Am I a planner or a pantser?

I don’t have a pressing desire to be seen as unique and no fear of fitting into the mould of a pantser or a planner. And so, I think I’d call myself a true hybrid model — and a bit short-sighted at that.

Do I know where my stories will end? Absolutely not.

Can I just sit down and write for hours and see where it leads me? Again, a resounding no.

My process is more like deciding to paint a portrait, with the main feature being, say, an elephant. The elephant is my vague story idea. It is a bit like a clumsy elevator pitch, or an out-of-focus cover blurb. I know roughly what the picture is going to contain. I just don’t know what it will eventually look like.

I don’t sit down in front of the canvas, brush at the ready, and say, ‘Where will I start?’

I think.

And I run, because that is when I think at my best.

I think about the next chapter only. Why do I write it? What is the main reason for the chapter? And then, how do I turn that reason into a story? And where do I start?

I think a lot about where to start each chapter.

In that mode, I am a planner.

But then I take a shower after my run and dry myself, and instead of sitting down to write, I have a coffee and play with my Jack Russell, because I am also a procrastinator.

While I play, I interview my possible characters in my head. I fire the redundant ones and interrogate the leading candidates. I ask them questions. I listen to their answers. Sometimes they surprise me.

So, when my Jack Russell’s tongue is hanging out and my coffee is cold, I sit down and visualise my opening scene, almost like one of those 360-degree videos.

I look at what my chosen character is wearing. How he touches his nose. How he glances at the girl walking past, or pulls at his sleeve.

And I look at where they are. I notice things.

The bare winter trees.

The rickety coffee table with the beautiful teacups. One has a small, barely noticeable chip in its saucer.

The threatening clouds.

The man in the car across the street.

And the gun he holds in his hand.

And his eyes.

Those eyes…

And then…

Then I write.

Sometimes I hold my breath, because I honestly don’t know what will happen next.

Other times, I feel laser-focused on following my plan, or my instinct, or my inner voice — or whatever it is that my stories come from.

But mostly, I just describe what I see in my head.

I love the thinking. The figuring out. The getting from here to there.

The writing itself is often slower, and sometimes it threatens to steal my attention and focus away from the story. But I keep writing.

It is a bit like storming into a thick mist at full speed.

I can’t see very far ahead.

But I know I’ll be safe.

Because I have a plan.

At least for the next few steps.