It's said that there are two types of writer, the 'plotter' and the 'pantser' (other descriptions are available). John Irving, one of my favourite writers, is a plotter. In interviews, he's stated that before he begins writing one of his works, he prepares a detailed treatment of how his book will unfold. Those treatments, he says, can extend to over two-hundred pages and map the story from start to finish.
Other writers, myself included, are pantsers - we write from the seat of our pants. When I start something, I have a vague notion of where I'm going, but often along the way, I discover that my final destination is different to that where I thought I'd arrive. For me, this can lead to highly satisfying outcomes, the story is often better than the one I originally conceived and the process of discovery is mightily enjoyable.
Whatever route an author takes, the prevailing advice from those with more experience than me, is to get the damn words onto paper. In her book, 'Bird by Bird', an excellent book on the craft of writing, the American novelist, Anne Lamott, talks about "shitty first drafts". It's the principle of getting words down without being too encumbered by what they might be like. There is an editorial process that follows and over the course of iterations, any issues that exist in the first draft will be addressed, improving the overall work.
What such an approach permits is the unfettered deposit of the vague onto the page. It allows the uninformed to write whatever they like, safe in the knowledge that if it is a pile of the brown smelly stuff, it can be improved with input from those that know better. It means that the stream of words is unhindered, the premise being that one will write more fluidly allowing the story to flow.
During the editorial process, the writer can revisit the liberties exercised due to ignorance and replace them with something notionally more realistic. In a chapter in my forthcoming novel, 'Dignity', I included a scene that involves a fire. There were certain things I wanted to happen that I suspected might be incompatible - a blazing inferno coupled with an improbable outcome. While I knew that what I was writing was flaky, I nevertheless wove it into the manuscript, hoping that my grasp on reality wasn't too far removed from the laws of physics.
Believe me when I say that it was. It was so far removed from the nature and outcome of a fire as to be laughable. I know this to be true, because when I contacted my local Fire Service and shared it with the Station Manager, laugh is exactly what he did. I suspect he thought he was dealing with an idiot, and given the unadulterated fantasy on the page, he may have had a point.
What I wasn't prepared for, however, was the assertion that what I'd written was insulting to the fine men and women of the Fire Service who serve to keep us safe. I'd had the temerity to suggest in my scene that, post-fire, some of those that had wrestled to bring the blaze under control were now enjoying a lively gossip while other colleagues cleared up. My Station Manager was firm, "None of my team stand around chatting. No one stops until the work's complete." My inadvertent slight was easy to correct, however, some of the challenges relating to the fire and the outcome required inventiveness.
With the patience that one reserves for the hard of learning, he took me through a number of plausible scenarios, each one greeted with a question from me that would enable my scene to better fit the plot. He prefaced each answer with a grimace and the words, "You could ..." before telling me exactly why I couldn't. Eventually we arrived at a compromise that didn't entirely undermine his decades of knowledge and I had material with which I could work.
As we were drawing to a close, the station's klaxon sounded, announcing an emergency. I suspect he had never been so pleased to hear it. "Do you need to go?" I asked.
He peered into the corner of the room, listening intently, "Not sure," he said.
An indecipherable announcement came over the Tannoy.
"Yep, gotta go," he said, before leaving the room.
I remained where I was, quite unsure of what to do. After a moment, he popped his head around the door to find me still sitting in front of his desk. "Do you know how to find your way out?" he asked.
"Ah, yeah. I'll be fine."
"Okay," he said. "Oh, and if you were planning to, I wouldn't take the A34 home."
And with that, he left along with his team to perform whatever heroics were required, while I left with the material I needed to write a much better book and the satisfaction of having had a private tour of my local fire station - next time I might ask him to let me sit in a truck.
Cheerio for now,
Craig
Before I go, a 'by-the-by'. In a couple of months, part one of my serialised novel, 'A Little Something To Hide', will be celebrating its first birthday. Over a series of weeks, I'll be making each of the volumes freely available to Kindle users in my Readers' Club for a limited period. If you'd like to take advantage of the offer, click on the link where you can sign up directly or grab a copy of my free short story, 'The First Supper'.
Craig Brown is an author living in Newbury. To follow his work visit craigbrownauthor.com
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Copyright © Craig Brown, 2025
25 April 2025
