Squeezing out the Stupid
By John Vorhaus | September 25, 2014 |
So I’m a pantser – a seat-of-the-pants writer who makes up the plot as he goes along. I figure if I already know the end of the story, there goes the joy of discovering it and, really, for me, much the point of writing it. Some among you are like me in that respect. Others among you are like me in this other respect: I hate outlining like a cat hates baths. The thought of sitting down and actually plotting things out…yeesh. In a very real and tangible sense, I would rather bathe a cat.
So here’s the consequence of that. I write these incredibly fast, very ragged, awfully ugly first drafts. I put a lot of ideas into play that I know will probably not pan out. I let loose ends live. I basically write anything I can think of, whether I can neatly tie it into the story or not. Unraveling the story problems, according to this model, can always come later.
Trouble is: Later always comes.
So there I am, stuck with a fast, ragged, ugly first draft, with loose ends sticking out all over, no clear sense of what I’m driving at thematically and – you can be sure of this – an ending that 100 percent does not work. My endings never work on the first draft because I simply don’t have enough information yet to write them well. So I write them very badly, then review what I’ve written and inevitably say this: “Okay, well, now I know what not to write.”
Then I go to work. My next pass through the material will be an attempt to harmonize the largest story problems and whip the plot into some kind of shape. This is always the point where I regret being a pantser because writers who do rigorous and vigorous outlining already know that the story works before they even go to draft.
Or so I imagine – but I don’t imagine I’m right. Look, I can only know my own writing process, but I suspect that even robust outliners get their stories out into draft form only to discover – whoops – the plot doesn’t work. So they do what I do: tear it apart, rebuild it, rationalize it, try to make it better. Ha! Score one for the pantsers; outlining doesn’t necessarily give one a structural head start.
Not that this is a race, but still, when I’ve lived with a novel through months after months and drafts after drafts, I’m racing to the finish line. I want to get the book done so that I can get on to the next one, which (according to my messed-up mythos) won’t have any of the plot logic problems or story problems that this one does.
How many drafts do I do? God, I can’t even count. It’s hard to determine what, exactly, constitutes a draft. I do know that with each draft my focus becomes more fine. Where early on I was still trying to solve global problems (stories, characters and subplots that just don’t work), in later drafts I’m down on the local level: polishing sentences; contemplating word choices; making sure I haven’t overused the phrase, “mayonnaise motherfucker” (I’ve been known to). Through all these drafts, my feeling is usually the same: Okay, now I know what I don’t want.
I have two metaphorical models that help me through this endless thicket of revisions. One is the sculpture model. I imaging that the raw material of my novel is like a block of stone that I just have to keep chipping away at until the sculpture within is revealed. The other model is what I call “squeezing out the stupid.” I look at every word, every phrase, every paragraph, every page, and I ask myself, “What is stupid about this?” Then I make the stupid parts go away. When I can go through a manuscript and not find any (or anyway much) stupidity, that’s when I know I’m about done.
Does it sound pejorative to call my own work stupid? I mean it in the nicest possible way. [pullquote]Does it sound pejorative to call my own work stupid? I mean it in the nicest possible way.[/pullquote] I feel like “squeezing out the stupid” is a natural part of the pantser’s process – or anyway of this one’s – because my method injects so much that’s stupid in the first place.
- “The stupid” is anything that doesn’t belong.
- “The stupid” is prose that’s overly florid or just plain self-indulgent.
- “The stupid” is dialogue that doesn’t ring true.
- “The stupid” is plot strands or subplots that didn’t work out.
- “The stupid” is writing that’s clichéd, derivative or otherwise lazy.
- “The stupid” is, obviously, flawed grammar or punctuation, typos, formatting issues, all that chuffa.
As you can see, there’s quite a lot of stupid in a (this) pantser’s early drafts. That’s why it took me just three months to write my last first draft, but nine months to beat the beast into shape. There was just that much stupid to be squeezed.
When I was done, my manuscript had shrunk by some 40 percent, and thereby arrived at the right length. Do I regret all the hours I spent writing all those words I subsequently changed or cut or nuked to smithereens? Yes and no. I don’t imagine that mine is a particularly efficient writing process (whose is?) but then again, I don’t set efficiency as a goal. Sure it’s a little heartbreaking to chuck out 5,000 hard-wrought words, but if they’re the wrong words, what are you gonna do? Out they go. I’d rather have a good book that was hard to write than a bad book that wasn’t. Plus, no matter how easy or hard the work is, there’s always something to learn about my process – something I can take away and apply next time. This time, for example, I learned that next time I really should try outlining.
I won’t do it, of course, but it’s nice to think I could.
Et vous? How do you squeeze out the stupid? How do you know when you’re done? How do you find the true grit to go back through the manuscript one last time (and then one time after that)? Also, where do you stand on the whole pantser-versus-outliner thing? Am I a free spirit chasing my muse or just out to lunch?
John Vorhaus has written seven novels, including Lucy in the Sky, The California Roll, The Albuquerque Turkey and The Texas Twist, plus the Killer Poker series and (with Annie Duke) Decide to Play Great Poker. His books on writing include The Comic Toolbox, How to Write Good and Creativity Rules!
Love this, John. I do believe that the writing process is so personal and while many “writing teachers” and gurus pitch plotting and outline and dreadful index cards (ugh!), writers have to follow their own paths to their stories. When I ask successful fiction writers how they write (predestined plot outlines vs writing creatively on the ms pages) I hear very much what you’ve said here today. There are more seat-of-the-pants writers than outline plotters, for sure. The issue for me is control vs. freedom. I let the characters breath on the page so I can get to know and explore them. Characters suffocate if confined to a plot outline that’s predetermined. And yeah, I have stuff I discard or rewrite but that’s just part of the process I accept and respect. I’m betting plotters have pages they discard too. How do I know it’s soup? The pieces fit, the character are alive, and there’s a rhythm that holds … and a really good editor who understands me and my work for that other set of eyes, ears, and heart. Enlightening post, John.
Great post. I’m both planner and pantser. (No, autocorrect, I did not mean “panther.”) I prefer adding, to taking away. Although, ultimately, both are necessary. I like to have a good sense of where I’m heading before I set out, reserving the right to change the route I take to get there. Thanks!
Love this … I’m squeezing out the stupid in this what I think is the one last revision (yeah right) before sending it out. I tend to have a general roadmap, with plenty of alternate routes and diversions, but before I even begin the journey, I must dream, scribble, and put seemingly random thoughts into some sort of cohesive story. When characters begin talking to me, that’s when I’m ready to do the … let’s call it zeroeth draft. The Exploratory draft.
Can you tell that I can count? I use negative numbers as well.
Oh, and I know when I’m done when the galleys are out of my hands.
Pantsing is certainly a lot more fun, but I have to fix a lot less in subsequent drafts if I plot first and stick to it. it’s a tradeoff.
You’ve described the pantsing vibe quite well, John. What you go through is what most of your kind do, with an emphasis on the length of time it takes to find the story you want to tell and the ending you want to reach.
Which means you are really an outliner after all. You’re simply wedded to one, perhaps less efficient, method….
What I mean is, that “ragged, awfully ugly” stuff you call a “first draft” is really just a very large record of what your writer’s mind has come up with….which you then try to bring order to….which amounts to outlining. You’ve just spent your months loving the initial creative process and the writing itself, which is understandable. But then the night sweats come. What if I’ve just spent months and months and there really isn’t a book worthy story there after all?
The outliners, OTOH, are doing the same “ragged and ugly” thing, only in less time, so they can spend the bulk of their writing on a coherent first draft that can be edited for form and style. They pour out the raw material in their preliminary, creative mode (at least under the process I’ve come to use), before the actual writing of a draft. This is as much fun for us as the daily writing is for the pantser. This is where we let characters “grow” and “breathe” (I use a Voice Journal for this part, which is great fun).
At the end we at least have the relief of knowing what our story is in days or weeks, not months. We know the stakes are high enough and the plot sufficiently fecund to proceed with confidence. The daily writing is about the fun of discovering how a scene develops, how characters advance agendas (which we already know), how they use dialogue as a weapon, and so forth.
All of which is subject to change if the need arises. I’ve had characters refuse to leave a setting. I’ve changed villains halfway through a story. But the framework is still there, the stakes and concept established, so I’m simply moving parts around. It’s the same thing a pantser will eventually be forced to do. It’s just that this part, the work part, isn’t as fun for them. The pantser’s motto might be, “Never do today what can be put off until tomorrow …. or six months from now!”
I think, bottom line, pantsers are most comfortable following Ray Bradbury’s axiom, “We must stay drunk on writing so reality does not destroy us.” Getting lost in the daily words, not knowing where they will lead, is intoxicating. Bringing order to chaos is more like work.
Bradbury, of course, was one of the great pantsers, but note: his best work was in short stories and novellas.
Okay, I feel like I’ve slipped into a legal brief here, arguing for my preferred method. I’m not as lawyerly as that. Among my students I’ve actually warned rigid outliners to loosen up. And I’ve also issued caveats to “pure pantsers”.
I just want writers to be happy and efficient and successful….which may mean trying a new way of doing things and becoming happier still!
Thanks for a thought provoker today.
John-
I agree with Jim. The pantser’s first draft is an outline, or perhaps it’s more like free writing, ideas waiting to be organized.
I also agree with Jim that there are other ways for pantsers to work that will work for pantsers. The “squeezing out the stupid” method you describe strikes me as valid, but a slow way.
There are alternatives.
One is to look at later drafts not as punching down the dough, trimming one’s nails or other forms of shaping and tweaking. Instead use successive drafts to work on selected topics.
I recommend this for outline writers too. Both varieties of fiction writers tend to think of “fixing” in later drafts, meaning judicious trimming, shuffling stuff–basically working with the words already in place.
Try focusing less on the existing words and more on the missing effects. I think that’s a faster, more efficient way to revise.
What a great post! You wrote about me. How’d you know? *wink* I am starting a new novel for NaNo, and I have decided that I would try a little plotting in October. Not too much mind you. Just a teensy bit so I’m not flying by the seat of my pants.
Thanks for showing me a mirror and letting me look through it.
John, I am definitely a pantser, but the price we pay is that we often end up making massive rewrites and revisions because we have not outlined the story in advance. On the other hand, pantsers make wonderful discoveries during those early drafts. As others have said, it really comes down to the writer’s comfort level with the process he or she chooses. I don’t like to outline, but I have forced myself to think through the big picture issues becfore putting words on the page. I have to know the character’s goal, the premise, the ending and the basic story arc. I don’t necessarily need to know the theme and this often comes to me after writing the first draft. Good luck with your latest project.
Excellent, thought-provoking post, John.
I do my “pantsing” in journals, making notes on everything from characters to setting to plot, wandering back and forth and around and around until I have a good idea where the story’s going. I have made actual outlines, but I always deviate from them so much that I’ve stopped doing that in a formal way. I just talk to myself on paper, in longhand, until the story begins to gel.
My process can take months, because I write romantic thrillers, which need tight plots with plenty of twists and turns, and the romance line integrated into that. It’s complicated!
So I guess I’m a hybrid, but I respect both extremes. I’m just happier in the middle.
Marvelous article! You precisely state why I am a pantser–I am “telling the story to myself” as I write. If I outline (which I abhor nearly as much as you do), I know exactly what happens and no longer need to write it. It’s the discovery of the story that I love–which, yes, leads to scads of “wasted” material, except not. I feel like I have to write a lot of that to find the characters or the way, even if it doesn’t wind up in the finished draft. Bestselling author Steven James has some wonderful words about why pantsing is the truly creative path in his craft book STORY TRUMPS STRUCTURE–one of the few cases I’ve seen made for this type of writing. Thanks, John, for an entertaining and validating post!
Phoebe, I so agree with you in the “telling the story to myself.” That is how my stories develop. Here’s a link to Steven James’ advice on just this issue:
https://www.mysterycenter.com/2014/06/17/Story-Trumps-Structure
Just read an interesting plotting method from David Morrell. He sits at his computer and has a Q and A between himself and the machine. He types something like, “I saw this photograph and it got me thinking about…” The computer responds, “What kind of characters would work in that setting?”
David Morrell explains it much better than I do, but the idea is to question yourself and your idea in the way writers do best, with fingers on keyboard. He says after a few weeks of abuse from his laptop he often has setting, character, and plot outlined.
I think it’s another way to squeeze out the stupid–a phrase I will forever be grateful for.
I’m glad you mentioned that Morrell method. It reminded me that in another of the great craft books, Techniques of the Selling Writer, Dwight Swain discusses something similar. He calls it a “white hot” document that is just as wild and creative as you can be. It’s pantsing on steroids. Then you come back the next day, annotate it, and write some more. This can go on for days or weeks if you like. But each time you sleep on it and then edit it, the structure is taking shape.
That sounds terrific. I think the brain dump needs to come at some point in the process. Finding someplace other than Chapter one would be the goal.
BTW James Scott Bell, I am a big fan of yours. Just finished your novel in the Thriller book bundle. Made me lose sleep:)
Thank you for the kind word, Greta.
John:
As a pantser who gets hives at the thought of an outline, I thoroughly enjoyed reading a complete description of how I piece together a novel. But dang it’s inefficient.
So I’m trying to wedge my brain into an outline using the GMC chart that is like filling in a voter registration card. What am I missing?
Maybe it’s meaning. My writing buddy just attended the Donald Maass-Free Expressions “BONI” workshop and suggested adding a column for meaning. Said Maass (or so I hear): “What does it mean for the human condition?”
That interests me. I love the flowing evolution of scenes to find their deeper purpose. But maybe it’s possible to find the meaning without all the “stupid.” Then I might save myself a bit, say 150,000 words of scenes that don’t work?
Thanks for the post and all the comments. WU is a daily gift that keeps me going.
I never like to think I have one true method – I am forever picking up new techniques from other craft books and writers / storytelling wizards and try to employ them as I go. Ultimately it’s about getting the story true and strong, and we do whatever it takes to get there. I’ve learned that one piece of that is taking a step further back from the drafts themselves and calling into question our methods. Like the story, the method can always be better too, and if we’re working on both, we’ll travel light years instead of mere miles.
Loved this post. Makes me feel better about working on my draft–getting down to the “real” story takes lots of words and work! Will share with my writing students.
Love the idea of “squeezing out the stupid.” Along with the accompanying picture. :o)
For me, it’s reading over the ms. and finding the parts where I say to myself, “Surely I can do better than that.”
I’m a “plotter” because I have the attention span of a goldfish and hate wasting time. But like Donald and James above, I believe that what I accomplish through plotting is the same as what a pantser does through drafting.
1) I write a detailed narrative synopsis packed with baby sprouts of ideas for scenes, snippets, dialogue…whatever enters my head. Then I wait a few days, re-read the synopsis, and say, “Dang it, this book is episodic and has no ending. How can I add some structure?”
2) I write detailed character synopses about backgrounds, personalities, relationships, etc., which spark ideas for even more scenes and, often, undo my original ideas for the narrative.
3) I wrangle my ideas into chapters.
4) I write “skeleton text” for the first pass of every chapter, outlining down to the paragraph or even sentence level without worrying about execution.
5) I write the book.
Personally, I can write only if I have a good structure in place, just like I can enjoy a trip only if I’ve mapped out exactly where I’m going and how to get there. I’m not the sort of person who can hop in the car and drive in the general direction of west, figuring I’ll reach the beach eventually.
As a devoted pantser, I salute you! Your method is very much like mine. And I revel in the madness–even facing the mess, later.
Whenever I write, I remember how my Hopi Indian ex, a katsina carver, sees the little spirits he carves waiting there inside the cottonwood roots they use. The most traditional carvers truly believe that the spirit guides their hands, to help the carvers set them free.
I always feel as if that’s exactly what I’m doing, as I pare down my writing bit by bit, until the words are as clear and compelling as they can possibly be. I never feel finished, but I remember that he used to suddenly stop carving, smile…and set his creation down with a smile that said, “There. You’re here. You’re ready now.”
I can’t describe exactly how I know when it’s time for me to do that, but I do know when it’s good enough to be queried and submitted. And it’s a moment almost exactly like that. I know I’ve said it all and I’ve said it well. I can’t “carve” anymore…
Ah, pantsers…
What more is there to say that hasn’t been said, except that you have given me permission to continue on my plodding pantser path. Every time I read about the virtues of outlining, I feel like I’m writing wrong. But talk of outlining makes my brain shut down. It’s like sending me to the blackboard to write “I have been bad. I will outline” 100 times, but never intending to do anything of the sort. Thank you for this!
I think I am more of an outliner than a pantser, BUT…I did an outline for one novel, and no outline for another novel. I have been working on the one with an outline, and have let the pantser one sit around.
I DID look over the pantser one a little bit, and realized it will need a LOT of work. I made a list of questions for myself about all the asinine things in the plot, character development, etc. What I established is that I will have to revise that one a lot.
So, I vote for outlines.
But I WILL say this…the pantser one was less painful to write, and more fun, because I wrote literally *whatever the hell I wanted* (though not in quite as feverish, cackling a manner as I would for NaNoWriMo), and honestly I think I produced some good stuff. The characters’ voices are really distinct, and the story definitely has a message to it, somehow. It’s just that the plot and the connections aren’t all clear; there are loose ends that need to be tied.
In contrast, the outlined novel has less loose ends, and makes more sense, but…my ending with that one is worse, haha. Maybe I just struggle with endings….hmm.
Anyway, that’s my 2 cents! Not a lot concluded, I suppose. I still ultimately vote for outlining for myself though, for the sake of my own sanity.
Fellow pantser here and I agree with everything you’ve written! I don’t know if all pantsing is the writing equivalent of doing your thinking out loud, but it kind of seems like that in my case. Either way, my first drafts are word tornadoes and revising is so painful I grit my teeth through it every time.
Here’s the squeezing out the stupid together!
That was meant to say, Here’s to squeezing out the stupid together!
Typical pantser first draft comment, am I right?
I used to solely be a pantser, living right on the edge. Now with a detailed three book series that follows three different sets of character’s on a plot line that pushes them into rather violent contact I found I needed to outline a fair bit, but still remain standing at the edge, knowing things could change at any minute.
That said, I have recently started wearing a kilt more often while writing on the edge, and that changes things considerably sometimes due to the increased effect of various breezes, wind changes, and such. Not only that, but standing on the edge while wearing a kilt, can, if not handled correctly, have a vast and potentially traumatizing effect for those who are just below that edge, looking up for guidance…oy…when the wind blows just right, they might get a real eyeful.
Great article and very enjoyable read. What you said about switching gears midlife resonated with me. I spent most of my life working menial jobs. In the last few years though I’ve found good success as a writer, publishing eight non-fiction books and a novel which will be out next month. I’ll also be turning forty next month, but I feel my career as a writer is just beginning. My life has never been more awesome. Finally I am at where I need to be. I think a lot of other writers probably have a similar background. The self-pub revolution has made it possible for many people to start finally living their dreams. Hail to the revolution!
That sure does sound a lot like my process. I trust that you’re not taking your baby to beta-readers?
Thanks for the article, John. Your Comic Toolbox was one of the books that got me started with writing, years back. I worked on screenplays back then, and The Comic Toolbox gave me many of the tools I needed to understand how to make words work on the page.
I like your defense of pantsers, and all of the comments that have extolled the virtues and vices of pantsing. My own method stems from my technical writing background, where I need a framework to work within. Hence, outlining. But my outlines are very broad and deal with primary conflict for each book, section, and scene. Once I get that into the outline, I stop. If I go any further, the writing ceases to be fun. I leave enough room to be a pantser within the scene, but I know where things are going.
I’m on novel #3 right now, with #4 nearing completion also (It’s been a busy summer). I’ve done pantsing, and strict outlining, and the best way for me is a solid framework with a loose scene outline. That allows me to work within my own personal particular idiom.