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Plotting, Winging it, and My New Series
By D.B. Jackson
Few issues of literary craft animate writers more than the debate over whether or not to outline our novels. The so-called “planners versus pantsers” (yes, “pantsers,” as in “flying by the seat of one’s pants”) battle is one that has informed convention panels, workshop discussions, and late night arguments at many a bar.
Naturally, I have my own thoughts on the pros and cons of outlining, and am more than willing to share. But I should also mention that I have had my faith in my position shaken by recent experience.
Generally speaking, I’m a planner. I tend to outline my novels and short stories, and while I might not stick to those outlines one hundred percent of the time, I do find it helpful, at least when starting a new project, to have some semblance of a creative roadmap that I can follow. To my mind, though, the planner v. pantser debate is not a simple dichotomy. Rather it exists along a continuum. I know many authors who claim to be dedicated outliners, but within this group I have found a wide range of what “outlining” might mean.
The outlines of some authors are deep, plot-point-by-plot-point treatments of what they intend to do with their stories. For others, an “outline” might be a one paragraph summary scrawled on the back of a bar coaster. (Writers, in case you don’t know, spend a fair amount of time in bars.) A similar range of techniques exists on the no-outline side of the debate. Certainly some authors approach a new project with nothing more than a vague sense of what they are about to write. Then again, lots of self-proclaimed pantsers do extensive research before they begin their projects, which suggests that while they might not actually create an outline they probably have in their heads some idea of what they intend to do with their story, and with all that background material they’ve gathered.
So, yes, I outline. But my outlines tend toward the vague end of the spectrum. I find that if I jot down too much ahead of time, I expend the creative energy I need to work through the book. I prefer to create in the moment, as I write. At the same time, I do want to have some sense of where I’m headed. So I will outline by writing a paragraph or so for each of my planned chapters. “Chapter 10: Character X meets character Y in a bar. (Sometimes our characters spend time in bars, too.) They discuss the murder of character Z. In the course of their conversation, Y reveals that he and Z were having an affair. As they leave the bar, an unknown driver tries to run down X.” That’s really all I need. As I say, I prefer to let the details of action and dialog come to me in the creative moment.
I should pause here to discuss a couple of points regarding nomenclature. I know some on the no-outline side object to the term “pantsers,” seeing it as a pejorative representation of their process. Others embrace the label. In using it, I intend no disparagement. I merely find it an easy shorthand for framing the argument. At the same time, many of those who don’t like the term “pantser,” prefer to be referred to as “organic” writers, the idea being that without an outline, their ideas come to them organically, in the moment, and not pre-informed by any sort of planned course.
The problem with that is, most of us who outline also think of ourselves as organic writers, at least to some degree. Again, all of these terms exist along continuums, making their definitions somewhat fungible.
And that brings me to the most recent series I’ve written: The Islevale Cycle. Time’s Demon, the second book in the series, has just been released by Angry Robot Books. The first volume, Time’s Children, came out in October, and I am currently completing the manuscript of Time’s Assassin, the third and final book in the cycle. I love these books. Time’s Children is the best-reviewed book I’ve written, and I believe Time’s Demon is even better.
But they have not been easy books to write. These are epic fantasies with prominent time travel elements. They have many point of view characters, multiple plot threads, and complex narratives. They are, in short, just the sort of books that should lend themselves to – that, indeed, should demand – careful outlining. And for the life of me, I have been unable to outline any of them.
I don’t know why this is. I knew from the outset that the storylines would be filled with twists and turns. With the first book, I spent literally months trying to outline, until at last my wife suggested that I just go ahead and write the damn thing. Which I did. I had a similar experiences with the second and third books, but was smart enough to give up earlier. The narratives simply defied planning.
I paid a price for this. The first book required an extensive rewrite – I literally tore the initial draft apart, dropped some 40,000 words from it and generated 60,000 words in new content. The results justified the work, but it was a harrowing writing experience. Book II was little different. Once the first draft was done, I needed to cut 20,000 words and rearrange huge chunks of it. The third book has presented similar challenges.
I should be clear: I don’t begrudge the labor. Writing is supposed to be hard. More, I believe that all the extra work explains why the first two books turned out so well, and why the third has the potential to do the same. I’ve even wondered if I should give up outlining and write all my novels this way.
Don’t worry fellow plotters. I haven’t actually jumped ship. Rather, I’ve realized that every project brings its own process. I could not have written my Thieftaker novels, the plots of which were closely intertwined with true historical timelines and events, without detailed outlines. As I said earlier, writers locate themselves along a spectrum between hyper-close outlining and complete abandon. It seems individual books do so as well, even when they’re written by the same author.
You’ll notice that throughout this essay, I have refrained from offering advice. I tend to outline. That doesn’t mean that you should. My newest books, which may well be my best, were written without outlines. That doesn’t mean that you should burn your outlines. You need to find the approach that works best for you. More, you need to find the approach that best matches whatever project you happen to be working on at a given moment. No one method is best for all authors or all stories. I would suggest you view advice to the contrary with a healthy dose of skepticism.
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D.B. Jackson is the pen name of fantasy author David B. Coe. He is the award-winning author of more than twenty novels and as many short stories. His newest novel, Time’s Demon, is the second volume in a time travel/epic fantasy series called The Islevale Cycle. Time’s Children is volume one; David is working on the third book, Time’s Assassin.
As D.B. Jackson, he also writes the Thieftaker Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy set in pre-Revolutionary Boston. As David B. Coe, he is the author of the Crawford Award-winning LonTobyn Chronicle, as well as the critically acclaimed Winds of the Forelands quintet and Blood of the Southlands trilogy; the novelization of Ridley Scott’s movie, Robin Hood; a contemporary urban fantasy trilogy, The Case Files of Justis Fearsson; and most recently, Knightfall: The Infinite Deep, a tie-in with the History Channel’s Knightfall series.
David has a Ph.D. in U.S. history from Stanford University. His books have been translated into a dozen languages. He and his family live on the Cumberland Plateau. When he’s not writing he likes to hike, play guitar, and stalk the perfect image with his camera.
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