What happens when you stop choosing sides in the great writing debate and embrace the chaos and the structure? You get what I like to call a Planster — and it just might be the most productive approach to writing you’ve never tried.

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The Pantser Days

When I first started writing, I was a pure stream-of-consciousness writer — much like Stephen King, who famously describes his process as uncovering a fossil, brushing away the dirt one sentence at a time. I’d sit down, let the words pour out, and trust the story to find its own shape. There was a raw, electric energy to writing that way. The surprises my characters threw at me were my surprises too.But here’s the thing about pantsing: for every story that found its way to a satisfying ending, there were others that wandered into dead ends, spiraled into subplots that led nowhere, or simply ran out of steam halfway through. I had hard drives full of half-finished manuscripts collecting digital dust — stories with heart but no spine.

The Shift to Plotting

Eventually, I began studying story structure — the beats, the arcs, the underlying architecture that makes a narrative work. I dove into frameworks like the three-act structure, Save the Cat, and the Hero’s Journey. I learned about inciting incidents, midpoint reversals, dark nights of the soul, and satisfying climaxes.And suddenly, I understood why some of my old stories had stalled. They had voice. They had characters I loved. But they were missing the bones that hold a story upright.So I became a plotter. I outlined. I structured. I mapped every scene before writing it.And something was lost.The outlines were solid, sure — but sitting down to write a scene I’d already planned in detail felt like retracing someone else’s steps. The spontaneity, the discovery, the magic of pantsing had dried up.

The Planster Revelation

Then a thought hit me: What if you plot the structure but pants the beats?What if, instead of choosing one camp or the other, you used story structure as a roadmap — just the major landmarks, the critical turns — and then let your pantser brain run wild between them?That’s the Planster method in a nutshell:

1. Create a beat sheet. Identify the key structural moments your story needs — the hook, the inciting incident, the first plot point, the midpoint, the crisis, the climax, the resolution.
2. Know your destination for each beat. Understand what needs to happen at each structural turn and why it matters.
3. Pants everything in between. Let the characters breathe. Let the scenes surprise you. Let the dialogue flow the way it wants to. Trust your creative instincts to fill the space between the signposts.

You get the reliability of structure with the energy of discovery. The bones are there, but the flesh is alive.

The Proof Is in the Publishing

I decided to put this method to the test — not with a brand-new idea, but with those old stories buried on dusty hard drives from my pantsing days. Stories that had voice, had spark, but had never found their shape.I pulled three of them out, built beat sheets around their cores, and then pantsed my way through the beats.The results? Three completed novels in a fraction of the time it would have taken me using either method alone:

• 📖 Written in Skin — published on Amazon
• 📖 Nothing But Time — published on Amazon
• 📖 The Girl Who Broke Everything — coming soon

Three abandoned stories. Three finished books. That’s not a fluke — that’s a process that works.

Why the Planster Method Works

• Structure prevents you from getting lost. You always know where you’re headed next.
• Pantsing keeps the writing alive. You’re still discovering the story as you write it — just within guardrails.
• It’s faster. You spend less time staring at a blank page and less time rewriting entire drafts that went off the rails.
• It resurrects old work. Got abandoned manuscripts? They might just need a skeleton to stand on.

Are You a Planster?

If you’ve ever felt torn between the freedom of pantsing and the security of plotting, give yourself permission to be both. Grab a beat sheet template, sketch out your structural landmarks, and then let yourself fly between them.You might be surprised how many stories you’ve already started that are just waiting for the right structure to finally be told.

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Have you tried the Planster method? Got old manuscripts collecting dust? I’d love to hear about your experience — drop a comment below or find my published works, Written in Skin and Nothing But Time, on Amazon. And keep an eye out for The Girl Who Broke Everything, coming soon.

A Tiny, Totally Non-Desperate Plea From Your Friendly Neighborhood Author

If you enjoyed this post — or even if you just tolerated it with mild amusement — I have a few small, completely reasonable requests:1. Share this post. Hit that share button like it owes you money. Text it to a friend. Email it to your mom. Print it out and leave it on a stranger’s windshield. I don’t judge distribution methods.2. Spread the word. Tell people about this blog. Whisper it in crowded elevators. Mention it casually at dinner parties. Skywriting is also acceptable.3. Buy a book. Look, I’m not starving. Let’s not be dramatic. But I am a coffee-dependent creature with a very real and very expensive caffeine habit, and those lattes aren’t going to fund themselves. Every book purchase keeps a moderately-fed author adequately caffeinated and typing away at the next thing you’ll (hopefully) enjoy.So if you’re feeling generous, kind, or just impulsive enough to click “Add to Cart” — I salute you, you beautiful human.☕ Keep the coffee flowing. Keep the words coming.

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