Outliner or Pantser?
Why the Best Writers Are Often Both
The best writing process isn’t the one that wins arguments—it’s the one that keeps you turning blank pages into finished chapters.
Few debates in the writing world have lasted as long—or become as unhelpful—as the question of whether you’re an outliner or a pantser.
One camp carefully plans every chapter before writing a word. The other dives into page one with little more than a character and a spark of an idea. Both sides can point to bestselling authors who work their way.
The problem is that this debate suggests there are only two ways to write a novel.
There aren’t.
Most successful writers work somewhere between those two extremes, borrowing techniques from both planning and discovery as their story demands. Some outline the major turning points but improvise every conversation. Others begin with no plan at all before gradually introducing structure as the novel grows.
The goal isn’t to choose the “correct” method.
The goal is to discover the process that keeps you writing, preserves your momentum, and allows your story to become richer than the version you imagined on day one.
Writing Exists on a Spectrum—Not a Binary
Rather than thinking in terms of two opposing camps, imagine a sliding scale.
Pantser ←——————————→ Outliner
Every position on that spectrum comes with its own strengths and weaknesses.
Some approaches generate enormous creative energy but require substantial editing later. Others produce cleaner first drafts but risk feeling overly controlled. Neither is inherently better. They simply make different trade-offs.
The trick is finding the balance that suits both your personality and your current project.
Pure Pantsing: Maximum Discovery, Maximum Revision
At one end of the spectrum is pure discovery writing.
There is no outline. No chapter plan. Often not even an ending.
The writer simply starts writing and discovers the story alongside the characters.
For many authors, this is exhilarating.
Characters surprise you. Plot twists appear unexpectedly. Themes emerge naturally. Every writing session feels like opening a mystery novel you’ve never read before.
The downside is that discovery often comes at the expense of structure.
Without any roadmap, stories can drift. Subplots multiply. Characters vanish for a hundred pages before returning. Entire sections may need rewriting once you finally understand what the book is really about.
None of this makes pantsing a bad method.
It simply means you’re choosing to solve structural problems during revision instead of before drafting. If you understand that trade-off, it’s a perfectly valid way to write.
Writing Towards a Destination
One of the easiest ways to add stability without sacrificing discovery is to stop aiming for an entire novel and start aiming for a destination.
Instead of planning every scene, choose one significant moment ahead.
Perhaps it’s the courtroom trial.
Perhaps it’s the first kiss.
Perhaps it’s the confrontation you’ve been imagining since the idea first appeared.
You don’t need to know exactly how your characters will reach that point.
You simply write towards it.
This small shift changes everything.
Instead of staring at a blank page wondering what happens next, you’re always moving towards something tangible. Momentum replaces pressure.
Better still, if you reach that destination sooner than expected, you’ve discovered something valuable.
It doesn’t mean your plan failed.
It means your story is bigger than you originally realised.
Choose the next destination and keep moving.
Light Structure: Understanding the Three-Act Journey
Many writers avoid story structure because they fear it will make their novels feel formulaic.
But structure isn’t really about page numbers or plot points.
It’s about understanding how people change.
Viewed simply, a three-act story looks something like this:
Act One: A problem appears, and the protagonist forms a flawed understanding of how to solve it.
Act Two: They pursue solutions based on that flawed perspective.
Act Three: Their old approach fails, forcing them to adopt a new understanding before they can finally succeed.
Seen this way, structure isn’t a set of rules.
It’s a map of transformation.
Acts don’t have to be identical lengths. Turning points don’t need to occur on specific page numbers. What matters is that the character’s understanding evolves throughout the story.
A novel isn’t simply a sequence of events.
It’s a sequence of changing perspectives.
Build a Novel One Scene at a Time
Another highly effective middle ground is to stop thinking in chapters altogether.
Think in scenes.
A scene is simply something that happens in a particular place and time that the reader can clearly imagine.
That’s all.
When you break a novel into scenes, the project suddenly becomes far less intimidating.
If your average scene runs somewhere around 1,000 to 1,300 words, then fifty or sixty scenes produce a complete novel.
Suddenly you’re no longer trying to write an 80,000-word manuscript.
You’re writing today’s scene.
Tomorrow you’ll write another.
Scenes are wonderfully flexible.
You can write them out of order.
Move them around.
Replace them.
Delete them entirely without dismantling the whole manuscript.
Whether you’re a planner or a discovery writer, scenes provide manageable building blocks that make large projects feel achievable.
Headlight Outlining: Plan Only What You Can See
Imagine driving at night.
Your headlights don’t illuminate the entire journey.
They only show the next stretch of road.
Yet that’s enough to reach your destination.
Writing can work the same way.
Rather than outlining an entire novel, plan only the next three to five scenes.
That’s enough direction to avoid staring at a blank page while leaving plenty of room for discovery.
This approach offers the best of both worlds.
You rarely wonder what to write next.
At the same time, you’re not locked into decisions made months earlier before you truly understood your characters.
As the story evolves, your headlights simply move further down the road.
Full Outlining Doesn't Mean Losing Creativity
Complete outlines aren’t the enemy.
Many excellent novels begin with detailed plans.
Problems arise only when the outline becomes more important than the story itself.
Characters grow.
Themes emerge.
Unexpected relationships develop.
If your outline refuses to accommodate those discoveries, it stops helping and starts getting in the way.
Treat your outline as a living document rather than a contract.
Allow scenes to surprise you.
Update your plan whenever the story teaches you something new.
A flexible outline provides confidence.
A rigid one often drains the energy that made you excited about the novel in the first place.
Mixing Methods Isn't Failure—It's Growth
One of the biggest surprises for new writers is discovering that experienced authors rarely stick to a single method forever.
Many begin as pure pantsers before adding just enough structure to make revision easier.
Others start as meticulous outliners before learning to loosen their grip and allow characters more freedom.
Some write towards destinations before organising everything into scenes.
Others outline the first act and discover the rest as they go.
Your process can evolve from one novel to the next.
It can even change halfway through the same manuscript.
That’s not inconsistency.
It’s responsiveness.
The more books you write, the more you’ll build a process that belongs uniquely to you.
Stop Looking for New Systems Once You're Writing
Writing advice is incredibly useful.
Until it isn’t.
There’s always another plotting system to study.
Another outlining template.
Another productivity technique promising to transform your novel.
But if you’re already writing consistently, constantly searching for a better method often becomes another form of procrastination.
Seek new tools when you genuinely need them.
When you’ve become stuck.
When momentum disappears.
When you’re repeatedly hitting the same obstacle.
Otherwise, keep writing.
Most drafting problems are solved by drafting.
Your First Draft Is Not the Finished Book
Perhaps the most important mindset shift of all is recognising what a first draft actually is.
It isn’t a polished novel.
It’s the raw material from which one will eventually emerge.
While drafting, resist the temptation to judge every sentence.
Don’t obsess over pacing.
Don’t endlessly rewrite Chapter One.
Don’t polish dialogue that may not survive revision.
You’re constructing the house.
Interior decoration comes later.
Trying to perfect each room before the foundations are finished usually means the house never gets built.
Find the Process That Gets You to "The End"
There is no universally perfect writing method.
Only the one that works for you.
The best process is the one that helps you reach the end of your manuscript, leaves you with enough enthusiasm to revise it, and gives your story room to become smarter, deeper, and more surprising than the version you first imagined.
Whether you outline every chapter, discover everything as you go, or create a hybrid process somewhere in the middle matters far less than one simple question.
Is it helping you write?
If the answer is yes, keep going.
Because a finished first draft—however messy—is infinitely more valuable than the perfect writing process you’ve never actually used.