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Gardeners vs. Architects: A Reprise
There’s no right way to write a novel. I tell that to my students regularly. Whatever way gets you to “The End” and leaves you satisfied with the result was the right way to write the story, and how you did it doesn’t matter to the reader at all.
To me, though, the continuum of writing processes can be defined by two polar opposites: the Gardener, and the Architect.
Now I can’t take credit for this distinction; I first heard it years ago from the Santa Fe/Albuquerque cadre of science fiction and fantasy writers. I don’t know who first used that terminology or whose idea it was (if someone knows, speak up!). But I like it better than other similar comparisons I heard, such as “pantster vs. plotter”, as it’s a much more visual metaphor.
Here’s the basics: A gardener is a writer who does little to no planning or pre-plotting before starting to write. All the gardener needs is the seed of an idea. The gardener is willing to discover what lies beyond the beginning of the story as the story grows in the first draft manuscript.
An architect, on the other hand, is a writer who has every single scene plotted out before they start writing. An architect must have every last turn of the ‘roadmap’ of the plot before he/she is able to begin. The architect wants everything laid out, researched, and ready before those first words are written.
Now: what’s important to remember is that these are only the end points of a continuum. Very few writers are “pure” gardeners or architects. Most of us exist somewhere along the continuum. At the midpoint, a writer would share equally gardener and architect traits. And, of course, there are advantages and disadvantages to both approaches, as I see it. Let’s start with the gardener then move on to the architect...
Gardener Advantages: You will start! Heck, in fact, starting is what you do best. All you need is the idea and you’re off. A gardener, by definition, has a willingness to change and revise what they’ve already written if a better idea occurs to them—when you haven’t planned everything out beforehand, that’s an essential trait. A gardener always allows openings for their subconscious and serendipitous outside discoveries and research to have a role in the writing of the novel—and sometimes those lead to exciting plot turns and twists.
Gardener Disadvantages: You haven’t planned anything out beyond the barest sketch, and therefore there’s always the danger of hitting the quagmire of “The Terrible Middle” and getting hopelessly mired there, leading to an abandoned novel. Even if you do manage to fight your way through the middle to an end, because you’ve been letting your characters wander and evolve and change along the way, your novels generally require more revisions and drafts, and sometimes those revisions demand that your toss out huge swaths of your previous drafts or even start over from some point. And you’ve heard of “Writer’s Block”? This definitely afflicts Gardeners more, because sometimes you just have no idea of what comes next and you end up sitting there staring at the page.
Architect Advantages: As an architect, you know exactly what you have to work on, and therefore “writer’s block” is less likely. In addition, the vital traits of proper foreshadowing and “setting up” your plot and characters for what happens in the novel becomes easier because you already know what will happen at the end… and therefore can sprinkle in those hints for the reader. And because you’ve already plotted out the novel before you begin, there’s less revision needed once you hit “The End.”
Architect Disadvantages: Remember how I said that gardeners will always start? Well, sometimes architects never actually start—because they can’t figure out where the story and characters need to go. And when you’ve plotted out everything, you can find it difficult to change the plot even when it demands to be changed. And because of all that pre-work, the novel can sometimes feel too “structured” or “formulaic.” Sometimes an outline can be a straitjacket for the writer.
What am I? I’m significantly closer to the gardener end of the spectrum than the architect end. I usually have an end in mind for the characters of the novel, but don’t generally have much of a clue how they’re going to get from Point A of the beginning to Point Z of that end. In the writing, sometimes I realize that I need to make changes, and the characters never do reach the original Point Z, but find some alternate ending. I don’t care if that happens, as long as I’m happy with the new resolution. Yes, the middle of any novel is generally a pit of despair for me, but I’ve nearly always managed to get through it.
On the other hand, because of this, I’m lousy at pitches and proposals, because “I don’t know how Moiré is going to overcome the Misty Overlords, but trust me, I’ll have her do something and it’ll be great” isn’t exactly a compelling selling statement to an editor or agent. Most of my novel proposals are heavy on initial details and set-up, have a distinct ending, but are pretty thin on what happens in-between. Luckily, I have an editor who is willing to trust me—and will beat me up (metaphorically) if I don’t deliver something decent.
And here are a few quotes from other writers, which indicate that they, too, are all over the Gardener/Architect spectrum:
Chaim Potok: “If I had a plot that was all set in advance, why would I want to go through the agony of writing the novel?”
Ray Bradbury: “Trust your main character to run before you, and follow his/her footsteps.”
J.K. Rowling: “I always have a basic plot outline, but I like to leave some things to be decided while I write.”
Vikas Swarup: “It’s very important for me to see my whole plot. I have to see the end first because I like a surprise in the end.”
Jo Nesbo: “Normally I start with a plot, and write a synopsis, and the ideas come from the construction.”
So where do you fall in the continuum? Closer to gardener, closer to architect, or smack in the middle?
There’s no right way to write a novel. I tell that to my students regularly. Whatever way gets you to “The End” and leaves you satisfied with the result was the right way to write the story, and how you did it doesn’t matter to the reader at all.
To me, though, the continuum of writing processes can be defined by two polar opposites: the Gardener, and the Architect.
Now I can’t take credit for this distinction; I first heard it years ago from the Santa Fe/Albuquerque cadre of science fiction and fantasy writers. I don’t know who first used that terminology or whose idea it was (if someone knows, speak up!). But I like it better than other similar comparisons I heard, such as “pantster vs. plotter”, as it’s a much more visual metaphor.
Here’s the basics: A gardener is a writer who does little to no planning or pre-plotting before starting to write. All the gardener needs is the seed of an idea. The gardener is willing to discover what lies beyond the beginning of the story as the story grows in the first draft manuscript.
An architect, on the other hand, is a writer who has every single scene plotted out before they start writing. An architect must have every last turn of the ‘roadmap’ of the plot before he/she is able to begin. The architect wants everything laid out, researched, and ready before those first words are written.
Now: what’s important to remember is that these are only the end points of a continuum. Very few writers are “pure” gardeners or architects. Most of us exist somewhere along the continuum. At the midpoint, a writer would share equally gardener and architect traits. And, of course, there are advantages and disadvantages to both approaches, as I see it. Let’s start with the gardener then move on to the architect...
Gardener Advantages: You will start! Heck, in fact, starting is what you do best. All you need is the idea and you’re off. A gardener, by definition, has a willingness to change and revise what they’ve already written if a better idea occurs to them—when you haven’t planned everything out beforehand, that’s an essential trait. A gardener always allows openings for their subconscious and serendipitous outside discoveries and research to have a role in the writing of the novel—and sometimes those lead to exciting plot turns and twists.
Gardener Disadvantages: You haven’t planned anything out beyond the barest sketch, and therefore there’s always the danger of hitting the quagmire of “The Terrible Middle” and getting hopelessly mired there, leading to an abandoned novel. Even if you do manage to fight your way through the middle to an end, because you’ve been letting your characters wander and evolve and change along the way, your novels generally require more revisions and drafts, and sometimes those revisions demand that your toss out huge swaths of your previous drafts or even start over from some point. And you’ve heard of “Writer’s Block”? This definitely afflicts Gardeners more, because sometimes you just have no idea of what comes next and you end up sitting there staring at the page.
Architect Advantages: As an architect, you know exactly what you have to work on, and therefore “writer’s block” is less likely. In addition, the vital traits of proper foreshadowing and “setting up” your plot and characters for what happens in the novel becomes easier because you already know what will happen at the end… and therefore can sprinkle in those hints for the reader. And because you’ve already plotted out the novel before you begin, there’s less revision needed once you hit “The End.”
Architect Disadvantages: Remember how I said that gardeners will always start? Well, sometimes architects never actually start—because they can’t figure out where the story and characters need to go. And when you’ve plotted out everything, you can find it difficult to change the plot even when it demands to be changed. And because of all that pre-work, the novel can sometimes feel too “structured” or “formulaic.” Sometimes an outline can be a straitjacket for the writer.
What am I? I’m significantly closer to the gardener end of the spectrum than the architect end. I usually have an end in mind for the characters of the novel, but don’t generally have much of a clue how they’re going to get from Point A of the beginning to Point Z of that end. In the writing, sometimes I realize that I need to make changes, and the characters never do reach the original Point Z, but find some alternate ending. I don’t care if that happens, as long as I’m happy with the new resolution. Yes, the middle of any novel is generally a pit of despair for me, but I’ve nearly always managed to get through it.
On the other hand, because of this, I’m lousy at pitches and proposals, because “I don’t know how Moiré is going to overcome the Misty Overlords, but trust me, I’ll have her do something and it’ll be great” isn’t exactly a compelling selling statement to an editor or agent. Most of my novel proposals are heavy on initial details and set-up, have a distinct ending, but are pretty thin on what happens in-between. Luckily, I have an editor who is willing to trust me—and will beat me up (metaphorically) if I don’t deliver something decent.
And here are a few quotes from other writers, which indicate that they, too, are all over the Gardener/Architect spectrum:
Chaim Potok: “If I had a plot that was all set in advance, why would I want to go through the agony of writing the novel?”
Ray Bradbury: “Trust your main character to run before you, and follow his/her footsteps.”
J.K. Rowling: “I always have a basic plot outline, but I like to leave some things to be decided while I write.”
Vikas Swarup: “It’s very important for me to see my whole plot. I have to see the end first because I like a surprise in the end.”
Jo Nesbo: “Normally I start with a plot, and write a synopsis, and the ideas come from the construction.”
So where do you fall in the continuum? Closer to gardener, closer to architect, or smack in the middle?
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