The Five Year Plan

JENN MCKINLAY: Many, many years ago, the Hub and I were gifted dinner at Monti’s, a famous steakhouse on Tempe’s Mill Avenue back in the day. Our first anniversary was coming up so we decided to blow out the gift card on that night. 

Everything was magical. Dinner was amazing. We’d recently found out we were going to be parents. It was all lovely and then I said to the Hub, “We should discuss our five-year-plan.” He looked at me as if I just started speaking Greek and then dabbed his mouth with his napkin and replied, “I’m more of a seat of the pants sort of guy.” 

WHAT?! I was shocked. In the year and a half we’d been dating and the year we’d been married, I had never noticed that I had committed my life to a person WHO DID NOT HAVE A FIVE YEAR PLAN! Meanwhile he had never noticed that he lived with a person WHO ALWAYS HAD A PLAN, A BACKUP PLAN, AND AN IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS PLAN. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the meal. 

Now as we creep up on our twenty-fifth (Gah!) wedding anniversary this spring, I realize we were both right. It’s important to have a plan but it’s equally important to be flexible, which is much like being a plotter or a pantser as a writer, I think. Looking back, I was not a plotter at the time of this dinner but I became one a few years later. So, now I’m wondering if there is a correlation between our personal lives and our writing style.

I am a plotter in life and on the page, how about you Reds?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Hmm. No plan. I think if I plan, it won’t happen that way anyway, so… waste of time. I have shorter-term deadlines and goals, and an idea for something that has to happen two years from now, but that's only one thing.   But oh, I make lists like mad, as you know.. But there’s no five-years-away list.

Does “someday we’ll have to clean out the basement again” count? 

HOWEVER  I am nudging Jonathan to add his numbers to our little book of account numbers and passwords because THAT kind of administrative planning seems wise.  And we do have a financial planner. 

I’m so interested, though, Jenn,  to know what your plan entails. Was being a WILD success part of  it? Because you are. And how did you PLAN for that? (Asking for a pal…) 

HALLIE EPHRON: I am definitely a planner. The busier I am, the more I need lists… if only I can remember where I put them.

My favorite thing are spreadsheets that tell you “if you keep doing what you’re doing, this will happen.” Pretty important if you want to ride through retirement in the style to which you have become accustomed.

There were things I didn’t have a chance of doing (emptying the basement) when Jerry was here. Now I’m happy with my empty basement but I’d be happier to have Jerry here to complain to about an overstuffed one.  

 

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Same here, Hallie, except for me it's the barn Ross would not stop throwing things into "just in case we need them." Sigh.

RHYS BOWEN:  it’s funny, but in my writing life, I am a pantser. I don’t like to plan ahead too far. I have a vague idea where I’m going, but I like to be free to takeoff when a brilliant idea comes to me. In real life I have to have something to look forward to, and to know what’s going to happen. I do make lists. I like to plan vacations and special occasions and then savor them. 

I have a special book that I take out on January 1 every year and I write my plans for the year in it and the next January 1 I go through and see which plans succeeded in which didn’t and why.

(I did write “write a bestseller” long ago. That turned out pretty well)

In my financial life I am meticulous in planning. Luckily so is John. He calculated how to pay off the house before he retired. 

We have a living trust, a financial planner etc. I don’t like to worry and certainly not take risks 

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I am more or less a plotter when it comes to books. Life, not so much. I'm big on the immediate planning, lists and calendars and to-dos. But I have trouble planning big things more than a few months ahead, and even the words FIVE YEAR PLAN make me feel panicked. I think I'm afraid I'll jinx myself.

LUCY BURDETTE: I wish I’d been more of the planner you are Jenn! For vacations, I have a pal who plans out where she wants to go years in advance. I like to wait and see what comes up and THEN plan like mad.

But I’m definitely half-**sed with my writing life. I should set more goals because then my brain will know to work toward them. I think I’ll try that this new year, make my intentions and hopes very very clear so the Universe can help:). 

 

JULIA: So I am very much NOT a planner, either for writing or for life, but I'm working on changing myself. Mostly because I've learned it was fine if I was being all "la-la-la" and skipping down the path to who-knows-where when I had a super organized partner (except for the above-mentioned barn) looking out for me. It's not nearly as much fun to live a spontaneous life when you have no guardrails. 

 

So this past year, I've been using an outline while writing the next book. And this coming year, I'm going to channel Rhys and Jenn and set down some goals and then plan for them. Because I know goals have to be Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-Bound if I want them to happen. (Thanks, Celia!)

How about you, Readers? Are you a plotter or pantser in life and art?

What We're Writing: The Score is Outline-1 Hank-0

First, yes, this has been a crazy week for "the book that is."  

 I spent last Monday night at the Brookline Booksmith virtual launch of  HER PERFECT LIFE life, and I have to tell you it was transformative.  There were 346 people!

 And so much love and joy that I was in tears much of the time. Thank you all who came, and thank you all who bought books, and I honestly have never had such a fantastic event. 

Below I am signing the pre-orders in the Booksmith's empty basement, and of course I put my mask back on right after the photo.

The wonderful reviews keep coming, including the Providence Journal saying "Her perfect life is as close to perfect as a psychological thriller can be." Which, I have to say, made my Monday.

(If you have not purchased HER PERFECT LIFE, this is the one time I will say to you. Please do :-) No pressure. It is just my career. Click here.

 A star from Kirkus and a star from Publishers Weekly and my endless endless gratitude. If you want a copy signed personally to you, I can tell you how. Just mention it in the comments.)

But of course, in my world of spinning plates, I am also trying to finish "the book that is to be," and I will tell you that the deadline for it is October 6.  (Ha. Ha.)

And here's the crazy thing that happened along the way.

So, you know me, a card-carrying pantser, or as George RR Martin described it, a gardener. He says some authors are architects, that they build the structure of their novels, and then weave and plaster their story onto that scaffolding. A plotter. Other authors, he says, are gardeners, who have a seed, and plant it, and cultivate it, and then watch their story grow. You know this. 

Anyway, for 13 books, I have been an inveterate gardener. I have no idea what comes next, you all know this, too, and so far, that has worked well for me. 

But one day, back in, maybe February, I was thinking about my new book, book 14, and suddenly, the whole thing appeared to me. WHAT?? 

I sat down with a notebook and a pencil, yes pencil, and wrote out four pages of outline. Beginning middle end. Everything! Everything that happened.  AN OUTLINE.

It took about half an hour.

Wow, I thought, this is awesome. This is sensational. This is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone in anyone’s conceivable entire life. 

I was ecstatic. I thought wow, why didn’t anyone ever tell me about this! And of course they have, Jeffrey Deaver has spent years trying to convince me to write an outline, and although it worked for him, I never quite believed it. 

But there it was,  four soon-typed pages revealing the entire story. EVEN THE END. I HAVE NEVER KNOWN AN END. Amazing. 

So I sat at my computer, gloriously happy, and started banging it out. What happens next, the question that always filled me with fear, this time it was a snap! I just looked at my pieces of paper, (which I bought a magnet board to display), and it told me what happen next. Incredible. 

I got to about 60,000 words. And slammed hard into the wall. It just wasn’t working. It just wasn’t working! People were doing things for no reason, they were saying things that were ridiculous, they were behaving  in insane ways, and I just sat and stared at it. What had happened to my beautiful story?

Time passed, and I stared at the page. I asked myself all the questions I always ask when I am stuck: what would really happen, what would someone really do, what time is it. I asked myself all those things. And nothing was working.

And time was going by.

Time. Was. Going. By.

I finally called my editor and said hey, wanna look at my manuscript? I’m about two-thirds finished with the rough draft, and I’m not quite sure of where this is going, can you just look at it and see where I may have hit some quicksand?

She read it in a day, maybe two, and we chatted. She said: this is a great story, really good, but it’s only the story. “There’s not enough…thinking,” she said.

Then she paused and said: I don’t mean a bunch of internal dialogue, but this is all plot and no depth. 

And I said yeah, but by word count I’m about  60 percent of the way through, but by the story arc, this should be almost finished. Is that why I can’t figure out what to do?

And she said: absolutely. Go back and open this up.

And, reds and readers, that is exactly what I am doing.

 Turns out, I knew how to make an outline, hilariously, but I did not know how to use it! 

Now, I am closing in on the ending, sort of, and don't know what it it, and it's NOT THE ONE IN THE OUTLINE, but at least I know what the book is about. More than story, it is about the characters. And gardening.

Yes yes, I obviously already knew this. It just took a minute to come back to me.

Book 14, underway.

And book 13, HER PERFECT

LIFE, is now happily in the world, thanks to all of you, and I am floating! (LOOK, Zibby Owens (gasp!) chose it as a top read for fall!) 

What do you think about what my editor told me? 

What We're Writing (or not) Week - Jenn McKinlay

First, Happy Mother's Day to all who mother two legged, four legged, finned or feathered! 

And, because this is also a day that can be difficult for many, here are hugs to those who wanted to be moms but life had other plans, those with complicated relationships with the ones who mom them, to those who've lost their moms, and to those whose active mom time was shorter than expected. Please know that you are beautiful, special, uniquely you, and you are loved.

Second, we have some winners!!!  From our coppersmithing author friend, Sara Dahmen, the winners are...

Celia Fowler for the book!

Susan Emerson for the copper straws!

You can email Sara at: housecopper at gmail dot com with your addresses and she'll send your prizes! Congratulations!

Jenn McKinlay: And now, what am I writing? Welp, I can start by saying it hasn't felt like writing. It's been more like driving alone in a white out blizzard in a Geo Metro from New London, CT to Worcester, MA -- a white knuckling, while really needing to pee, drafting in behind a trailer truck for the entire stretch of I-395 experience, ending when I landed at my brother's house, where I did a face plant in the snow but shot my hand up out of the snowbank to retrieve the tumbler of whiskey he held out to me. Good times!

Basically, I'm writing Wait For It, my second stand alone women's fiction rom-com, by the seat of my pants, which is exactly what driving through that blizzard felt like. I couldn't see where I was going and every mile felt like five hundred miles. I had no idea where I was or when I would get to my destination, if I arrived at all. Full disclosure, this is the first book I have written by the seat of my pants (NO OUTLINE!) since I started writing mysteries. I have no idea why. The world was on fire all around me and I just couldn't get it together to write an outline but the book was due either way, so I strapped in and away I went. Only time will tell if this was the stupidest/smartest thing I've done in writing to date. 

All I do know is that the book is due on May 15th, and IT WILL BE DONE. Because it's in no shape to be shared right now, I'm going to share a snippet of Paris Is Always A Good Idea, which I did have an outline for, thank God!

Excerpt: Chelsea Martin vs. Jason Knightley

“You’ve got some hidden talents, Martin,” he said. 

I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me and I should resist. Instead, I smacked his feet off the corner of my desk. 

“You’re mistaking my work space for the frat house you wallow in, Knightley,” I said. “Feet stay on the floor.” 

“You’re no fun,” he complained. 

It was exactly the sort of thing he could have said to me on any other day and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Not today. Today I felt as if he was speaking my truth, and it hurt. 

“Was there something you needed?” I snapped. “Because I really am busy.” 

He studied my face. Clearly, he’d been expecting a bit more of our usual back-and-forth. 

“Busy doing what exactly?” he asked. 

“Packing,” I said. I gestured to the box and my stuff going inside the box. I really thought I should get points for not adding duh to my answer. 

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “No kidding, but why are you packing?” 

“Because I’m leaving,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“Wait . . . what?” He rose to his feet, and I found myself staring up at him. “You’re serious? You’re leaving? For real?” 

“Yes,” I said. “In two weeks I’m gone.” 

Jason stared at me, slack jawed. He looked stunned, as if I’d just told him I was pregnant and the baby was his. 

“But . . . that’s . . . How . . . Why . . .” 

I took no small satisfaction in making the usually smooth-talking Jason stutter. I watched as he shook his head as if trying to realign his brain. When he finished, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me. 

“Martin, you can’t leave. You can’t leave me.” 

I stared at him. He seemed genuinely upset. Had I misjudged our heated rivalry as corporate fundraisers for the American Cancer Coalition all these years? I’d thought he couldn’t stand me. Had I been wrong? Maybe beneath his flagrant disregard for my organizational skills and his sarcastic asides at meetings when I was speaking, he actually liked me. Was our relationship the professional equivalent of the boy on the playground who showed a girl he liked her by pulling her pigtails or punching her in the arm? 

“I mean, who is going to make me look good at the weekly staff meetings if you’re not there to bore us all to death with your Power- Points, charts, graphs, and other assorted mind-numbing minutiae?” he asked. He uncrossed his arms and spread his hands wide. “I count on you, Martin, to make me shine.” 

So that was a negative on him actually liking me. I should have known. Jason Knightley was an arrogant asshat. If I could pick one thing I was not going to miss about working here, it would be him. 

“I’ll be sure to tell my replacement to load up on the statistical data,” I said. “I wouldn’t want your lazy little star to go dim.”  

“Lazy?” His eyebrows rose. “Are you calling me lazy?” 

He put his hands on his hips and looked incredulous. Clearly, I’d struck a nerve. Goody. 

“Truth hurts?” I asked.


“Truth?” he asked. “What truth? I work just as hard as you do.”


I snorted and held up a hand as if he were telling a joke that was too funny. “Please.”


“I do,” he insisted. “Just because I don’t bog it all down with number projections in Excel spreadsheets—”


“Bog it all down?” I gaped at him. “Those projections are what convince the corporations to pony up the major gifts, Knightley. They want to see how their money will be used, how it will impact their business and spread their mission.” 

“It’s all smoke and mirrors,” he said. He shook his head. “You make it more task driven than it needs to be. You like busywork because it makes you feel like you’re accomplishing something. News flash—you’re not. It’s the big picture that matters.” 

That did it! I really was going to brain him with one of my awards. 

“Busywork?” I hissed through clenched teeth. My right eyelid started to twitch. I could feel it throb in time to my heartbeat. I wanted to hold it still with my index finger, but I didn’t want to betray that he was getting to me. 

“Yup,” he said. He pantomimed typing on a keyboard with his hands. “Busy, busy, busy. No one wants to read those long-winded reports of yours. They want big ideas; they want something to get excited about; they want to have a campaign that goes viral and makes their company a global presence.” 

If he kept talking, I suspected my resting bitch face was going to become permanent, like a stone mask that nothing could crack. This. This was precisely why I couldn’t stand Jason Knightley. 

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “But you’re an idiot. No corporation is going to sign off on a major gift for a ‘big idea.’” 

“No?” Jason asked. He gave me a superior look. “Then why did the sneaker company Soles jump in and match the millions in donations for my hot wing challenge for the Children’s Leukemia Society?” 

I closed my eyes. I drew in a long breath, held it, and then carefully let it out. So typical of him to bring up his one significant claim to fundraising fame. I stared at him across my barren desk. 

He grinned at me without humor. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” 

I rolled my eyes. “It was lightning in a bottle.” 

“Bullshit. It was a well-thought-out campaign that people loved to participate in,” he said. 

“Well thought out?” I leaned back on my heels and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look down on him, which was not easy, because he was several inches taller than I was. “Who are you kidding? You cooked it up while killing time at some bar for happy hour where the wings and beer were half price.” 

He didn’t even look embarrassed. He shrugged and winked at me and said, “Inspiration strikes where it strikes, plus it made millions. How much have you ever managed to wrestle as a major gift? One million? Five million?” 

“I’m sorry, are we comparing dick size here?” I asked. “Because I can assure you while my anatomy is different, if it’s a pissing contest you want, I’ll win.” 

“Admit it, Martin.” He leaned down so our faces were just inches apart. “You don’t have my reach.” 

“Ugh.” I curled my lip. That was it. I was leaving my job. Why was I even speaking to this Neanderthal? I turned on my heel and crossed to the open door of my office. I raised my hands and gestured for him to leave. “I think we’re done here.” 

“Is that how you deal with losing a debate?” he asked. He turned to face me. “You just throw the person out?” 

“First, this wasn’t a debate. It was a waste of fifteen minutes of my life that I’ll never get back,” I said. 

I reached forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. Normally, I would never touch another employee, as I was hyper- aware of the rules put forth by our human resources person, Michelle Fernando, who was downright scary, about encroaching on my colleagues’ personal space, but at the moment, I had no Fs left to give. If Jason Knightley didn’t leave my office right now, I was going to put my foot in his backside and kick him out the door. 

 “Second, I’m not throwing you out but merely assisting your overly swollen head through the doorway so that it doesn’t get stuck,” I said. 

“Aw, sweet.” Jason chuckled as I propelled him forward. In an innuendo-laden voice, he wagged his eyebrows and asked, “So, you like my big frontal lobe?” 

“Get. Out.” I gave him a firm but what I hoped would be construed as friendly—it wasn’t—shove through the opening. I stepped back and grabbed the door, slamming it in his face. Then I huffed out an exasperated breath, trying to find my Zen. 

“I take it that’s a no on the sexy frontal lobe?” he called through the door. 

In spite of myself, my lips twitched. 

 And now for some awesome news... a Starred Review from

Publisher's Weekly for Paris is Always a Good Idea! YAY!!! 

Also, I'm getting a tattoo of the word "flawless" on something 

somewhere someday. LOL!

Dropping July 21st!!! 

Okay, then, Reds and Readers, who is a plotter and who is a seat of the pantser? It doesn't have to be just in writing. How do you live your life - planned or spontaneous? Has it ever switched on you? (Oh, horror!)

To Plot or not to Plot by Allison Brennan

LUCY BURDETTE: I was skimming over the Sisters in Crime listserv a couple of weeks ago, and the discussion turned to plotting versus writing by the seat of your pants. I was absolutely blown away by Allison Brennan's response, and knew instantly that you would want to read about her writing process. Welcome Allison!

ALLISON BRENNAN: At my first ever writer’s conference in 2005--after I sold my first book but before it hit the shelves--my friend Patti Berg and I came up with a workshop called “No Plotters Allowed: Solutions to writer’s block for those who can’t, won’t, or don’t plot.” 

One of the reasons Patti and I came up with this idea was our mutual frustration at being told that we were “doing it wrong.” That there was an established way to write and those of us who didn’t plot were somehow inferior to those who did.

There is no one right way to write a book. Some people plot. Some people don’t. And there are many people who combine plotting and pantsing. (I prefer “organic writing” to “pantsing.”)

The most important thing is that the writer finish the book. How is almost irrelevant, as long as we reach THE END.

Books by authors who heavily outline (Andrew Gross, Suzanne Brockmann, James Patterson) are no better than books by authors who write organically (Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Lee Child.) And vice versa. 

I’ve had writer friends insist that I must plot because I write mystery/thrillers. I say I don’t. I often don’t even know who the killer is. I sometimes write a great scene and have no idea how my characters are going to get out alive. Sometimes they don’t all survive. My characters often surprise me, and that’s one of the most fun things about writing organically.

Usually I start with nothing but a premise. What if a killer used a crime fiction writer’s books as blueprints for murder? (That idea became my debut novel, THE PREY.) I started writing and my main character took shape as she woke up and I wrote what I saw – how she felt, what she did, what she learned in that all-important first chapter. It set the stage for the entire book.

Sometimes I start with a character. Obviously, if you write a series you already have a core character or two. But the plot itself? That comes as my character goes to work. I want to challenge them as well as provide an interesting and exciting story for my readers. What if Sean and Lucy are camping and come across a couple who are acting suspicious? What if Lucy’s mentor is killed at Quantico? What if a crime in Sean’s past is used against him? What if Sean learns he has a son – but his son’s step-father is a criminal?

Almost always I write one or two paragraphs that summarize the core story, so in a sense I know the basics. I know what kind of mystery I’m writing—a thriller, a whodunit, a psychological suspense. I know the main character and the launch point of the story (a murder, a kidnapping, a prison break, etc.) Beyond that? Nothing. I often don't know who the killer is until my hero figures it out. And sometimes, what I think is the main crime in the first chapter is minor compared to what happens later!

When you write organically you can't be afraid to edit. I cut and rewrite tens of thousands of words. My books usually exceed 100K words, but I often completely rewrite scenes, cut scenes—sometimes dozens of pages—and I’ve also been known to write completely new endings. The editor of my first 17 books at Ballantine told me she loved my revisions because it was like reading a completely new book and she never knew what was going to happen. 

Because writing is rewriting, I don't stress over word choice, scene blocking, or description in my first draft. I layer that in on the second draft. If I get stuck, I reread from the beginning or just skip to the next logical scene. I always ask, what would my character do in this situation? I try to avoid getting distracted by research unless it's plot critical. Meaning, if my character finds a dead body buried for 10 years I don't describe it in the first draft. When I'm done I'll figure out what they saw and set the scene. However if there is a critical clue where I need to know exactly how the body looks because that's important to the plot, then I'll pull out my forensic books, use Google, or call an expert. Since I edit as I go, my first drafts are fairly clean. Each morning, I re-read what I wrote the day before to make sure that it’s free of major mistakes and it makes sense. That process jumpstarts my creativity.

I've published more than 30 books and haven't plotted or outlined any of them. My way is not the best way. It’s the best way for me.

Writers write. It’s what we do. Find the best process for you, the way you can get from beginning through the middle and type THE END. Anyone who says you’re doing it wrong? Ignore them. I’m glad I did.

So I’m going to ask you what Patti and I asked our workshops: what do you do when you’re stuck? Or, do you need help getting unstuck? Let me know and I’ll see if I can help! 

For the readers out there, can you tell the difference between books from plotters and books from people who don't plot?

New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan has two books out this summer, TWO TO DIE FOR and SHATTERED. You can read more and follow her here:

facebook: http://facebook.com/AllisonBrennan

twitter http://twitter.com/Allison_Brennan