I wrote my first short story in the sixth grade, and I didn’t use an outline. I like to think I’ve learned a few things since then. So let’s take a look at this outlining versus spontaneity bit. Back in my undergrad days, I was ecstatic when the opportunity came around to do some creative writing. In freshman lit the teacher encouraged us to keep a journal. It could be anything, so long as we were writing. I tentatively raised my hand.
“Could it be fiction?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said with a smile. “Go ahead and start your great American novel.”
So I did, also without an outline. Thankfully, I never finished it.
I majored in English, and this eventually led to me taking creative writing one and two in my junior and senior years. I wrote a total of seven short stories and a pastiche of a reformation play. I did just about all of these without an outline, with the exception of the play where I knew the ending and worked backwards. I guess it kind of counts as a reverse action outline of sorts. But all in all, I relied upon spontaneity and the guidance of the muse to complete my stories. And it usually worked out fairly well. I’d just sit down and start writing without the slightest idea of where I was going. Sooner or later the story would start to take shape. I enjoyed the whole process. It was so . . . spontaneous.
I loved the feeling of coming up with those first lines with no idea where I was going. I also found that I’d routinely have to toss out a good portion of the stuff I’d written once the story began to take shape. I ended up wasting a lot of words and time. It began to dawn on me that I didn’t like wasting words, and I didn’t have the time to waste.
Some years later I had the opportunity to take a class with the legendary Stuart Kaminsky. At that time he was teaching film and writing at Northwestern. I’d been familiar with Stuart’s work for years and jumped at the chance to meet him. I immediately struck up a friendship with the man which lasted for many years. During one of our conversations I asked him how he managed to teach full time, raise a family, and write so many books.
“It’s simple,” he told me. “I outline.”
He went on to explain that outlining allowed him to remain focused on the book he was writing despite his other activities. It also allowed him to juggle several projects at once.
It made total sense to me, and I considered it a lesson from the master. I began outlining myself.
Now when I say outline, I don’t mean one of those horribly complex, Roman numeraled, alphabetized contraptions that used to be forced upon us in grammar school. For me, an outline is much more flexible--- They can take all sorts of forms, sometimes very formal looking, sometimes nothing more than a series of sentences describing a scene, POV, and what happens. Sometimes these descriptions contain a sprinkling of dialogue. An outline is a tool to make the task of writing easier. Mine are never set in stone, and they’re subject to change at a moment’s notice.
When I was attending grad school at Columbia I mentioned that I outlined in one of my creative writing classes.
“Outline!” the teacher said, making a face like she’d just heard a discouraging word. “That will stifle your creativity. Strangle the muse. You mustn’t outline. Never, never, never.”
“How’d you like to live in a house that was built without any blueprints?” I asked in retaliation.
“It’s not the same,” she said. “Building a house is not creating art.”
“On the contrary, building a house is a lot like creating art,” I said. “You have to rest your plot on a solid foundation, put up the framework of a story, and then put the finishing touches on it. In other words, blueprints are like outlines.”
She shook her head sadly, gazing at me with a patronizing look. “Michael, you just don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what? That writing’s a craft? Yeah, I think I do. And I’d go so far as to say that everyone outlines to a certain degree. Even if you’re not aware you’re doing it.”
“That’s not possible. I don’t.”
“I’ll bet you do it on a cognitive level.” (Are you beginning to see why my grad school experience was a tad controversial?)
She seemed aghast at my last statement and made another adamant denial.
It was obvious I was getting nowhere so I considered just clamming up. I’d entered grad school late, so I’d had a lot more life experience than just about all the students and most of the teachers. But my life as a cop had swayed me away from being a shrinking violet.
“For me, it works,” I said. “And here’s why.”
I made one more good attempt at explaining my process to her, but she wouldn’t buy it. But, hell, that’s okay. Writing is, and should be an individual process. What works for me probably would never work for her. Like I said, writing’s an individual process.
But just to set the record straight, who says you can’t be spontaneous in your outlining?
If I were going to drive from my home town of Chicago to say, Los Angeles, the first thing I’d do is map out the route I was going to take. Once underway, if I spotted something that piqued my interest, like an advertisement for Mark Twain’s Cave somewhere in Missouri, I’d make a quick detour. This modification of the route is the equivalent of changing your outline. And it’s the rule rather than the exception for me. I usually go through between three and four outlines for each book. My outlines are subject to change, especially if the change grows out of the story or some unexpected character interaction. Yet the overall structure stays intact and enables me to stay on course and maintain my focus. It’s as spontaneous as all get out, and I don’t end up having to throw away pages and pages of useless prose that don’t fit with the story.
Once again, I’m not arguing that everyone should outline. If it doesn’t work for you, don’t do it. But you owe it to yourself to give it a try. Outlines are hard work, but they’re worth it. They allow you to remain focused on your story, enable you to work on multiple projects at the same time, give you an overall idea of the story’s dramatic pacing, let you know exactly where you are in the story at a moment’s glance, and actually save you time. If you already use outlines, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re not an outliner, do yourself a favor and give it a try. It can be enlightening, spontaneous, and fun.
Now I don’t know if you’re going to try outlining after reading this. My ex-teacher never did.
But she should have. I guess she forgot that part of appreciating spontaneity is keeping an open mind.
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Hopefully some of you will be coming to the Midwest for Bouchercon in St. Louis. Be sure to look up your favorite Ladykillers when you’re there. Several of my fellow bloggers as well as myself will be attending. Also, my new book, The Incredible Adventures of Doc Atlas, (from Oak Tree Press) will be coming out shortly. Hope to see you there.
