Not everyone writes the same way, and that’s totally okay.
Some people are “pantsers” — they write by the seat of their pants, discovering the story as they go. The thrill is in not knowing what happens next.
Some people are “plotters” — they plan everything before they write a single word. They need a roadmap before they can take the journey.
I am very much a plotter. My brain needs structure. I need to see the shape of the story before I can write it.
And if you’re new to writing, or if you’ve been staring at a blank page wondering where to even begin — this is how I do it.
It Starts with One Moment
I start with an idea — usually a character or a specific moment that won’t leave me alone.
For example, my Novel November project started with this image in my head: a woman at a train station, watching someone she used to love walk away. And she has to decide whether to call out to him or let him go.
That’s all I had. One moment. But it wouldn’t leave me alone.
So I started asking questions:
- Who is she?
- Why did they break up?
- Why is she at this train station?
- What happens if she calls out?
- What happens if she doesn’t?
And slowly, the story starts building around that moment.
This is the fun part — when you’re still in possibility mode, when anything could happen, when the characters are just starting to whisper who they are.
Mapping the Three-Act Structure
Then I map it onto the three-act structure — the backbone of almost every story you’ve ever loved.
Act One (Setup): Introduce your characters, establish the world, present the conflict that kicks everything off. This is where readers meet your people and start caring about them.
Act Two (Confrontation): Your characters try to solve the problem and fail. Things get worse. Stakes get higher. They’re forced to change. This is the longest section — the messy middle where everything falls apart before it can come together.
Act Three (Resolution): The final confrontation, the climax, and the aftermath where we see how everyone’s changed. This is where you deliver on the promise you made in Act One.
For romance specifically, there are also key beats you need to hit:
- The meet-cute (or meet-ugly)
- The first kiss
- The moment they realize they’re falling
- The “black moment” where it seems like they’ll never be together
- The grand gesture or honest conversation that changes everything
- The happily ever after (or happy for now)
Building the Scene Roadmap
So I take those structural elements and start plugging in scenes. I write a one-sentence summary for every major scene I know needs to happen.
It ends up looking like a roadmap:
- Scene 1: They meet at train station. Tension. She lies about her name.
- Scene 5: He discovers her secret. First real argument.
- Scene 12: Forced proximity during rainstorm. Almost kiss.
- Scene 18: Black moment. He walks away.
I don’t write out full scenes yet — just the skeleton of the story. Just enough to know where I’m going.
Think of it like planning a road trip. You know you’re starting in New York and ending in Los Angeles, and you know you want to stop at a few specific places along the way. But you don’t need to know every single turn before you start driving.
When the Plan Changes (And It Will)
Here’s where it gets interesting: once you start actually writing, everything changes.
A character you thought would be minor suddenly becomes essential. Your protagonist says something you didn’t plan, and suddenly you realize what the story’s really about. A scene you thought would be two pages turns into an entire chapter.
And that’s not a failure of planning. That’s the magic of writing.
The outline gives you structure so you don’t get lost. But the actual writing gives you discovery.
Structure doesn’t kill creativity — it creates space for it.
When you know where you’re going, you can take detours. You can experiment. You can let characters surprise you. You can follow an interesting thread because you know you can always find your way back to the main path.
Without structure, you’re wandering in the dark hoping you stumble onto something good. With structure, you’re exploring with a compass — you can venture off the trail because you know how to get back.
Why I Love Being a Plotter
That’s why I love being a plotter. I have the security of a plan, but the freedom to break it when the story demands it.
When I get stuck — which will happen — I can look at my outline and remember: okay, I’m heading here. How do I get there from here?
When a character does something unexpected, I can pause and think: does this serve the story? Does this get me closer to where I need to be, or am I just meandering?
The outline is my safety net. It’s not a cage.
It’s not perfect. I’m still learning. But it’s the process that makes sense to my brain — and maybe it’ll make sense to yours too.
Coming next: Writing in a second language, impostor syndrome, and why I’m doing this even though I’m terrified.
Leave a Reply