When it came to crafting Alias Jeannie Delaney, I pantsed my way through it.
Plotters are just that - they're the polar opposite. Some plan their novels to the 'nth' degree and have white boards on their walls and black felt tip pens and draw up their fictional family trees and biographies for their characters. Some even begin doing that before they've typed 'Once upon a time...'.
Mine grew organically to the 'nth' degree. You might know of some of my story. I had an idea for a story and had created loads of illustrations of Jeannie when no-one was looking. I was sooo embarrassed about the whole idea - you know, all that violence, blood, gore and juicy adult scenes you wouldn't want to show your mother.
I got to the point, after I married my soulmate, when I needed to show someone what I had done and was thinking, gritted my teeth and told hubby all about it. He demanded to see my illustrations. I blushed to the shade of old beetroot, shoved the illustrations under his nose and retreated to the bedroom and hid under a pillow.
I emerged from under the pillow and hubby called me back. My knees trembled and I felt hot and bothered as he stated: 'Jeannie's sexy - you've got to write her story! Get on with it.' My relief was beyond description. He liked it! Yay!
So get on with it I did. When my daughter was born in 1985, I bottle fed her one-handed and began typing with my other hand. That was the start.
The story grew organically in fits and starts. An exciting image would pop into my head and I'd weave it into the story. Then there'd be long gaps between writing and not writing. There came a point when I decided that the story had to be finished, by the proverbial hook or by crook. I managed to finish it and typed 'End' at the end. As good a place as any.
Of course I felt pleased with myself, but I never felt ecstatic about it like Kathleen Turner did as Joan Wilder, sobbing with joy when she typed 'The End' in Romancing the Stone.
I read a lot about writing and learned about pansters and planners. My writing improved as time wore on. It has always been said that your first novel is the one you practice on. Then you chuck it into the back of a drawer and start the next.
Mine is my first-second-third novel and it's been one huge learning curve and one huge novel. When I looked back to the beginning after I'd typed 'End' for the umpteenth time, I realized just how much my writing had grown. This had been my practice novel once, and now it ended up being the novel.
I've mentioned many times that I wanted/needed to write this novel, which turned into three. I had no choice. I was really excited about the subject matter and Jeannie. I felt she was OTT (over the top) but I couldn't stop writing her story. I woke up one morning, noticed the cat jumping on top of the laundry basket and blearily croaked out: 'Jeannie - get off the basket.'!
Yes, Jeannie is OTT, but what the hell! That's part of the story. Her over the top-ness, and I couldn't make her less beautiful, less charismatic, less devastating. If I had, she wouldn't have been Jeannie and folks wouldn't have been jealous of her or fancied her like mad.
That's her story.
The nuisance part of being a panster is the part where I haven't noted - on white boards or anywhere - details about some of the characters who appear regularly in the novel.
F'instance, in Book 2, which I've started editing, Jeannie has left town because she's had enough of the treatment she's received while growing up. 'Her gang' - the boys who allied with her and accumulated around her, follow her and join her on her trail. I know who three of them are, but I'm confused over the other two. Who are they? What are their backgrounds? Families? Interests? What do they look like? Something I should have sorted out during the writing, as a planner would have done. But, I'm told, you are where you are and you write as you write. Don't angst over it too much.
This is where pantstering is a pain. Eh well, as they say, if you're a panster, you're a panster. But hell - I could have done with being a planner! *Grumble* 😣
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