The Perils of Winging It In Non-Fiction

Right, so, ‘pantsing’. 

Not the sort of pantsing that involves, shall we say, a sudden and unwelcome exposure of your nether regions. 

No, no, we’re talking about writing. The literary kind. Specifically, non-fiction. And even more specifically, the art – or lack thereof – of writing without a plan.

Now, I’ve always been a bit of a planner. Not a meticulous, colour-coded spreadsheet sort of planner, mind you. More of a “general direction, a few scribbled notes on a napkin, and a vague sense of where I’m going” sort of planner. Which, let’s be honest, is still more than most people manage when attempting to navigate the M25 motorway.

But pantsing, as they call it, well, that’s a different kettle of fish entirely. Who puts fish in a kettle? It surely would make your tea smell funny?

It’s the literary equivalent of setting off on a cross-country ramble with no map, no compass, and a distinctly dodgy sense of direction. You just start walking, and hope you stumble across something interesting.

It’s a tempting proposition, isn’t it? The idea of just sitting down and letting the words flow, unencumbered by pesky things like structure and narrative arcs. 

Imagine! No more agonising over chapter outlines, no more wrestling with the tyranny of a five-act structure. Just pure, unadulterated, free-flowing prose.

Of course, the reality, as with most things, is less romantic. 

I’ve dipped my toe into the pantsing pond, and let me tell you, it’s a murky affair. You start off with a perfectly good anecdote about, say, the history of the humble garden shed, and before you know it, you’re knee-deep in a tangent about the migratory habits of the lesser spotted newt, and wondering how on earth you got there.

You end up with a draft post that looks less like a blog post and more like a particularly chaotic jumble sale. A delightful jumble sale, perhaps, full of unexpected treasures and curious oddities, but a jumble sale nonetheless. Sorting it all out afterwards, well, that’s a task for the brave, or the utterly insane.

There’s a certain charm to the chaos, I’ll grant you. A sort of “let’s see what happens” spirit that can be quite invigorating. 

But for a bloke like me, who likes his narrative to have at least a vague sense of purpose, it’s a bit like trying to herd goats. You might get a few of them moving in the right direction, but you’ll inevitably end up with a few strays wandering off into the undergrowth. And then eating it all.

So, pantsing. A noble experiment, perhaps, for the truly adventurous. 

But for the rest of us, a bit of planning, a bit of structure, and perhaps a decent map, might just be the better way to go. 

After all, you wouldn’t set off for a stroll in the Lake District without a map, would you? Well, unless you fancy a lengthy and unplanned detour, that is. And frankly, I’ve had enough unplanned detours to last a lifetime.

One other thing, the small child in me thinks the word “pantsing” is hilarious… 

Now, I must wander off and make tea and hope nobody put fish in my kettle.