of what I would write next, the writing went forward. And, eventually, the character got back to work.

I can still go back to my old ways and mechanically develop plots and profiles when pantsing fails, but I prefer to takes steps that are more in the spirit of improvising. When I do that, there is little violence done to creativity, and I get the surprises I'm looking for. Here are some methods I use.

Interviews. I have an advantage here in that I have played journalist through most of my career. I know enough to 1) ask open questions that can't be answered with a yes or a no, and 2) to listen to the answers. Most characters are easy interviews. They already know me and are willing to talk. But sometimes I need to get them drunk first. I literally imagine bringing them to a bar, sitting through several beers with them and then springing my questions. This may take more time, but it is worth it. Note: I do not actually drink myself during these sessions.

Traps. Sometimes I purposely put my character into a stressful situation. I write down the scene in vivid detail, including all the senses, and then shove the character into it. Once they enter the nightmare, they squirm and beg and reveal themselves. The trick here is making sure it is extreme and difficult for them. Many of my characters can laugh off situations that would tear me apart. I have to find their Achille's heels.

Changing Point of View. If the character (usually the protagonist) doesn't want to talk, maybe someone else does. I recently broke through on a story by having the villain narrate the scene. He saw himself as the hero and was eager to tell his side of the story. Once I had the whole scene down from his point of view, it was easy to write it from the protagonist's perspective. (Sometimes, this exercise has had a surprising result: it has shown me that I need an additional POV throughout the story.)

At times, I also find that I need to go back an earlier scene and rework it. I hate doing that. It stops forward momentum and it risks the kind of looping that can become pathological and unproductive. When I do go back to a previous scene, I limit myself to taking a closer look at the conflict. (This is something I always need to do in rewrites anyway.) Often, I find that I have dodged something that is painful to the character (and, likely, to me). Fixing that usually gets things moving again.

Plotting for Pantsers 2 - Build your storytelling muscles

Last time, I introduced some of the benefits of being a pantser and some of the problems with writing by the seat of your pants. The freedom, creativity, surprises, imagination, and real fun that come from just letting the images form in your mind, listening to the voices of the characters, and allowing the words flow are worth all the pain, and need to be protected against overzealous drives for productivity. So my main aim here is to provide options that will not interfere with all that is good about working spontaneously.

If you are a pantser, and any of the tips in my articles don't feel right, avoid them. Sacrifice productivity before you drive away your muse. But don't let fear hold you back. Use good judgment.

The easiest way to build plotting prowess without doing any damage is to work those plotting muscles in an arena away from your work in progress. Most pantsers I know are huge consumers of stories. They read all the time and seemed to know about all the best in television and film. However, even though some can tell you about the highlights of the stories they consume, many are unable to retell the stories. And even fewer are able to immediately isolate key plot points. Plotters, on the other hand, have no problems dissecting stories (often, distressingly, in real time).

It is a simple thing to begin to pay attention to plot points and even the turns that are in scenes. It may take some time to do this automatically, but, with practice, anyone who love story can acquire the skill. Here's a step-by-step approach you may wish to try:

1. Learn the elements of plot. There are many books on plotting. Since the structure is such an essential part of Hollywood films, I recommend a book like Save the Cat, but there are many choices available. Master these plot elements intellectually, so that you could easily recite them with explanations to others.
2. Look for examples of plot analyses of popular stories. Again, film may provide the most accessible examples. Many books and websites include breakdowns and beat sheets, and these often explicitly tag the plot elements.
3. Analyze the stories that you are consuming. Write down the plot elements in full sentences and begin to keep a journal of these. Make sure that you are analyzing traditional stories with the beginning–middle–end structure. Dissect shorter works (movies, short stories) so you can quickly gain experience. If possible, discuss your work with a plotter who is familiar with the material.

Your work in plot analysis may (probably will) decrease your enjoyment of the stories you consume, especially in the short term. It will make it harder to become immersed in the stories, and you'll begin to see the strings the storyteller is pulling. It may even stories you have enjoyed to obvious to appreciate anymore.

This is part of the price you pay for your own art. Mourn and move on. Know that, if you work hard at this, you're build your plotting muscles without damaging your own work. All this knowledge will be active in the background as you compose. And it will be explicitly available when it's time to rewrite your work.

Plotting for Pantsers - Can it be done?

Many true plotters, those hyperorganized, logical, step-by-step storytellers look askance at pantsers. Pantsers (those who write by the seats of their pants) live moment-to-moment, with surprises and dead ends available at every turn. The most confident plotters know their approach is correct because they see their pantser kin struggling with epic rewrites and piles of half-finished manuscripts.

And yet, I think that secretly many plotters envy the freedom, spontaneity, and fun that is part of the pantser's writing life. I know I did. After having completed innumerable short stories and two novels as an almost scientific plotter, I abandoned that approach in 2001. I discovered that 1) it was more fun for me and 2) to quote Tolkien, "Not all who wander are lost."

Of course, I have three big advantages over many pantsers. First, through years of practice, I've got story structure woven into my thinking. No matter how wild my imagination is, plot points pull me back in like gravity. Second, I proceed with confidence. I know from past experience that even crazy random scenes are likely to find a place in the manuscript. (I also know that, since they were written quickly, I can part with paragraphs, pages, and chapters without lamenting the time invested.) Third, I have all my plotting tools clean and sharpened for rewriting.

I've seen pantsers, frustrated with blocks, stalls, and loss of productive time, shift into the world of plotting. Some succeed, even discovering that they are natural plotters, but some sacrifice too much. A few even give up writing.

I've begun to wonder, as I live as a convert among the pantsers, if I can provide the benefits of plotting to pantsers without taking away the advantages. As I said, pantsers:

• Seem to have more fun.
• Surprise readers because they surprise themselves.
• Give themselves permission to mess up, so they find happy accidents.
• Listen more to the characters.
• Contrive less.
• Work more organically.

For me, moving to the life of a pantser was like going from a black and white world to color. I won't go back. So the trick is to build plotting skills without becoming a plotter. I'm hoping, I can help pantsers to:

• Hear the beat of the plot.
• Find alternate routes to the ending (scene, chapter, novel).
• Avoid blocks and stalls.
• Approach each writing session with confidence.
• Be more choosy about the stories they commit to.
• Demand more of their rewrites.

I don't know if this is possible, but I'm going to try in the next few posts. I'll let you tell me if I've had any success.

Draft 7 - Writing with Intent

It may seem that writers create something out of nothing. Often when I sit down to write, I have no more going on in my head than a hankering for English Breakfast tea. Luckily, somewhere beyond my conscious mind, the elves are at work putting together words and images and ideas.

Those elves are sloppy. Whatever they do comes through as a mishmash that may touch my heart, but is sure to insult my inner critic: 

•  What’s with all those adverbs? 
• Could dialogue be more wooden?
• Are you trying to gross me out?
• That’s a cliché!

Peace, my little friend. I know you will make it all right during revisions.

It helps to keep the inner critic calm if I the prose has something to do with my current project and if I have an occasional thrill along the way. That doesn’t always happen. (You have those days, too, right?) The trick I use to have more writing sessions that are full of words I can use and positive moments is writing with intent.

With nonfiction, writing with intent is pretty straightforward. I have already defined the purpose of the work and the audience beforehand. I know what tune I want the audience humming when they are through.

I’ve done my research, so there is plenty of content to draw from. And, though the ultimate choice on structure will determine how successful the piece will be, I can always fall back to using a conventional structure, like the inverted pyramid, for my first draft.

You plotters probably have many of the these answers at hand – research done, audience in focus, protagonist’s goal and motivation for the scene defined and the disaster at the end of the scene specified. A hardcore plotter knows a lot when he or she sits down – which is why plotters don’t get stuck as often.

But… Is there hope for pantsers (like me)? Yes. Usually, a pantser sits down with something that can be turned into intent.

• If the character is speaking (or you hear dialogue) or you have a clear idea, the intent is to capture it faithfully, wherever it goes. 
• If the scene’s ending is in mind, the intent is to bridge from the last scene to that ending. It may be clear how that could be done (if so, good). If it’s not, brainstorming ten or more ways to link the two endings and choosing one can provide intent. But do this the day before, so the elves have something to work with. 
• You may sit down with a strong emotion (or develop one through prompts or actor’s exercises), and the intent here would be to convey that emotion. I often find that beginning with words and phrases that reflect my mood, rather than with sentences, gets me off to a good start. 
• For lack of a better word, you may sit down with an orientation toward the scene. This is a sense of possibility that, for me, is a recognition that I am in the story space. It feels roughly equivalent to my taking myself to my grandfather’s farm or my first grade classroom via imagination. When I find myself oriented within the story, I allow myself to be present. This is the only pantser circumstance I know of where intent might be counterproductive. Any attempt to focus, can move me out of this space, so I wait and allow the story possibilities to overwhelm me. And then I come back to the real world and convey as much of that experience as I can.

But what if you have nothing? Ideally, you have something available from the day before. I never finish a writing day without writing a full sentence about what the next day’s task will be.

Otherwise, your intent becomes very basic – putting down nouns and verbs. This is what Damon Knight called (with more explicit language) defecating masonry. Every professional I know has had to do this. The most useful preparation for this is an appeal to your commitment to being a writer. Whatever mantra reminds you of your promise to yourself, your dedication to your vocation, your obligation to your audience, and your conviction in your identity as a writer – now is the time to pull it out and start chanting.

What about you? Does your intent when you sit down make your writing session more productive? How do you make sure you begin with intent?

Get Your Groove Back!

After 9/11, I stopped writing fiction for 18 months. Luckily, obligations forced me to keep writing nonfiction, which meant my storytelling reboot wasn't completely cold. When I came back, reclaiming my vocation was slow and the writing itself was different. I got my groove back in three steps.

• I started small. - Flash fiction had been my friend early in my career, and I found I could write a full story in one sitting. I also discovered that there was a big market for flash fiction, thanks to Duotrope. Ultimately, I was selling everything I wrote. (Note: This is fun, but not a way to get rich.)
• I transformed my approach. - I used to plot out everything before a draft. Now, I'm a pantser most of the time, and I worry about straightening out the plot when I have something on paper. Both approaches are valid, but making the transition boosted the fun for me.
• I wrote to serve a purpose. - I moved from flash fiction (and a few short stories) back in to novel length work a the behest of a friend who had a great story to tell and, frankly, some time on his hands after a layoff. A film script was the goal, but he was unfamiliar with that format, so -- to get the story right -- I wrote 45K words of prose in about 6 weeks as regular installments. I then wrote the complete screenplay, which is now making the rounds in contests.

I believe in writing every day, but life still gets in the way from time to time. When in does, it can be hard for me to get back into the groove. I use the lessons above to ease myself back: Start small, find an approach that feels like fun, and have a purpose (serving someone else or a higher good). It worked for me once and it still helps me when I get off track. What do you do to get your groove back?