Today I address one of those topics that keeps coming among writers: pantsying vs. outlining. Or, as I prefer to term it, you know, to avoid derisive language, Organic vs. Planned writing. As the title to this post suggests, I like mine organic, than you. Why? Let’s work through a few pointers.

If you want it to feel real, it can’t be planned

Much of what happens in real life is unforeseen and unplanned. But we must plan, you say. It’s the responsible thing to do. Well, maybe for paying for your kid’s college education and setting enough aside for retirement, yes, sure, plan wisely. But for art? For creative efforts? Maybe in broad strokes, yes. But to hear some outliner/planner writers describe their approach, boy, it sure sounds like painting by the numbers. I’ve even heard someone quote a percentage through your word count when certain plot points have to happen. Really?

Is that the way life works? When I look at my life and the plans I’ve made, and I’ve made some good ones, I see a long string of unanticipated events beyond my control which I must accept, and to which I must adapt. For a thorough explanation of this unpredictability, check out Melissa McPhail’s take on this topic.

In short, random, unexpected stuff happens. All the time. Relentlessly. That’s how my fiction reads. If you plan the mechanics of how things go from point A to B to C, the story will feel false because you haven’t let the random engine find the points (maybe it’s B first, then C is expected, but you land on Q!). If we want interesting twists and turns in our story, we should love this. Manufactured (a.k.a. planned) twists and turns will feel false, contrived, shoe-horned. The organic mishaps and events will feel natural. In the words one of my favorite characters, Julian from DEAD BEEF, “Keep it random, keep it real.”

Are random, unplanned events a bear to manage? Sure. But let your characters drive the action, and so long as you love and understand why they do what they do, you’ll be able to adapt with them.

The other day, while working on episode 3 of my Tracking Jane series, I envisioned a scene where two characters would chat over lunch about some things that are happening around them. Instead, when character A invited character B to lunch, character B chewed A out. They never got to lunch! I didn’t see that coming. I certainly did not plan it. But reading back the scene after its writing, it feels raw and real. I love it! If I had stuck to my original “plan” (even if I didn’t outline it, I’ll call it that, a plan) it would have turned into a lot of wooden dialog to chew on. Ugh. Boring. Dreadmill material for my readers. Instead, I have something more real which I can polish into the final product.

Plan all you want, but your plans will not survive first contact with the enemy

That paraphrase of a military adage says a lot. While it is responsible to plan for some endeavors, you can bank on life throwing you a curve ball, and there go your plans. You have heard it said “he who fails to plan plans to fail” but I say unto you “he who plans better plan to change his plans over and over again.”

Most planners admit this. They assure us that though they’ve plotted a certain path for their stories, they’re open to adjustments and revision. That’s a healthy viewpoint, because if life is any indicator, they’re guaranteed to have to change their plan. If they’re really in-tune with their characters, they will find that unexpected, unplanned, outside-of-the-outline things happen. The quality of the story will depend in how responsive the planner is to that discovery.

Here’s my concern: if you’ve preconceived a certain outcome or path, will you be biased against deviations from it? Even if you adapt, will you do so as fully and openly as if you simply let things happen without or with little, non-invested preconception? If you can, great for you. I know when I draw up a plan I become so invested in it as to look upon any deviation as, well, deviant, worth a great deal of suspicion and skepticism, and maybe even see it as a failure. I will not look upon it as favorably, and hence, I may stick to my guns to the detriment of my story.

No, actually it doesn’t take longer or require more re-writes

That’s not the way it works for me, anyway. I think of it this way: a process of creating an outline, revising it, doing character interviews, revising the outline some more, creating scene sketches, revising the outline again, and on, an on. That doesn’t sound like a recipe for speedy writing. When I’ve tried it, I end up in paralysis by analysis — and very bored. And (going back to the first point) it feels contrived, fake. Shoe-horned. Oh, sure, I can change it as the spirit leads, but that turns into more outline revisions and upkeep. You know? I rather do that with prose. Actual prose, the kind that spells out paragraphs, scenes and chapters, maybe even a full novel.

Above all, outlining doesn’t solve the main “problem” that organic writing is supposed to suffer from. How does this thing end? Where is it going? Where do my characters end up? I don’t see how concocting an outline solves that purported problem any better than organic, discovery-based writing does. At some point, if you’re stuck on where things end up, the outline/plan method faces the same brick wall. So how exactly does this save time?

But that sounds so disorganized and chaotic

Well, welcome to the real world. Here turn-the-crank and formulaic approaches do not match up reality (again, refer to the first point). I’ll stipulate that we all work differently. Our minds, our creativity does not all fit into the same mold nor does it follow the same pattern. Some of us need to plan. It’s the way God made us. Organized, methodical, bent on prearranging every detail before jumping into a project. Designing the Space Shuttle requires that sort of approach. Dreaming up a story? I’m not so sure. Maybe it works for you, and if you haven’t, you should certainly try it. I still worry about arriving at contrived, cookie-cutter story structures. The one story I have planned from beginning to end is sitting lifeless, wooden — and unfinished.

I still would encourage those folks to let down their hair a little and embrace chaos. Heck, the Chaos Theory mathematicians have, even if they have some equations to try to make sense of it. Maybe a little untidiness, some messiness and chaos will supply your stories that raw edge they need to appeal to readers who themselves are struggling through lives that share some of that chaos. On the other hand, maybe your readers want to escape into an orderly, nicely planned world, and in that case I say, to each their own.

But fiction and real life aren’t the same

I’ve heard this argument, and though I agree to a point, if our stories are to feel genuine, they have to retain some connection to reality. At a minimum, even in the case of a far-fetched fantasy, the way characters behave and interact with one another will provide that link back to the way we experience the world. You don’t want your characters so preplanned that they behave like automatons, so get to know them along the way, and they’ll feel more real to the reader, too.

Plan to explore and discover

Planning and outlining are not entirely invalid. Some of us will do better with it that others. But in the end, if we truly set out to create real, non-contrived stories, it will serve us best to remain open to exploration and discovery. In the end, the best plan may involve planning to find the unexpected, to adapt in the face of the unknown, and to follow the random path to its final destination. Like all expeditions, up-front preparation will serve you well. Make sure that preparation, however, does not bind you from meeting the unexpected.

Check out some of my organic story-telling through my Amazon author page.