Last year I did NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) as a discovery writer. It went… okay. I won NaNo (by which I mean I completed 50,000 words of a story), but what I was left with was a mess. So this year I decided I’d try the other way, as a plotter. And it didn’t work.

Plotter: Successes

I managed to write every day. Not enough, but I did manage to keep plugging away at it.

I solved a couple of major issues. I was struggling with my main character, and I think I have a better version of her now. I also managed to solve some issues around her motivation.

In both years, I got about 10 days in and realised I had some major issues. So all the plotting did nothing to help that. The solution I came up with last year was not a good one. It got me through NaNo, but it left the story in a very odd place and I didn’t know how to fix it. I will say that I think my solution this year is a lot better.

PLOTTER: The Problems

I was lacking motivation compared to last year. I wanted to try planning versus discovery writing, and I think I now know which one of these is for me. I just can’t feel the enthusiasm for the story and every little thing was distracting me and sounded like a better story. That did not happen last year.

I don’t feel like what I am writing is any better for being planned. In fact, I think its worse. I find I can think more on technical things as I know what the scene is meant to do, but as I write by hand, I can’t really implement that well.

I feel like the story is missing something. And because I have it all laid out, that feeling is stronger.

What next?

I’d written around 11k words - getting ever further behind where I needed to be. And then I decided to abandon the project. There had been another option, something I almost considered switching to in October. The plan was to just write 40k words about it. No planning. No preparation. Just write.

Note: this post presumes general knowledge of discovery writing vs. outlining, but for those who aren’t familiar, here’s a brief explanation: discovery writers (aka “gardeners”) write without the structure of an outline or any ending in mind, letting the story/characters develop organically and dictate what they write next. Outline writers (aka “architects”), obviously, use an outline, and plan their story (and, usually, characters) from beginning to end before they begin writing the prose. Keep in mind that this is a sliding scale, and writers can (and usually do) fall anywhere between those two extremes. For more info just google “discovery writers vs. outliners” or “architects vs. gardeners” and you’ll learn a lot more.

After my post last week about desire, let’s follow things through to the next logical progression: beginning a novel.

I’ll be honest with you: at least for me, beginning to write a novel is a pretty easy process. Ideas are a cheap commodity in this business—I have an evernote folder with literally hundreds of ideas for stories, novels, plot points, characters, etc., and I’m constantly adding to it.* Writing those ideas out—turning the flint and tinder and smoke into a candle flame (or a bonfire, or a MASSIVE EXPLOSION [why not follow through with that metaphor?])—is the real work.**

That’s why beginning with any given idea is so easy for me—the idea’s already there, or at least some inkling of it. Unfortunately, this is also the reason why many beginning writers (myself included) make the following mistake: we write the first few chapters, but then get distracted(by a new character or concept that comes up)/bored(by where the idea ends up going at first)/frustrated(by where the story should or is going from that point)/or otherwise disillusioned by the catalyzing idea, scrap the whole thing, and move on to another project that strikes our fancy. That, generally, is the problem that discovery writers face when they want to begin a project: they love to start projects because the idea is what drives them, but often have trouble finishing things because they get distracted/bored/frustrated. They’re stuck writing infinite first drafts.

Outliners aren’t exactly immune to this sort of malady, however—it just affects them in a different way. Outliners, predictably, tend to get stuck in the outlining phase of projects (a phenomenon known as “worldbuilder’s disease” in many writing circles). Their outline grows and grows and grows, they create character ID sheets and maps and histories and magic systems and plot twists and turns, but never actually begin writing.

I’m a discovery writer, and as I mentioned in my previous HIGP post, I’ve started many different novels. At least a dozen were intended to be actual novels, but if you expand that number to include short stories, novelettes, etc., it triples—at least (and that’s a pretty mild manifestation of this problem, based on some conversations with writers I’ve had). But I’ve also seen the worldbuilder’s disease side of things.

The first draft of Duskfall began as a project for a class I took from Brandon Sanderson. It was not the first novel I’d begun writing; I’d say it was maybe my sixth or seventh. I wrote about 20K words of that draft, but then stopped working on it when the class ended. When I graduated and didn’t get into any MFA programs, I suddenly had time on my hands and chose to return to Duskfall, but I knew immediately that it had too many issues to continue writing without major, major revisions. So I decided to scrap all I’d written, and do some worldbuilding first. I created some magic systems. And some governments. And some religions. And wrote some history. And created lots and lots of characters. And, before I knew it, six months had gone by and I hadn’t actually written anything in the novel—I hadn’t even begun it. I realized at that point that I had a problem, and resolved to sit down and just plow through Duskfall, come what may.

That, it turns out, was the most important decision I made. I’d done a good share of worldbuilding and I’d already written a beginning to the novel, but when I sat down to start Duskfall anew, I had to commit. And now, for me, that’s what beginning a novel means: it’s a commitment. I need to make that clear to myself when I begin any project, because if I don’t, the temptation to jump to something else or get stuck worldbuilding is too strong for me to handle!***

So if you’re a discovery writer stuck continually writing first drafts of first chapters, commit to finishing a project. Hold yourself responsible to that idea. Follow through with it, and don’t allow yourself to jump ship to the first fancy idea that comes along. Your first chapters do not have to be good. More often than not, I make serious changes to my first chapters when I revise, if I decide to keep them at all. Just get through them, and then get through the middle, and then get through the end. Trust me, it’s worth it. And if you’re an outliner, let go of the worldbuilding. Some of it is necessary, of course. But at a certain point you, too, have got to commit. Make your outline and stick to it (Or don’t for all I care, I’m a discovery writer! But at least keep writing forward.), and just start writing!

Trust me, it’s worth it. I mean, it’s fun to worldbuild, and it’s fun to pursue all the pretty ideas racing through my head, but there’s not a lot of fulfillment there. Finishing a novel, though—that’s something. And that’s what I’ll talk about next week.

* Only slightly depressing is the fact that I will never get even close to fleshing out every single one of these ideas in my lifetime. It would be impossible in the most literal sense of the word. But I mean it with the “slightly.” Having too many ideas is a pretty nice problem to have as a writer. Way better than not having enough time to write, for example.

** Incidentally, this is why most writers scoff when people say “hey I’ve got a great idea, you should totally write a book about it and give me x amount of the profits!” Ideas really are cheap. If you have a phenomenal idea that you just can’t wait to share with the world, good for you! Go write it yourself and you’ll find out what I mean when I say that writing the thing is the real work.