Author’s Creative Crossroads: A "Pantser" Learns the Value of Planning in Thriller Writing

By Debbie Burke

In the intricate world of novel writing, a long-standing debate rages: plotter versus pantser. Plotters meticulously map out every twist and turn before a single word is written, while pantsers, as the name suggests, write by the seat of their pants, allowing the story to unfold organically. For years, Debbie Burke, author of the acclaimed Tawny Lindholm Thriller series, proudly identified as an unapologetic pantser. Her unconventional, albeit flawed, method had successfully guided her through the creation of nine published novels. However, with her tenth novel, tentatively titled "Proof of Life," Burke found herself in an unexpected creative quandary, her "pants" quite literally falling down, forcing a reevaluation of her deeply ingrained writing process.

The Unexpected Detour: A Familiar Series Takes a Troubled Turn

"Proof of Life" is slated to be the tenth installment in the Tawny Lindholm Thriller series, a universe Burke knows intimately. The series centers on investigator Tawny Lindholm and her husband, defense attorney Tillman Rosenbaum, a formidable couple in their 50s navigating the complex landscape of Montana’s legal and criminal underworld. Despite their established characters, Burke found that even her familiar protagonists could lead her into unforeseen narrative complexities.

The inciting incident of "Proof of Life" plunges the protagonists into immediate suspense. Arielle, Tillman’s 22-year-old daughter, returns unexpectedly from Israel, where she had been researching her family history. Her arrival is fraught with distress; she is disheveled, exhausted, and clutches a newborn baby girl. Her demeanor suggests she is fleeing an unknown threat, yet she remains resolutely tight-lipped, even to Tawny, whose renowned ability to extract confessions from even the most recalcitrant individuals proves ineffective.

Adding a layer of international intrigue and danger, Burke introduces a formidable antagonist: a high-ranking Israeli police officer. This officer, married but not to Arielle, is the father of the infant and is determined to reclaim his child. His methods are described as brutal yet effective, and his pursuit of Arielle poses a dire threat to both her and her baby.

The Lure of the Unknown: A Pantser’s Initial Approach

Burke’s typical writing process begins with what she refers to as Jim Bell’s “minimal signposts,” a flexible framework that allows for considerable creative freedom. This approach aligns with the sentiment of E.L. Doctorow, who famously stated, "Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." This philosophy has served Burke well in the past, enabling her to explore narrative avenues as they reveal themselves.

However, with "Proof of Life," Burke harbored an early apprehension about the significant legal research required. The plot involves complex international laws, particularly concerning international child abduction. Initially, she pushed forward, confident that she could meticulously fill in the factual gaps during the revision process. This decision, while seemingly practical for maintaining momentum, would ultimately prove to be a critical misstep.

The narrative follows Tawny and Tillman as they grapple with Arielle’s perplexing situation. They suspect she may have broken laws, but her refusal to divulge crucial information leaves them in the dark. Crucially, they are unaware of the dangerous adversary hunting her.

The Tangled Web of International Law: Research Becomes Imperative

As the story progressed, the need for a deeper understanding of international legal frameworks became undeniable. The plot demanded an exploration of the Hague Convention treaty concerning international child abduction. Questions of jurisdiction, the roles of entities like the FBI and the State Department, and the involvement of foreign consulates, specifically the Israeli consulate, became central to the unfolding drama.

Burke astutely observes that the application of laws in real-world scenarios, and consequently in realistic fiction, often diverges from their written text. She grappled with how to realistically portray the practicalities of such legal situations: how suspects are treated, the process of detention pending hearings, and the immediate care of an abducted child. This level of detail, crucial for a credible thriller, began to present significant challenges for her pantser approach.

The "Franken-Novel": Disconnected Scenes and Growing Confusion

For nearly 200 pages, Burke continued to write in her characteristic style, composing scenes as inspiration struck, often out of chronological order. This draft became a mosaic of notes, interspersed with phrases like "needs further explanation," "do more research," "maybe cut?" and "move this section?" The disconnected nature of these early writings inevitably led to confusion.

Her submissions to her critique group, while individually well-received as self-contained scenes, failed to convey a cohesive narrative arc. A persistent critique group member consistently raised valid questions about plot coherence and character motivations, questions that Burke, at that stage, struggled to answer definitively. The narrative threads, once so vibrant in her mind, were becoming tangled.

The Unsung Hero of Chronology: The Missed Calendar

In past projects, particularly for "Dead Man’s Bluff," which was set against the backdrop of a real hurricane, Burke had successfully utilized calendars to meticulously track story timelines. This tool proved invaluable in aligning fictional events with actual occurrences, such as flooding, road closures, and staggered power restoration, all of which directly impacted the plot. A calendar, she had learned, not only tracks sequential events but also illuminates the crucial cause-and-effect relationships between scenes.

However, for "Proof of Life," Burke neglected this tried-and-true method. This oversight, she later realized, was a significant miscalculation. The internal arguments began to escalate:

• "Wait a second, for the timeline to make sense, that scene can’t happen until much later."
• "Oh no, that revelation is too soon because Tawny doesn’t know about XYZ yet."
• "Oops, that confrontation between Tillman and the officials needs more build up. Should there even be a confrontation?"

When she attempted to assemble these disparate scenes, the result was, in her own words, a "Franken-novel"—a disjointed assembly of parts that lacked organic cohesion.

A Plea for Help: The Intervention of a Friend

The disarray led Burke to a point of significant creative distress. For weeks, she allowed her subconscious to wrestle with the burgeoning problems, but even her usually reliable inner muse seemed stumped. The pantser’s strategy had demonstrably failed.

Admitting defeat, Burke made a "9-1-1 call" to her trusted brainstorming partner, Phyllis Quatman. Quatman, an attorney, author, and exceptionally insightful sounding board, was instrumental in helping Burke dismantle and reconstruct the flawed narrative.

Sitting at Quatman’s dining table, the plot was rigorously examined. Quatman’s astute observation cut through the complexity: "Deb, you’re making this much too complicated." She then guided Burke to distill the story to its essential elements, advising her to eliminate extraneous subplots, reposition certain scenes, and abandon tangential diversions.

Crucially, Quatman suggested a pivotal development for the antagonist: he should possess a secret past that prevents him from utilizing official channels to locate Arielle and the baby. This would force him "underground," mirroring Arielle’s own need for stealth. This suggestion resonated with a subtle hint Burke’s subconscious had already planted about the villain’s hidden history, a past that now needed to be amplified and made more sinister to drive the plot.

The Birth of a "Quasi-Outline": A Pantser’s Surrender

Three hours later, Burke left Quatman’s home, her mind buzzing with newfound clarity and profound gratitude. Upon her return, she did the unthinkable: she began writing an outline. This was a monumental shift for a self-proclaimed, unrepentant pantser.

However, this was no traditional, rigidly structured outline. It eschewed Roman numerals and complex hierarchical lettering. It wasn’t a scene-by-scene or chapter-by-chapter blueprint. Instead, it served as a comprehensive exploration of the intricate backstory leading to Arielle’s arrival in Montana, her secrets, and the secrets of other characters.

Most importantly, the outline delved deeply into the villain’s secrets—his humiliations and past crimes that he desperately sought to keep hidden. These secrets became the driving force behind his motivations, his deep desire to reclaim his child, and the ruthless actions he must take to achieve that goal, including the elimination of Arielle.

Backstory as the Engine of Narrative

Burke emphasizes a crucial writing principle: "Backstory isn’t simply backstory. It causes the present story." In her revised approach, secrets would be unveiled sequentially, each revelation altering the trajectory of the plot and propelling the narrative towards its climax.

While the precise details of the climactic showdown remained somewhat fluid, the outline established it as a definitive destination. This outline, a testament to her paradigm shift, clocked in at an impressive 1,300 words.

Re-evaluation and the Path Forward

The arduous process of restructuring the narrative inevitably led to questions of efficiency and potential wasted effort. Burke acknowledges that months were spent drafting a story that ultimately proved unworkable. She concedes that a more structured approach from the outset might have yielded greater efficiency and productivity.

The question of whether this "quasi-outline" will ultimately solve the narrative challenges remains unanswered. The path forward necessitates the writing of numerous new scenes, and this time, Burke intends to adhere to a chronological order, meticulously employing a calendar to maintain narrative integrity.

The Enduring Value of Collaboration and Adaptation

Burke reiterates a fundamental lesson learned early in her career: the profound importance of seeking help from trusted, objective, and rational friends. Phyllis Quatman’s intervention was, as Burke describes, a "big way" of assistance, a testament to the power of collaboration in overcoming creative hurdles.

The experience has irrevocably altered Burke’s perspective on her writing process. While she anticipates remaining a pantser at heart, her unrepentant stance has softened. The experience has taught her the invaluable lesson of adaptation and the willingness to evolve one’s methods when faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges.

A Call to the Community: Plotter, Pantser, or Plantser?

Burke concludes by posing a question to her fellow writers and readers, the "TKZers": Are you a plotter, a pantser, or a combination of both (a plantser)? Have you encountered similar roadblocks with your chosen writing system? How did you navigate those challenges, or are you still in the process of finding a solution? This open invitation for dialogue underscores the shared journey of creative exploration and problem-solving within the writing community.

The author also highlights her previous work, "Dead Man’s Bluff," as an example of how integrating real-life events with fictional narratives, aided by a structured timeline, can lead to compelling storytelling. The cover art for "Dead Man’s Bluff," created by Brian Hoffman, is also showcased.

Burke’s journey with "Proof of Life" serves as a powerful reminder that even seasoned authors must be willing to adapt, learn, and, at times, surrender their preconceived notions to ensure the successful realization of their creative visions. The "pants" may have fallen down, but in picking them up, Burke has discovered a more robust and adaptable approach to her craft.