A pantser tries planning for a change. Let’s just say it was…interesting.
With the new year a little over a month behind us, I thought I would begin to post again. To write again, and to once again try something new. So, I thought I would step away from the Indie Publishing Series to allow it to breathe.
Oddly enough, I first started using a notebook to map out characters for a suspense story. When that fell through and the juices were no longer flowing, so to speak, it turned into a character worksheet for Taming Armand. Although it helped (my definition of ‘help’ is very loose here), I found myself writing out scenes instead of actual character development-which I thought was the exact opposite of a planning notebook. Now, I had the horrid task of transcribing everything from my spiral notebook into a Word doc.
I completed the transcribing with disgust etched into my features while I dredged up memories of why I had forgone writing with pen and paper when and where I could help it. I left the story planning notebook alone until I got into my dystopian sci-fi bag; now I find myself relaying on it to get me going on my first draft.
Why Now?
You may ask that question, and it’s a fair one given that I have let my disgust for planning out stories known. I needed a place, aside from the jumbled and tumbled workroom of my mind, to work out the kinks. To see the world before I put in down on paper. I needed a place to workshop this new world I am building. I needed to see it alive on the paper.
What sounds good in my head at times doesn’t work well on paper. I am sure as a fellow writer you know the struggle. If you’re not a writer then you know as a human.
What Works?
Planning out this dystopian world allows me to keep the rules straight, to keep order to the creative disorder I am writing. See, when you’re building a world from scratch—especially one where society has collapsed or twisted into something unrecognizable—there are rules. Lots of them. Who has power? Who doesn’t? What technology survived? What died with the old world?
If I don’t keep track of these things, I’ll end up with a character using electricity in Chapter 3 when I clearly stated in Chapter 1 that the grid’s been dead for twenty years. Or worse, I’ll forget which factions are at war with each other and accidentally write a alliance that makes zero sense.
The notebook gives me a reference point. A map, if you will. And for someone who usually flies by the seat of their pants, having that safety net is both liberating…and terrifying.
The Balance
Here’s the thing I’m learning: I don’t have to choose between being a pantser and being a planner. I can be both. I can sketch out the bones of this dystopian world—the geography, the power structures, the technology, the history—and then let my characters run wild within those boundaries.
It’s like building a playground. I construct the equipment, set the perimeter, establish the rules, and then I let the kids play however they want. Sometimes they surprise me. Sometimes they break things. But at least I know where the boundaries are.
I’m still writing scenes in that notebook—old habits die hard—but now they’re scenes that fit. They make sense within the world I’ve built. They don’t contradict the rules I’ve laid out three pages earlier.
Moving Forward
Will I become a full-time planner? Probably not. I assure you no. At least no time soon. I still believe in the magic that happens when you just write, when you let the story surprise you, when you let your characters speak, rather than manufacture them. But I’m also learning that some stories—particularly ones with complex world-building—need a little structure to keep them from collapsing under their own weight.
So here I am, a pantser with a planning notebook, building a dystopian world one scribbled note at a time. It’s messy. It’s imperfect. And yes, I’ll probably still end up transcribing half of it into a Word doc with disgust etched into my features.
But it’s working. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Have you ever tried planning when you’re naturally a pantser? Or vice versa? The Weirdo Writes wants to know.