I don’t outline. I never have. My process is more like wandering into a forest with a flashlight that only works when it feels like it. I write the scene in front of me, and the rest of the book reveals itself whenever it’s good and ready.
And then there’s that moment—the one every pantser knows—when the story starts talking back. A character refuses to walk through the door I opened for them. A scene I thought was romantic suddenly decides it wants to be heartbreaking. Someone blurts out a line I absolutely did not plan, and now I have to deal with the consequences.
That’s when I know the story has legs. It’s not outlined. Not controlled. Just breathing on its own and dragging me along for the ride.
It’s its own kind of chaos, really. One minute you think you’re steering the ship, and then suddenly a character you’ve been writing for years stands up and says, “Actually, I’m not doing that.”
Excuse me?
I’m the author. I’m supposed to be the one making decisions. But no—apparently I’m just the hands. The story has opinions now. It interrupts me mid‑sentence. It changes its mind halfway through a chapter. It drags me into scenes I didn’t agree to write.
And honestly? That’s the best part.
Because when the story starts talking back, it means it’s not only awake; it’s 100% alive.