Jeff Mariotte

By Jeff Mariotte

I’d been thinking for some time that I might write about outlines for this month’s installment. Joe Nassise touched briefly on the subject a few days ago. Then I saw this post by my friend Lee Goldberg, writing about another friend, John Connolly. In it, Lee writes, “In talking with other writers, I’ve noticed that the ones who hit the wall the most are the ones who make up their plot as they go along, preferring to be ‘surprised’ by their characters and the turns in the story.”

These incidents combined to make me think that the question of “Do I outline, or what?” has not gone away, and probably never will as long as writers write.

I’ve known authors who do it both ways. James Ellroy once told me his outlines ran far more than a hundred pages long. His books are incredibly densely plotted, with solid motivations for everything that happens, populated by characters with richly developed lives. It would be hard to imagine that he could work out such intricate plots without a very detailed outline.

On the other hand, my feeling when he told me that was that writing such a long, complex outline would use up much of the creative energy that I’d want to plow into the book itself. After creating a massive outline, would I still be interested in the project? Or would the joy of discovery, which is one of the main reasons I like writing, fade after the outline stage?

Another, purely pragmatic problem arises when I contemplate an Ellroy-ish outline. I’m not at the level where I can afford to write a book a year and still feed the family. I’m writing five or six books a year, plus comics and other projects. Taking time out of the year to write an outline that might run to 180 pages or so would essentially mean replacing one book with an outline, and you don’t get paid for an outline.

But if you analyze Ellroy’s plots, it’s hard to argue with his results.

Other writers, like the ones Lee mentioned above, don’t outline at all. These, often, are the ones who like to let their characters “run away” with the story. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like they mean that metaphorically, but like they become possessed by characters who make them type certain words on the keyboard in a certain order. I prefer to think of it less concrete terms—those characters are the ones who engage the subconsciously creative part of the writers’ brains, so they’re the ones whose stories the writers think about when they’re driving or showering or mowing the lawn. Having become consumed by those characters, when they get back to the keyboard, describing the events they’ve seen in their mind’s eyes becomes the first priority for those writers.

The lack of an outline, for these writers, means that they don’t have any outside mechanism with which to put the brakes on those runaway characters. And sometimes, of course, the characters lead the writers on a journey that turns out to be effectively plotted and builds to a satisfying conclusion. I have to believe, however, that in those cases it’s the writer’s innate mastery of structure that gets them to that ending, not the will of a character intent on dragging her author down an unmarked trail.

For my part, I use outlines, except when I don’t.

To be more precise, much of my work is in the realm of licensed fiction. In this type of work, outlines are required. The license-holder wants to know what the writer will deliver before the final manuscript is done. The license-holder’s primary concerns are that the book be an accurate reflection of the original property—that the characters in the book don’t do things the original characters wouldn’t (without a very sound explanation), that they and their world are treated with respect, and that, if the book needs to fit into a certain continuity, it does so.

Before a writer types in word one, that writer—unless he or she is overly eager and/or confident and/or facing a ridiculously punishing deadline—makes sure to get approval on an outline.

Even after that stage, the license-holder can, and sometimes does, change its mind (speaking of it as a corporate entity, although it isn’t always). In that case, a new outline has to be drafted and approved. No, the deadline doesn’t move back—such are the demands of licensed fiction.

Once that outline is approved, the book must conform to it in all particulars. If the writer decides some character needs to die for the plot to work, or someone else has to move to Ohio, the writer can plead to the editor, who will (perhaps) plead to the license-holder. Sometimes the change will be approved mid-stream, other times not. Either way, time’s a wastin’. Shoulda thought of that the first time around.

I also use a detailed outline when I want to try to sell something before I write it. In the case of my original teen horror series Witch Season, for example, I outlined all four books, in thirty pages, and included another couple of pages of brief character sketches. It worked, and I sold the series before writing more than the first chapter. When you do this for a living that’s a good way to go.

In that case, no one had to approve my outline but me, and I was free to change it at will. I had thought it out pretty thoroughly, though, and while thirty pages certainly didn’t cover every detail (leaving me plenty to discover on my journey) it did hit the important plot points that needed to happen.

My editor asked me to deviate from the outline once, because she had become enamored of a character who died late in the series. She hoped there was a way to save that character, so she didn’t have to say goodbye. I tried to help her out, but no matter how I looked at it, the character had to go. In that instance I stuck with the outline over my editor’s objections, and we both agreed that the book was the better for it.

When I’m writing purely on spec, though, I tend not to outline, at least not in much detail. I’m not sure why outlining is so difficult at those times. I wrote my horror novel The Slab with no outline, except that now and again I would jot notes about things I had realized should happen in upcoming chapters. Recently I completed another spec original, and ditto—I tried to outline it several times, got nowhere, and finally just launched into it.

I tend to write quickly, and once I have a first draft down that functions much like an outline. If I need to change things or flesh out some aspects and eliminate others, at least I have the skeleton down so I don’t forget what goes where. If I took a year or more to write a book, I’m sure an outline would be an absolute must, otherwise I’d forget what I meant to put in. Writing more than one project at a time, an outline is also handy, as a road map to where you left off and where you’re going.

So there you have it—the final word on the question, “Do I outline, or what?” The definitive answer is, “yes, outline, or what.” If you’re working on your first novel, I would say you should absolutely outline, because it might save you from spending six months writing yourself into a corner you can’t get out of. If you’re working on your fortieth, you might be a little more comfortable with issues of plot and structure.

But then, if you’re working on your fortieth, you’re probably also challenging yourself to keep improving your work. I think it’s rare to get to that kind of number without the drive to continually learn and re-learn your craft.

So maybe you should still think about outlining.

Or what.