Why did I fight it?

I’m a plotter. The only ‘pantser’ element of my day is my earring stack combination. Wild, I know.

If you’re not familiar with the plotter v pantser scale of writer-types, let me break it down for you.

At one end, you have unfairly gifted people who imagine a character, setting or theme - and just start typing. Like an impromptu dance, they lead and react and pivot as their characters direct them, pouring descriptions onto pages with no plan of where they’re going, or how they’ll get there. Masterpieces are born.

And it’s not just writers who exist like this. There are other people out there, shifting and shaping with the breeze, trusting that universal ebbs and flows will guide them in the right direction. Magicians. Godly creatures. Works of art. Unfathomable to hardcore plotters like me.

So why did I try to write a novel as a pantser?

Maybe it was the Carrie Bradshaw dream, sans cigarette but not red wine, reflecting on New York escapades with girlfriends and Mister Big? That romantic vision of a writer’s life, with coffee-fuelled creativity oozing from my veins.

But I’ve done a lot of self-work. I have a very good understanding of my zone of proximal development and the ingredients I need to thrive. A lack of planning is not one of them.

In saying that, I guess all stories essentially start from an impromptu idea. Even if you’re scrambling towards a deadline and purposefully strive to think of a story, the actual concept itself that arrives can’t be planned. It’s a chicken-or-the-egg first thing.

Maybe that’s what threw me into unchartered pantser land?

At least took the right supplies. Eagerness to learn, a glorious state of flow and plenty of coffee. It was just my overwhelming sense to gain control that held me back.

What resulted was a Jekyll and Hyde existential battle as I wrote and rewrote and rewrote and rewrote the story countless times. I know that’s what all writers do. Or most, anyway. But I’m talking an obsessive, uncontrollable deep dive into every sentence, every day, questioning the fundamental elements of my story and breaking its backbone repeatedly… until I learned how to plan.

Oh Laurel Cohn and Queensland Writers Centre, how you saved me! Learning how to structurally edit my story was a game changer. I suddenly understood how to sew the story threads into purposeful story arcs, weaving acts together with pace. How to tease out the questions at the ends of each chapter, growing the tension from the inciting incident onwards.

I bought packs of coloured post-it notes, building a rainbow art of story links on cupboard doors in my study. Finally seeing what made sense. And what needed to be fixed. So. Satisfying. Like nabbing the last roast chicken at the supermarket or vacuuming a surprise dustball hidden under a dresser. The joy was real.

Of course, I’m still continuing to edit and improve my story. Generous peers and precious beta readers provided invaluable suggestions. And I’m a feedback fanatic - I can’t get enough and really love the editing process - once it’s purposefully structured.

But while I continue polishing under the guidance of my agent, I’m starting my next project.

And for Book Two, I’ve discovered Scrivener!