Advice from a "Pantser"

I don’t write a story chronologically. I also don’t outline. That makes me, according to some - a “Pantser” - a writer who develops a story “by the seat of [my} pants” instead of from a carefully-developed plan. Rather than outlining, I begin writing a story after a character or a scene becomes so vivid, so demanding, that it *must* go on paper. Though, in truth, by the time this happens, there are usually several scenes running through my head like scenes from a favorite movie - so clear, so insistent, so essential that they no longer introduce me to the character - the character simply lives there, and by this time, I know her/him. Also, by this time, there are pages and pages of brainstorming, snatches of dialogue, descriptions of setting and events - all captured as they rush, pounding, into my brain. I don’t write even these things in any chronological order, but instead whichever rises to the top on any given day that I sit down to work.

Lots of things have to happen just right for this to go as smoothly as that sounds, and they seldom do. (And it really doesn’t sound that smooth, does it?) Recently, at lunch with a friend, I was discussing a day I was trying to find the right working title for my current piece - brainstorming for

hours, researching the setting, the time, the place, mythology, culture, making lists, cursing, until I’m driven out of my writing room to slam kitchen cupboard doors, throw recipes on the counter, and curse a lot more, planning to do some frustration-baking. Until…. a chance memory of a scene written weeks before gives me the right four words. My new working title. {And no, I’m not telling you until I’ve lived with that new title for a while} No baking got done, but a lot more pages got written that day.

Why was a working title (which seldom survives to become the actual title) so important? Because, as I explained to her - the first ‘working title’ I’d begun with was not putting me in the frame of mind that seemed *right* for the story, right for the characters. That’s a
“Pantser” attitude, I’m pretty sure. If it doesn’t feel right, the work won’t be right. Follow your gut with a story, and see where it takes you.

I respect people who outline meticulously. I admire them, I’m awed by them…..and I don’t understand it at all. To me, the magic of story writing is discovery. While I sometimes know - more accurately, suspect - what the final scene of a story will be; that often changes, and even when it doesn’t, how I’m getting the character from her page one to that final page is a mystery that unfolds day by day.

This makes sense to me, and could easily be predicted from every personality test I’ve ever taken - I like uncertainty, I like change, and thrive on them both. They create a sense of almost magical mystery that keeps me driving forward. So, being a “pantser” fits. I don’t know where my characters are taking me until they open their mouths, or climb out a window, or run onto a stage - and I love that surprise.

What this says to me is that every writer needs to take a close look at themselves and how they live, what resonates, what doesn’t, and then reflect on the process they’ve been using to write. As a writing teacher, I have frequently had to encourage students to unlearn a process they were taught was the only right one (as if any one thing could be the “only right” for all humans) and begin to find their personal process by exploring how they live when they are truly themselves, fully comfortable in the world they’re in, and then explore this question: how can you make your writing process like that?

I was lucky in my early years to have teachers who taught this intuitively. All the way from high school through graduate school I was gifted with writing teachers who knew how to see each writer individually, or at least to see me that way, and to give me the words I needed to trust my own way forward.

Forming your writing process to reflect how you fit in the world has other advantages outside of writing. You become less susceptible to what other people think you should be or how you should

do things. Difficult times (while still, obviously, difficult) are softened by a clear knowledge that it is simply a part of your piece of the world, and how to best handle these times for your life (as opposed to how others think you should handle them) becomes clear to you. You don’t think of your goals in terms of anyone’s expectations but your own. You accept and adapt more easily than many you know who have the same struggles.

Two things helped me to discover what was mine in my process (both in life and in writing) and what others had imposed. First was the clear, pointed, and loving advice of a great mentor in my writing, who guided me through my graduate program and stays in my heart. She knows who she is. The other one is a book (not a writing book) called “Callings” by Gregg Levoy. The subtitle to this book is “Finding and Following an Authentic Life” and I don’t think I’ve ever read a nonfiction book more appropriately named. I devoured my own copy and actually wrote to the author to thank him. I’ve given several gift copies to friends. No writing text ever helped me in my creative process as much as this book did.

I wouldn’t say that you need such an adviser or need to read this book to find the way to your own authentic process of writing. I would say that finding your way to that place is probably the most important thing you can do as a writer. I was on my way there before I encountered this adviser (turning down law school admission to go to the creative writing program where I she was my

teacher) and was also well on my way before I read this book. But they helped. They strengthened me, they blew away any dust from the clarity I was developing about who (and what kind of writer) I wanted to be. Some people (and, as a teacher, I believe, a lot of the younger generation) get there more easily than those of us who’ve been around a little longer, and their authenticity and passion makes me love them perhaps more even than my characters.

Find your own route there, and be sure the way you choose is *your* way. For me, one of the best

expressions of the goal comes in a scene from a movie called “Living Out Loud.” The main character (played by Holly Hunter) is walking along with a friend of hers (Danny DeVito) and says to him, “I want to stop agreeing to do things I don’t want to do.” Devito stops, turns to her and says: “Then Stop!”

Stop agreeing to a process that isn’t yours. Stop agreeing to do things (as a writer or a person) that you don’t want to do. Stop writing for the reasons others have given you and find your own reasons. Listen to the advice of teachers, and do what you need to do for their classes, but when you sit down to write, not as a student but as a writer, make your first step finding the authenticity that is unique to you.