I’m blessed the issues that trouble other marriages don’t arise in mine. My beloved wife and I have yet to argue about money. We savor long and unfettered conversations about the myriad subjects in which we share interest. Rather than stray apart along this remarkable journey upon which we’ve embarked, we’ve grown closer.
Then there’s this. In a world where there are two kinds of people — those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t — we both adore the man who wrote “Sweet Caroline.”
While far more unites us than divides us, there’s still one difference that produces considerable consternation for my wife. She’s a plotter. I’m a pantser.
For those unfamiliar with those creative writing terms, a plotter researches, plans and structures a story in scrupulous detail before even thinking about typing the first word of a manuscript. A pantser writes by the seat of his pants, figuring things out as he proceeds and making decisions based on gut feelings.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m amazed by the legions of plotters who march forth with their index cards, whiteboards and 60-page outlines. That’s not to mention the good book — the story bibles that contain within their sacred pages the timelines, plot threads and character profiles that might or might not go into their completed works.
I realize there are advantages to this systematic approach. There’s less threat of turning a corner and encountering writer’s block when the path is mapped out from beginning to end. It’s easier, too, to avoid plot holes and dead ends. If Chekov’s gun is required in the next-to-last chapter to kill the bad guy, plotters mention the weapon near the first chapter. For those who prefer a movie reference to illustrate the concept, consider the rock hammer Andy Dufrene buys at the beginning of “Shawshank Redemption.” Yeah. The same one he uses to dig out of prison before the end of the film. A pantser might have forgotten that detail.
But what plotters deem meticulous preparation, I consider ridiculous preparation. Why waste all that time when there are actual words to herd into sentences, paragraphs and chapters? I’ve got characters to introduce, settings into which to thrust them and obstacles to place in the way of fulfilling their aspirations.
There are advantages to my improvisational approach. My characters take on lives of their own as the story unfolds. I’m not kidding in the least in asserting they do things I never anticipate. And when they do, I’ve got the flexibility to change directions and follow a path that leads to a better destination. Screw the map.
I suspect plotters and pantsers develop their dissimilar preferences for writing outside of writing. My wife brings her methodical modus to nearly every operandi. The reminders she jots down and alarms she sets so she won’t miss important emails, phone calls and meetings. The detailed schedules she drafts and then follows to the minute. Most especially the tasks she bundles, choreographing stops at the gym, post office and Trader Joe’s as though she were an Amazon driver planning deliveries. She’s not about to kill one or even two birds when she can take out a whole damn flock with a single stone.
Me? I’m the guy who stuffs two shirts, a pair of shorts and mismatched socks into a trash bag for an extended trip. I’ll buy a toothbrush and toothpaste when I get there. I’m the man who assembles the new office chair without instructions. The more leftover bolts the better. And I never, ever, compile a grocery list and make one trip to the store. Not when I can make five trips to buy the necessary ingredients for dinner. One. Ingredient. At. A. Time.
Plotters glide through life efficient and effective. They celebrate well-earned successes for a few moments, then spring back to work to ensure everything falls into place for their next efforts.
Pantsers bumble and stumble about. When at first they don’t succeed, they try and try again. If it occurs at all, success sneaks up on little cat feet and surprises them like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky.
But here’s my point. The mystery about what lies ahead and the uncertainty of success makes exploration more exciting and discovery all the more rewarding.
My long-suffering wife doesn’t agree with my approach to writing. Or understand why I can’t summon the fortitude to break my bad habits. I don’t blame her. But she endures my complaints when I’m mired in the sagging middle of a novel and can’t find my way out. Moreover, she remains willing to review every word I write and offer without hesitation her insights and suggestions. She’s at once my alpha reader and developmental editor. She’s my muse.
Love really must conquer all. Even when plotters and pantsers marry.