Lately, though, I’ve been asking myself another question: does it really matter?

Nothing is more frustrating to me than having a great idea you can’t execute. You just can’t get right. Maybe you’re on draft fifty of the first fifty pages. Or you’ve bogged down somewhere in the middle and can’t seem to get out of the midgemarshes. Or you’ve gotten through a full draft and won’t let anyone read it. You’re in the trenches. I’m in the trenches. It’s miserable in the trenches.

And I think I’ve found a way out.

If you’ve got a great idea–and I know you do–I don’t think you need talent. I don’t think you need voice. I don’t think you need experience. I don’t think you need characters.

I think you need a plot.

This sounds a bit crazy. Of course, a great plot does help make a book great, but it’s all about the characters, right? Wrong. Well, not wrong. It is about the characters. And the voice. And the world. And that one monologue at the end where you just kill it. It’s about the little moments that lead to the big moments. It’s about the perfect metaphor. A great book is great on many levels, and a great writer will weave all these elements–voice, character, pacing, world–together.

But none of this matters if you don’t have a plot (and you’re not Jack Kerouac).

I was a consummate pantser and have been forever converted to a plotter. Plotting your novel–even loosely–saves you heartache, angst and time. Here’s why:

1) No One Else Cares That Writing is Hard

The western cultural perception of art has drastically changed in the last few hundred years. In ancient Greece and Rome, medieval Europe and early America, artists were not considered special. Art, music and writing was a job. People went to school to study it the way people go to school to study medicine now. There were rules that had to be followed. And most artists worked for a wealthy patron, and they had to meet deadlines and write to the explicit taste of their patron.

Consider Beethoven. Brilliant. Famous. Unfortunately, going deaf. Much of what we know of him–his brooding personality, his aloofness–was part of a carefully cultivated persona intended to keep people from knowing he was going deaf in order to keep working. 

Consider Handel. A composer. The name of the game was opera, but it was Lent and you can’t perform operas during Lent. Handel still needed money. Thus, we get The Messiah.

Deflated yet? What about Hemingway? We all like to think of him drinking it up with ex-pats in Paris. We all know he did his fair share of drinking. He also did his fair share of journalism, in order to pay the bills.

One of my favorite quotes about writing comes from Stephen King. “Talent,” he said, “Is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.”

We can’t wait for inspiration, or for the elements of a story to simply come together. We have to work at it.

2) A Plot is a Necessary Evil

Don’t get me wrong — I love writing. It’s a joyful kind of work, even when it’s difficult. But it is still work. And just like you sit for a yearly review at the office, writers ought to review the way they write — and what might not be working.

I’ve been a lifelong pantser. I’ll start with a vague idea of a beginning and a vague idea of an ending, then just go. This is how I wrote my first book. I was fourteen. I considered Christopher Paolini my personal nemesis. And I would defeat him by being the youngest fantasy writer there ever was. I had an idea, and I ran with it, let the characters take me where they would. Two years later, I had a 300,000 word middle grade fantasy adventure.

Yes. You read that right. My  fantasy novel for twelve-year-olds was the length of Game of Thrones. 

And its story ends the same way — carnage. Rejection upon rejection upon humiliation that my nemesis was now on the New York Times bestseller list with a movie deal and I was sitting at home in Texas with seven hundred fifty pages of scrap paper.

The next time around, I tried an outline. I ended up with a tighter, leaner story that hit all the right points and meant nothing. I felt like I was performing CPR on it, just thumping against the paper to force it to have a heartbeat. But it didn’t. And I thought it never would. And I would never plot again. I put that manuscript, along with the first one (now cut into two books) in the drawer. 1,000 pages of proof that I was doing something wrong.

I just didn’t know what.

3) There is Another Way

I would like to try to think of some ridiculous celebrity-couple name-mashing of Plotter and Pantser, and here’s what I came up with — planter. It’s a combination of plotting and pantsing that gives a writer structure without taking the story’s heart.

Consider this, from Mr. George R.R. Martin:

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they’re going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there’s going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don’t know how many branches it’s going to have, they find out as it grows. And I’m much more a gardener than an architect.”

But it’s not as if the man didn’t plan at all. George RR Martin worked in films for years as a script doctor. He understands the necessity of structure. And it’s evident in his books which are almost perfectly paced, and yet never lose the heart of the story–the characters. In fact, it is only by way of his perfect plot that his characters are able to shine–and die–with such grandeur.

All you need to be a planter is an outline. Not a set-in-stone-puppies-will-die-if-you-deviate-from-it outline. Just an outline. A plan that encompasses more than “This is how the book will begin” or “this is who will die.” A plan that charts your book from beginning to end and sets it against a broader structure.

In my next article, I’m going to go over several different outlining methods, with examples from a few of the great writers. No writer is the same, but you might find something that works for you.

Bess Cozby writes epic stories in expansive worlds from her tiny apartment in New York City. By day, she’s an Editor at Tor Books, and Web Editor for DIY MFA. Her work is represented by Brooks Sherman of the Bent Agency. Tweet her at @besscozby, contact her at bess@diymfa.com, or visit her website at www.besscozby.com.

The post Plotter or Pantser? Can’t We All Just Get Along? appeared first on DIY MFA.

-Missing My Pants

As I said in my last column, I’m an incurable plotter. I love spreadsheets, index cards, and workbooks. In fact, a lot of the time I have more fun plotting than doing the actual writing. I’ve been told this makes my writing dry as a cracker in the high desert (take that how you will). So, allow me to take a moment to be my own worst critic and give myself some much-needed advice. Here are three ways you can spice up your writing to put the soul of the character on the page.

1. Role-play

No, I’m not going to tell you what to do in the confines of your own bedroom (wink wink).

I come from the theatre world, where you’re constantly pushing past actors talking to themselves in the hallways and those “method” people who won’t break character until closing curtain (and sometimes not even then. This is how alcoholism starts, people). These folks know how to be their characters. My suggestion? Go join a community play, or get together with a bunch of friends and a script. In addition to the characterization benefits it will get you a social life (don’t try to fool me, you’re a writer).

For those with crippling stage fright and things like, you know, lives that do not leave room for 35+ hours of rehearsal per week (true story), there are other options. I have a lot of friends who got into writing via tabletop gaming. It’s probably something that would get you admitted to King of the Nerds, but it’s another form of collective storytelling that might just kick some life into those puppets you call your characters.

And then, my favorite: Pick a friend, one who has similar sensibilities to you. Pick a character. Write a story back and forth. It’s that simple. I don’t know of a more organic way to get a feel for your characters’ instincts. You can even find whole online communities dedicated to writing the sort of stories you love.

2. Traps and Sh*t!

Okay, you already know your main character fell into a trap – he rescued his one twue wuv from the evil prince, but it turns out it was a trap to get him captured! Oh noes! How will he escape?

That depends on the character, doesn’t it? Of course, you know that he’s going to escape, because it says it right there in the plot outline! But each character is going to go about this differently. Some are going to fight their way out to be with the one they love. Some are going to lie and steal and sneak.

And some are going to lie there in the Pit of Despair and wait for Andre the Giant to come rescue him.

Let your characters decide how they’re going to make it out of the trap. Stress is bound to make those little guys emote.

3. Terrorize the Heck Out of Them!

Speaking of stress, what does your character fear most? Use your plotting superpowers to push them into these situations.

What make a character terrified or angry is what’s going to set them apart from the others. It’s often linked to their history: a character who lays down tarps in her apartment whenever a messy friend comes over probably does so because she remembers her mother as a neat freak, never satisfied until every crumb was picked up. Oh, the psychological trauma we’re delving into here!

Make the reader feel the character’s terror—and then force them to face it! Have that messy friend spill on the pristine carpets on purpose—for our neat freak’s “own good.” And let the roiling anger radiate right off the page until the reader’s hitting his own panic button!

4. Bonus! Master Gesture

This is a term that every actress worth her salt knows. In “The Virgin Queen,”  a TV historical fiction about Queen Elizabeth I, Anne-Marie Duff in the title role continually raises a finger to her lips and bites on it while she thinks. It’s a gesture echoed throughout the performance, from the young princess to the final moments of the queen’s death, and is a nod to the monarch’s shrewd intelligence and refusal to let a man think for her.

You can do this, too. Give your character a master gesture—a movement that we come to associate with that character’s personality or inner turmoil. This can be something as grandiose as a comedic sidekick continually stumbling over his own feet, or as minimal as a grunt and a roll of the eyes whenever a drama queen has to deal with her arch nemesis. These little details can make your characters leap off the page.

I hope these tips helped all you fellow plotters out there. What’s most important of all for us to remember is that sometimes we have to trust our instincts, close our eyes, and leap. Close our outlines once in a while. Let our characters play. Remember, that’s what’s going to bring our readers coming back for more.

Got a question? Tweet me @beccaquibbles with the hashtag #askbecca, email me at becca [at] DIYMFA [dot] com, or just leave a comment below! You could see your question answered right here At Ask Becca!

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With a B.A. in B.S. (translation: English Major), Rebecca Ann Jordan is a speculative fiction author in San Diego. She has published short pieces in Fiction Vortex, Yemassee Magazine, Bravura Literary Journal, and more, and currently acts as Junior Assistant Editor at Bartleby Snopes. Her fetishes include controversial grammar, mythological happenings and yarn-swapping.

The post Ask Becca: Three Ways to Kick Some Life into Your Characters appeared first on DIY MFA.

So, to show my tolerance for “the other half,” I’m going to pants this blog.

That being said, I can appreciate a good character. Believe me, I’ve heard voices arguing in my head, trying to convince me not to [SPOILER ALERT] kill them off.

Characters who possess you and pour themselves out through your fingertips-to-keyboard sessions are great, but speaking from experience, they have the tendency to take the plot into their own hands and scheme to devise happy endings for themselves (it should come as no surprise that I prefer tragedies to comedies).

So, how do you plot tragic endings for your favorite little imaginary friends?

1. Write the End

I know, I know. “But I don’t know the end until I get there!” Well, stitch it on a flag and wave it proudly, but don’t ever use this as an excuse not to know what goals your characters are striving toward. Meandering excuses will only lead to a series that goes on forever with no foreseeable final installment in sight (I’m looking at you, George R.R.).

Write the end. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to be your real ending. Just get something down.

Now your characters have something to strive toward. They have to get from Point A to Point B. Let’s say they have to get across a wide, deep canyon in the end.

How do they get there? Let your characters decide. Each one is going to approach the obstacles differently. One might jump off the cliff, risk the rocks, and swim to the other side. Others might craft a crude bridge, or argue about how it should be built. Still others might bribe an Eagle to carry them across (eh hem . . . Tolkien).

Once you write to the end, you might find that your ending will change from what you’ve originally written. That’s okay. But at least now you will have a satisfying conclusion that your characters still helped to bring about.

2. Write the Story in Your Head First

This is the only time in your life someone might be giving you the chance—nay, the command—to daydream.

So, your Main Character is running around kickin’ @$$ and takin’ names? Let them. Just not in your novel.

This might involve some free writing. Let your mind wander and let your characters do how they do. They can go wild with this silly notion that they have wills of their own. As they wander, you might notice they stumble upon roadblocks, unsavory people, traps, and, you know, things they believe in enough to fight for.

Don’t freak out. This is called plot.

Use this to create strings of scenes for your novel. Your main character has helped you figure out what will happen; now put it together into a cohesive series of events and voila! You have just tricked yourself into creating a plot.

3. Don’t Plot at All

After all, you’re not ashamed of who you are. Go crazy. Pants that first draft. I’ll wait.

Done? Awesome. Now revise it.

This is tough to do, because it requires a fine, honest eye for weak spots in your work and the ability to so colloquially “kill your darlings.” You will need to trim those characters. Make them shape up. Give them a purpose and obstacles to overcome. Rewrite the beast.

Don’t worry, all ye plotters out there. My next column two weeks from now will be about how to let your story happen more organically instead of being an index-card control freak like me.

Are you a pantser or a plotter? How do you keep a hard rein on your characters so they don’t run away and have adventures without permission? I want to know!

Got a question? Tweet me @beccaquibbles with the hashtag #askbecca, email me at becca [at] DIYMFA [dot] com, or just leave a comment below! You could see your question answered right here!

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With a B.A. in B.S. (translation: English Major), Rebecca Ann Jordan is a speculative fiction author in San Diego. She has published short pieces in Fiction Vortex, Yemassee Magazine, Bravura Literary Journal, and more, and currently acts as Junior Assistant Editor at Bartleby Snopes. Her fetishes include controversial grammar, mythological happenings and yarn-swapping.

The post Ask Becca: Three Ways Plotting Can Get Your Characters under Control appeared first on DIY MFA.