That is a question that did not occur to me when, 3 years ago, I sat down to start writing my first novel. My muse came to me at the tail end of a terribly devastating week, and in order to cope, I simply began to write. In the very same week, feeling as though I needed to take back control of my world, I also re-enrolled in university. The degree I enrolled in was Australian Literature and Communications, and I dedicated myself to learn everything I could about the craft that I had spent most of my life declaring that I loved.
1 year and 300,000 words later ...
I gave the novel to three trusted friends for beta reading. When I say three trusted friends I mean my mother, sister and closest girlfriend. As you can imagine, the mother and sister loved it and had little else to say. Thankfully the girlfriend - who is also a writer- gave much more practical advice and pointed out the novel was far from finished.
She said something about being long winded and entirely missing the point...
By now I was almost halfway through my Literature degree and starting to understand a little bit about the art of novel writing. At last I considered the 'To plot or not' question, and I decided to not. Off I went, to tackle the third draft of the novel. I finished the draft within a month, decided I hated it and then BAM! Like a lightning strike, I had it! I was not a pantser at all!
To plot or to pants?
To plot, to plot, to plot. So simple, why did I not see it before? Right, now to plot...hm mm...plot,plot,plot....
.................................plot........................................................plot..............................................................
plot damn it, PLOT.........BLEEP BLEEP Bleepy BLEEP BLEEP...............................................................
Plot
PLOT
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGG
Many months passed like this. I came unstuck. Struck down with writers block, my muse deserted me.
Maybe I am not a plotter?
Maybe I am not really a writer?
Maybe I suck???????? Like big time suck??????
Ok, breathe...
At this stage I was in my third year of uni and trying to study full-time, be a full-time SAHM to Thing 1 and Thing 2 and run a full-time community initiative. In short, I was very short - on time, patience and creative juices. I decided to give it a rest. I sat the book aside. I planned to return to it in March this year.
March came and went.
So did April, May and June.
It looked like July was about to pass by also.
Then I began to plan for my graduation. I invited the folks, I booked the dress robes, I organised a babysitter, and I sat down to draw.
Draw?
I know it seems a strange preparation for a university graduation but it makes total sense to me...
(and I promise this is taking us somewhere)
You see, like most dedicated writers, at every major milestone in my life I have sat down to my trusty old journal and documented the passing - of age, of friendships, of loved ones, of hair styles and of favourite pieces of clothing. This documentation however, does not always take the form of a story. Granted, sometimes it is a story, but often it is a photo, a song, a poem, a lock of hair, a scrap of fabric (a fingernail once made it in there!), and frequently the documentation takes the form of a drawing.
So I sat down to draw. I didn't plan (because as it should be clear by now, I am not a planner) I just drew. And low and behold - as my dear departed gran would claim- my muse returned.
Angel Grace
My muse - and the leading lady in my painfully patient novel- launched herself back into my psyche and kept me awake for two night running. She had me lock myself away in my dungeon and forced my hand like some kind of Chinese torture (I know I'm mixing metaphors, but cut me some slack, my muse is back!)
At long last, I was plotting. And I was loving it. I can be a plotter, I can, I can.
To plot or to pants?
In answer to the question, it would seem I am both a plotter and a pantser. After my revelation - and upon conferring with my muse - I now have a completely re-plotted outline for an entire trilogy, based very loosely around the original idea of my very first novel. And it only took me 3 years of pantsing to get here!
And on top of that, in the very same week,
I have finally graduated from university,
only 15 years after I first started.
Pantser indeed!
