#writing turtle

So, you have a story idea and now you’re faced with the eternal question: should you outline your novel?

You’ve probably heard of the two flavors of writers—the pantsers and the plotters. Plotters being those who actually create an outline for their work, and pantsers being those who simply ‘fly by the seat of their pants.’

Well, like most things in life, this dichotomy is actually a spectrum; while some people are adamantly at one extreme or the other, most will fall somewhere in between. However, for the sake of argument, let’s assume you can place yourself into one group or the other.

The Case for Pantsing

For me, the moment I outline a story it’s dead to me. I can’t even start writing it out in prose. In fact, the basic set of key scenes I wrote out yesterday is the most I ever outline. When starting a story, I need to have very little structure in my head.

Why? Because to me, outlining is inherently judgmental. Just like with idea generation, if I try to give my writing turtle any rules at all they will retreat back into their shell and I can plan on not seeing them again for a long, long time. By outlining, I’m examining my thoughts and deeming some worthy and some unworthy before they’ve even had the chance to be explored. Some of the ideas I try out will not be usable. But I want to reserve my judgment for the editing process, not for writing.

Instead, if I let myself once again be completely uncritical, there comes a point about a quarter to a third of the way through the book where the story hits me like a brick. The little threads of plot that have been weaving through my subconscious and somehow ending up on the page without me noticing converge until I realize what’s going on and can see the conclusion the story is going to be building to from now on. I will have to go back later to clean up the beginning and tie everything together, but that’s a job for editing, not for drafting.

For me, this process is fun and lets me try out ideas that I might have been too embarrassed or critical of to put in my outline.

The Case for Plotting

For some people, the process I described above might sound terrifying. For plotters, structuring the story beforehand can bring out more creativity by removing the anxiety of trying to figure out what to write next. If this is you, that’s great! Do what feels good for you.

An outline might be as detailed as writing out every shift in the main plot, subplots, tone, and character state across the entire story, or it might be as simple as listing out the main sequence of events and a bit of explanation about how they get from one event to the other.

An outline is whatever you need it to be. It’s the structure you hang your story on. For many plotters, the creativity comes in the outlining, in imagining how the story will unfold, and the writing is the execution of those ideas.

Of course, if you’re writing for a client or employer, you’ll probably have to outline at some point to let them give their input on your plan. But if you’re writing for yourself, your outline is yours to get creative with.

The Case for Being in the Middle

I made it sound as though my ‘pantsing’ process is completely intuitive. Which from one perspective is true. However, the reason I’m able to start writing at all without using an outline is because I have a sense, from my own reading, critique, and editing, of how a story unfolds.

A story is the change in state of the main character(s), and the journey that gets them there. But it’s how that journey is told that makes the change satisfying.

Characters need to strive for something. They need to fail, not just once, but again and again, until finally they reach their goal (or until their desires have shifted to the point where they no longer want that goal). They need to be misinformed about things, so that later on they can make discoveries about their misconceptions and deepen their understanding of the world. In short: they need to struggle, and succeed, and fail, and struggle again.

After the characters go through several cycles of struggles, you can finally reveal the turn that leads them to their end state and maybe spend some time with them in that new state. Every genre has its own tropes regarding what kind of struggles they need to face (think about the perennial problem of going after the wrong suspect in crime fiction); you probably have a sense of this from your own reading (and if you don’t, don’t worry! You don’t need to match what anyone else is doing to be writing a good story. You just need to keep gradually deepening our understanding of your characters by showing them work through the obstacles you put in their way).

So while I say I’m being entirely uncritical when I start, what I really mean is that I’m not judging my ideas for the particularities of my own story. But I’m still holding a basic story structure in my mind. I might not know the exact ending, but I know it will have to show a change in my character, and I know it has to be earned.

Somewhere in between pantsing and plotting, that’s where most of us fall. Outline as much as you need to, but don’t try to force things into a neat structure before you’re ready. And be willing to pull up your outline by the roots and plant something entirely different if you realize partway through that your original outline no longer works for the story you want to tell.

You own your outline, it doesn’t own you.

In a few days, I’ll revisit the outline to show you how I might outline my portal fantasy book, but tomorrow, we’re talking about research (yayy).

Until then!

Photo: Scott Gummerson

So far, we’ve been planning and plotting, but haven’t talked about how to get those ideas onto the page.

Well, there’s no trick to it. To start writing, you just start writing.

I know it can be intimidating to put those first few words to the page, but it doesn’t have to be. For me it helps to think of it the same way you’d think about drawing a sketch, before doing the full version of a drawing. It’s something just for you, it’s supposed to be messy, and it’s fine if you write some stray words, because you can just erase them later!

If you’re still having a hard time getting started, here are some tricks for getting over that first hurdle of putting words to the page:

Start with a scene that interests you

There is no story police checking that you write everything in order. You can start with whatever scene grabs you in the moment. Follow your muse, not your logical brain that’s telling you to write from beginning to end. Your logical brain isn’t where the words are.  

In my most recent work, I started with a scene that I thought would be about halfway through the book, because it was something that excited me. I had fun writing it, and it got me excited to write the rest. By the time I got back to that point in the story, things had changed so much that most of that first scene was scrapped, but it worked well to get me started writing and gave me something to look forward to, so I’m glad I wrote it!

Some writers write their last scenes first, so they can work the story towards that end point and leave hints through the story about how things will end. Others just write snippets, here and there, and connect them later.

You do you, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing it wrong.

To make this kind of writing easier, it’s really helpful to use a writing tool that lets you write scenes and then click and drag those scenes around to change the order of things as you go and things become more clear. I use SmartEdit Writer, it’s the best free writing tool for authors I’ve ever used and highly recommend it if you’re going to be writing things out of order.

Write the images that come to you, as they come to you

Even within a scene, there’s no need to write everything in order, from start to finish. Maybe you can see how it starts, and a piece in the middle, but you don’t know how to connect those pieces.

That’s fine. That’s normal. Just write out what you can see, and try not to worry about what comes in the middle. The less you stress, the more you’ll get onto the page.

Maybe you’re writing one scene, and suddenly an image comes to you, fully-formed, and you want to write it out.

Do it.

Press enter on the keyboard, or go to the next page of your notebook, and write it out. You do not need to be logical when you’re trying to capture your ideas. You do not need to be logical when you’re trying to capture your ideas.  

Remember, this is your sketch. Or, to use a different metaphor, this is you mining for the raw materials that you’ll refine later into a polished story. Things will often come to you out of order, and if you chase those images that come to you you’ll often stumble across veins of story that are even better than what you started with.

As a writer, you don’t get points for doing things a certain way. You’re rewarded for telling a story that people connect to, not for writing it ‘properly.’

Try (really try) to write a terrible first draft

Like the messy sketch that eventually turns into a finished drawing, you need to give yourself permission to write something messy, and terrible, barely recognizable as the finished draft. Write in loose strokes, let things get away from you, write half-sentences and abandon scenes or conversations halfway through.

Why? Because this completely undercuts that voice that’s telling you your writing sucks. If you intentionally write badly, that voice has nothing to do, because you can just say, ‘yes, it is bad, I did it that way on purpose.’

Once you have enough material on the page that you can see a scene, or a chapter, starting to form, then you can go back and be critical. You can shape it into something you might actually want to share with your friends.

Resist the urge to edit as you’re drafting.

This goes along with the point above, but it deserves its own heading.

Remember: how ‘good’ your first draft is has nothing to do with your skills as a writer or as a storyteller. I know so many writers who write brilliant, perfect prose, but never finish more than a few pages of anything, because they are determined to write everything perfectly on the first try. And they do. They write amazingly well. But perfect truly is the enemy of the good, in this case, because these perfect gems never make it past those initial pages.

If you want to write a complete story, abandon the idea that you’re going to write it exactly how you want it on the first try. Editors (like me) know the difference between writing messy prose and not knowing how to write. We’re not going to judge your mess. In fact we’ll love it, because it shows you’re letting your ideas flow.

Now, go write some stuff!

Many people confuse ‘things happening’ with ‘plot’.

Events =/= Plot. If you learn nothing else from me, learn this.

Photo: JOHN TOWNER

Events are things that happen, but remember back on day 0, when we first asked ‘what is a story’? A story is a change in the main character, and the events that get them there.

So, plot, rather than being the events that happen, is anything that reveals this change in the character. A plot point is usually some sort of event, because that event triggers a shift in the character’s internal or external state and leads to character growth, but not all events are plot points. If an event doesn’t reveal something about your character, or trigger some sort of change, it’s not a plot point, it’s just a thing that happens.

When you’re too worried about making your story ‘objectively’ interesting, or trying to find a way to make it so anyone would care about it, you can end up writing a story that’s very dramatic, with lots of big events where something very big is at stake (eg, world domination by an evil villain). However, no matter how objectively interesting the story is, if it doesn’t affect your main character(s) personally it’s not going to be a story.

Events are thing that happen. Plot is what changes.

One very good structure for thinking about plot is Mary Robinette Kowal’s M.I.C.E. quotient, which she talks about on her podcast. It’s not a 3-act, 7-act, 12-act, or any other type of structure that values events over characters--instead, the M.I.C.E. quotient starts with character and asks, what is the story you want to tell about them? It’s really helped me learn more about what makes a satisfying plot, and is flexible enough to adapt to any genre. I hope you find it as useful as I do!

Tomorrow: setting.

sometimes, when you've read too much advice on writing, or read too many polished, finished pieces from writers who have agents and editors and proofreaders cleaning up behind them as they go, you might start to think that your writing isn’t good.

sometimes you can convince yourself your writing is bad just by opening your computer, or your notebook.

here’s the thing: that voice that’s telling you you’re not good, it’s not very smart. it doesn’t know that much about writing. it doesn’t know how many years it took for a draft to turn into a published work. it just knows that your writing doesn’t seem very impressive in comparison.

i like to think of this voice as my anxious little writing turtle, poking its head out of its shell to glance around and stare wide-eyed at the world moving so fast around it. very cute. very confused. safely ignored.

🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič

My opinion on this can be summed up with: TK.

What does this mean? If you’re a prolific writer, you’ll know exactly what this means. For the rest of you, read on:

Do not try to research everything before you start. Don’t even pretend like you’re going to do this.

That way lies madness. There are so many contingencies you just won’t be able to think of before you get into your story. Accept that you’re going to have to look things up as you go.  

Of course, if you’re setting your story in a recognizable location, or you’re exploring a historical period, trying to write ‘realistic’ sci-fi, or writing from the perspective of characters with identities that are very different from yours, then you’re going to have to get some basic facts straight before you start. Look up what technology is available, find maps of the locations where your story will take place, develop a basic understanding of the scientific concepts you’ll be writing about. Learn how society treats the types of people you’re writing about, and how it feels to be in their bodies.  

However, and this is important, you don’t need to know all of the details. You only need to know enough that you can see a path forward. As soon as you know enough, you can start writing.

Some more experienced writers here might be horrified by this approach. But here’s the thing: for most of us, research is a form of procrastination. It’s not useful for the story. It’s a way to not write while pretending like we’re writing. And until you’ve written several stories, you won’t even realize you’re procrastinating. It will just feel like a useful thing to do, before you start.

Don’t fall into this trap.

When you come to a detail you don’t know while you’re writing, unless it’s crucial to the plot, resist the urge to look it up.

This is where we come to that blessed TK. Unless you’re writing a book about someone named Atkins, you’re rarely going to come across these two letters in sequence in your novel. It’s just not a common pairing. So, you can just throw a TK in wherever you’re unsure about something, and when you go back to edit you can do a ctrl+F for all those TKs and replace them with the details you missed before.

Detail about a street scene you don’t know? TK. Period-appropriate phrasing for a bit of dialogue you haven’t decided on yet? TK. Type of metal used to make the machinery in that futuristic food-packaging facility where your character is investigating a mysterious death? TK. I have TKed entire interactions before, because I just couldn’t picture it in my head at the time.

Now, you can’t TK everything. If your character is wearing a ball gown, and part of the plot centers on them feeling out of place and stifled in the clothes because the clothing is a symbol of the patriarchy, you’ve got to research that so you can tell us in excruciating detail just how upsetting that experience was. But, if they put on a dress and have no feelings about it, don’t waste your precious writing time looking up how it should look. Just TK it when you get to a detail you don’t know.

If the words are flowing, don’t interrupt them. You can go back and do the research later, when you’re not feeling inspired or when you’re too tired to write but still want to work on your manuscript.

This is not the only approach to research. It might not be the best in every situation. However, it’s the approach that will keep you putting words on the page, and that’s what I want from you on this journey. Writing.

Tomorrow, back to outlining!

I’m so excited to share this tool with you; it’s one of my favorites (shamelessly stolen from Mary Robinette Kowal, if you haven’t looked her up yet please do!).

photo: BilliTheCat/pixabay

What is First In Last Out?

This is a strategy taken from coding and math, where you often have operations nested within operations (for example, in the equation (1+(2*(3+4))), we know to solve 3+4 first, before multiplying by two, before adding one to solve the equation).

When applied to stories, the idea is that story arcs are nested within each other, and the ones introduced later in the book actually need to be wrapped up first, because they’re nested within the ‘larger’ story arcs. You have to wrap up those arcs before you can wrap up the bigger ones, or else your story will feel wonky or unbalanced.

How can I use it in my story?

To use FILO in your story, look at the conflicts, problems, and themes you’ve set up in the first third of your book and ask yourself, in which order do these things need to be addressed?

Go through your work and list the conflicts out in the order in which they happen, and then think about how to wrap up the most recent one first, and how that will help you wrap up the next most recent conflict, and work your way out until you get back to the original conflict. This can become your map forward into the rest of your story.

As you get into more complicated story structures (ie, ones that aren’t perfectly chronological), you might find you have an overarching conflict or problem that isn’t revealed until later in the text. That’s fine! Even if it’s revealed later, if it happens first chronologically and provides the context for the later conflicts then it should be listed first. Then, when you’re wrapping up your conflicts, it will still end up being Last Out, since it was the conflict that set up everything that came later in the chronological timeline.

What does it mean to ‘wrap up’ a conflict or story arc?

All I mean by ‘wrapping up’ is that the conflict needs to be addressed clearly in some way that makes it feel like it’s over in some sense. It needs to physically remove the character from the place where the conflict is happening, or make the character feel emotionally that the conflict is over in some way.

Wrapping up a story arc does not mean that you’ve solved all the problems, or answered all of the questions that you raised. That would make the reader feel like they were being lectured to, and lead to a very long-winded story.

Think about the ending of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Nothing was actually resolved in that ending; she ran away. However, it feels like it’s been wrapped up because the main character has left the situation behind. It’s a satisfying ending because it gets her out of the bears’ house and away from danger, but it’s unsatisfying in other ways: the interpersonal conflict with the bears is never addressed.

You don’t have to make the readers happy, you just have to get them to a place where they can agree that this part of the story is over. Perhaps in a sequel of Goldilocks she apologizes and makes friends with the bears, but the original story arc, the one of Goldilocks breaking and entering, is wrapped up.

Example of First In Last Out

First-In, Last Out is the structuring tool I use the most often when I’m unsure about how to continue with my story.

For example, in the portal fantasy I set up on day 2.5, there are three main conflicts introduced in this order:

The protagonist is struggling to adjust to life back in her hometown and struggling to survive as an artist.

She meets and starts reconnecting with her old friend, but isn’t sure if the friend has romantic feelings for her.

She is immersed in a fantasy world that wants more from her than she’s willing to give.

Each of these problems is interrelated (she goes into the portal because she’s feeling stressed about being home, and she reconnects with the friend because both of them have moved back recently and feel out of place), but they also have an order of operations. So, once I’ve gotten my story going, and I’m struggling to figure out what to write next, I can think about what I’m doing to wrap up the conflict in the portal world, and how that will help me wrap up the other two conflicts later on.

Just like with a math equation, solving the nested problems should help you to solve the larger ones, so that by the time you get to the end of the story it feels like everything has been addressed and the reader can put down the book not feeling cheated (this is different from feeling happy; it’s up to you whether you want them to feel happy at the end. But the one thing you don’t want is for them to feel like there were plot holes because you forgot to wrap up one of your nested problems!).

How do I make my conflicts/plot points feel interrelated?

This is something I’ll talk about tomorrow, with the ‘dominoes’ strategy!

Until then, keep writing!

i can’t remember for the life of me how to start one of these. so i won’t; i’ll just continue:

All I wanted to say for today was, give yourself a break from that manuscript. You have a beginning, a middle, and an ending, and maybe it's messy but it's finished. Good work!

Now set it aside and get started on that idea that was nagging at you, pick up one of those shiny new objects, and start again!

...or don't. But please give yourself a breather from the story you just wrote, let yourself become a bit distant from it. When you come back with fresh eyes after a few weeks or even a few months, you'll be able to see things much more objectively. Some things I dread coming back to only to find they're way better than I expected, sometimes it's the opposite. But I won't have the perspective to know until I leave it alone for a while.

Not earth-shattering advice, I know. But true nonetheless.