There Is No Such Thing as a Pantser

Writers frequently divide themselves into two camps: plotters, and pantsers.
I posit that they’re really the same thing.

Plotters and Pantsers

They’re funny words, born of the publishing industry. A plotter is somebody who works out the plot before they start, using it as a road map for where they want to go. A pantser is somebody who just starts writing, without a plan, and lets the story grow organically from the characters, or whatever they happen to feel at the time. I think you can guess which camp I fall into.

This is just my opinion, mind you — but I’ve done almost a hundred interviews with writers, and written about writing on the pages of SCIFI.radio for over fifteen years. And, I do have the benefit of having written a very highly regarded (though lesser known) book, Juniper Fairchild and the Alterwhere.

The Mechanics of It All

A pantser is a plotter who doesn’t think they have to plan anything out and just charges ahead, and then eventually has to go back and, with a bunch of pieces they’ve made, work out the outline anyway after the fact. They’re really plotters, they just don’t want to sit down and do the work up front.

Plotting is additive. It’s like building a house, you start with a blueprint, frame it up and build in increasing detail until it’s finished.

Pantsing is subtractive. It’s more like carving from a stone block with a chisel. You take away everything that doesn’t look like the elephant you know is in that hunk of marble someplace. The form is revealed to you as you work. I use the term “subtractive” very intentionally: as a pantser, one writes a great deal of material that must eventually be removed and thrown away, because it does not fit the story structure to which it must eventually be applied.

But here’s the thing: in order for pantsing to work, you must understand the rules of engagement. Stories must have beginnings, middles and endings. Characters need backstories, so that you have a frame of reference for determining how they’ll function in any given scenario. If you just start writing without a plan, you end up with a mess.

Two Kinds of Pantsers: Those Who Are, And Those Who Think They Are, But Aren’t (But Neither Really Is)

The author who believes they are a pantser and can actually function this way is really just an internalized plotter. Some writers are so good at what they do, and so practiced at it, that they can write their stories without spending too much time discretely thinking about their plan. They understand the lay of the land and the mechanics of writing so well that they have sublimated the planning process, and for them, it is more like instinct than technical work.

This begs the obvious observation that there are writers who think they are successful pantsers, and they’re really not, because they have no idea what they’re doing. These writers tend not to finish anything, because they’re trying to write without having a structure in which to work, and whether you hold that structure in your head or you write it down as a formal document, you must have one. It’s functionally impossible to write without one.

That said, your story outline is unlikely to withstand exposure to your characters with no changes. In Aristotle’s book on storytelling and theater, called simply Poetics, he lays the fact that character emerges from story, but that story also emerges from character. Events take place, and some of them are instigated by your characters, and some of them are merely experienced by them. This dichotomy defines the existence of the individual, and it is impossible to construct a reality, artificial or otherwise, in which this is not true. For this reason, an absolute control over your plot outline just isn’t possible.

Still, though the premise that the outline will always rigidly define the story may be flawed, we are still locked into having to have one, just as we are locked into having to know everything there is to know about the characters who will inhabit it and live out their experiences in it.

You cannot use the inherent instability of the concept of plot and the influence of characters actions upon it as an excuse not to make one. You cannot use the fact that characters are shaped by their environment and experiences as an excuse not to write their backstories. It’s the same problem, just from the other side of the fence. You need to plan out both your characters and your plot, and then work with both of them and adjust them as you go, but you must begin with something.

I once encountered a very educated writer at a local convention who was teaching class in his panels, essentially. He had something like 20 panels over the course of three days. He was gregarious, he was friendly, his mind was up there in lights, and he was brilliant at teaching, and a brilliant writer. I was on one of his panels, and I set forth my proposal that pantsers are just plotters who write a bunch of stuff, and then have to go back and do the plotting work anyway and edit everything down so that it made some kind of sense, but that they were basically just in denial of having to be plotters to finish the work.

He said, and I quote: “I think it’s cute that you believe that.”

I think it’s cute that he believes that.

I have confidence, though, that he will eventually figure this out. He’s a really smart guy.

Denial is Not Just A River in Egypt

The trouble with his observation was that he was so talented, and had worked so long and so hard on learning the craft of writing, that he could no longer completely explain how his internal processes work. He knows essentially everything there is to know about plot and character, and storytelling, but when some of his foundational bits dissolve into the carpeting, he can still walk the walk, but he can no longer feel certain of those bits beneath his toes.

There are lots of writers who fall into this category. These writers just barrel ahead, confident that their internal understanding of story and structure will naturally express itself as they go, and they will end up with a story with proper structure, character arcs, balance, emotional arcs, and all the rest.

Eventually I’ll get there myself, but I travel toward this goal with eyes wide open. I might get very very good at plotting, so good that I no longer have to make notes and outlines on paper before I write, but I will be doing this work internally anyway, and there will always be a plan. Trying to write without one is like trying to walk without bones.

If you’re starting out at a writer, the idea of being a pantser can be attractive, because it sounds freer, more fun, and less work. There are those who think they pantsers, but they’re either doing the work internally, or they’re doing tons of extra unnecessary work and then editing it to fit an outline they come up with after the fact. Either way, they’re plotters in denial.

There is no such thing as a pantser.

I invite your commentary.