Learning how to plan your novel does not mean deciding every word, scene, and surprise before you begin writing. It means giving yourself enough information about the story, characters, setting, and direction so you can write with purpose rather than repeatedly stopping to decide what happens next.
Some novelists outline extensively. Others prefer to discover much of the story as they write. Most working writers eventually develop a method somewhere between those extremes. The amount of planning matters less than whether your preparation helps you produce a coherent, engaging story.
A novel is a large undertaking. It may contain dozens of characters, numerous locations, overlapping conflicts, thousands of details, and perhaps 70,000 to 100,000 words or more. Planning provides a framework that helps all those pieces work together without preventing you from discovering better ideas as you write.
Before planning chapters or scenes, try to describe the basic story in one sentence. A useful starting sentence identifies a protagonist, a goal, and the central obstacle or conflict. For example:
A recently widowed small-town newspaper editor must prove that a popular local businessman committed a murder before the editor becomes the killer’s next victim.
That sentence does not tell you everything about the novel. It gives you something more important: direction. For a romance, the sentence might identify two people who have strong reasons to stay apart but increasingly compelling reasons to come together. For historical fiction, it might place a character with a personal objective inside a larger historical conflict. For science fiction or fantasy, it might establish both the protagonist’s problem and the unusual world in which it must be solved.
If you cannot yet describe the basic story simply, you may not know it well enough to begin planning the details.
An engaging plot usually begins with a character who wants something. The goal may be obvious: solve the murder, win the election, save the farm, escape the island, find the missing child, survive the war, or win someone’s love. It may also be emotional: earning a parent’s approval, overcoming guilt, regaining self-respect, discovering the truth about the past, or finding a place to belong.
Strong novels often combine an external goal with an internal need. Your protagonist may want to solve a crime while needing to learn to trust another person. She may want to save her business while confronting the fear that has controlled her life.
That difference between what a character wants and what the character needs can provide much of a novel’s emotional depth.
If your protagonist can easily get what he wants, you do not have much of a plot. Something or someone has to stand in the way. In a mystery or thriller, that may be an antagonist deliberately working against the protagonist. In a romance, social circumstances, past experiences, family obligations, or the characters themselves may create the principal opposition. In an adventure novel, nature or physical danger may supply much of the conflict.
At the same time, establish what the protagonist stands to lose. Failure should matter. The stakes do not always have to involve life and death. Losing a marriage, reputation, family relationship, career, lifelong dream, or sense of identity may be just as compelling if the loss matters deeply to the character.
Good conflict is often personal. A capable detective who fears emotional intimacy might face a case requiring cooperation with someone she distrusts. A character obsessed with control might encounter circumstances beyond their control.
As you plan your novel, ask two questions repeatedly: What prevents the protagonist from getting what is wanted, and why does failure matter?
Once you understand the protagonist, goal, conflict, and stakes, begin mapping the plot. You do not need to outline every chapter. Start with the major events that change the direction of the story.
Most novels contain some version of these structural points:
These are landmarks, not rules requiring a particular number of chapters or pages. Different genres emphasize them differently, but most satisfying novels create a sense that events are building toward something.
A weak plot often feels like a series of unrelated events: This happens. Then this happens. Then something else happens.
A stronger plot works through cause and effect. Suppose your protagonist secretly follows a suspect. Because she follows him, she discovers something important. Because she discovers it, the suspect realizes she is dangerous. Because he realizes that, he takes action against her. Because of his action, she must make a more difficult choice.
Now the plot has momentum. When planning scenes, ask not only, “What happens next?” but also, “Why does this happen because of what happened before?”
That simple question helps keep a novel from feeling episodic.
You do not need to know every detail about a character before writing, but you should know enough to predict how that person is likely to behave under pressure. For each primary character, establish the basics: age, occupation, family situation, important relationships, abilities, weaknesses, fears, ambitions, habits, and significant past events.
Then ask more important questions. What does this character want? What does the character fear losing? What is being hidden? What mistaken belief does the character bring into the story? What would this person never willingly do—and what circumstances might eventually force that choice?
Characters become more convincing when they contain contradictions. A courageous firefighter may be terrified of disappointing his daughter. A seemingly cold attorney may secretly support an aging sibling. A charming politician may be incapable of forgiving an insult.
Avoid developing details merely because a character worksheet tells you to. Concentrate on traits that affect the story.
Secondary characters should not merely occupy space around the protagonist. Each important secondary character should contribute something. A character may provide information, create conflict, offer emotional support, become a rival, complicate a relationship, expose another character’s weakness, or represent an alternative the protagonist might choose.
A good secondary character also has a life beyond serving the hero. The detective’s partner has ambitions. The protagonist’s daughter has problems of her own. The neighbor who provides useful information may want something in return. Before creating another named character, ask whether an existing character could perform the same function. Combining minor roles often produces a cleaner and stronger cast.
Also map the important relationships. Who trusts whom? Who is jealous? Who owes someone a favor? Who knows a secret? Which relationships will strengthen, weaken, or reverse during the story?
Changing relationships create movement even when the external plot advances only slightly.
Location is more than scenery. A story set in a small Northern California town will develop differently from the same basic story set in Manhattan, rural Mississippi, London during World War II, or a settlement on Mars.
Ask what the location contributes to the plot. What opportunities does it provide? What restrictions does it impose? How do geography, weather, local customs, transportation, economy, history, and community affect what the characters can do?
Specific settings generate specific stories. In a small town, people may know one another’s histories and secrets. In a large city, anonymity may matter. In an isolated mountain community, weather could restrict movement. In historical fiction, communication and transportation may determine whether a character can act in time.
Develop enough of the setting before drafting that your characters can move through a believable world.
Every major character existed before page one. Backstory explains why characters behave as they do now. A childhood loss, failed marriage, family secret, old rivalry, previous success, military experience, or serious mistake may influence present decisions. Develop this history during planning even though much of it may never appear directly in the novel.
The writer needs to know more than the reader. The danger comes when writers conflate the information they needed to create the character with the information readers need to experience the story. Backstory should usually enter when it affects present action.
If the protagonist distrusts doctors because of something that happened fifteen years earlier, you may need to know exactly what happened. Readers may need only enough of that history to understand a decision being made today.
Before drafting, decide who tells the story and how close the reader will be to that character. First person creates intimacy but limits the reader to what the narrator can know. Third-person limited offers similar closeness with somewhat different flexibility. Multiple viewpoints can broaden the story but require careful control so readers always know whose experience they are following.
Ask which character has the most at stake in each important part of the novel. In a mystery, withholding another character’s thoughts may be essential. In a family saga, several viewpoints may be useful. In a romance, alternating between two principal characters may allow readers to understand misunderstandings the characters themselves cannot.
Choose viewpoint because it serves the story, not because it happens to be fashionable.
Novels become complicated surprisingly quickly. Create a timeline showing when important events happen, including significant backstory when necessary. Note days of the week, travel time, seasons, ages, deadlines, historical events, and anything else that can create continuity problems.
Mysteries especially benefit from this. If the murder occurred Tuesday night, determine where the key characters were and what each knew at that time. Then begin turning the larger plot into scenes.
A scene usually needs a purpose. Someone wants something. Something interferes. By the end of the scene, the situation has changed. For each planned scene, note:
Where does it happen?
Who is present?
What does the viewpoint character want?
What gets in the way?
What changes before the scene ends?
If you cannot identify why a scene belongs in the novel, it may not belong there.
You do not necessarily need to know every detail of your ending before beginning the first chapter, but you should know what central question the novel is moving toward answering. Does the detective identify the murderer? Do the lovers end up together? Does the protagonist achieve the goal? What does success cost?
Knowing the destination helps you plant information earlier. A revelation late in the novel is more satisfying when readers can look back and recognize clues that were present much earlier. A character’s final decision feels more convincing when earlier scenes established both the weakness that made the decision difficult and the experiences that made change possible.
A strong ending should feel surprising enough to remain interesting but inevitable enough to feel earned.
Fiction permits invention. It does not excuse carelessness. If your novel involves police procedure, medicine, aviation, law, history, farming, politics, woodworking, or any other specialized subject, identify what you need to research before drafting.
Research can also generate plot ideas. Learning how something actually works may suggest conflicts, restrictions, solutions, or complications you would never have invented from general knowledge. Do enough research to write confidently, but beware of using research as a way to postpone writing.
A novel plan is a working document, not a set of commandments. Characters may develop differently once they begin interacting on the page. A minor character may become important. A planned scene may prove unnecessary. A better solution to a plot problem may appear halfway through the draft. Change the plan.
The purpose of outlining is to reduce avoidable problems, not prevent better ideas. When the story changes, update your outline, character notes, and timeline so your planning continues to reflect the novel you are actually writing.
Before beginning the first draft, try to answer these questions:
Can I describe the basic story in one sentence?
Who is the protagonist, and what does that person want?
What happens if the protagonist fails?
Who or what creates the central opposition?
What event starts the main story?
What are the major turning points?
How does the conflict escalate?
Who are the important primary and secondary characters?
Which relationships change during the story?
Where and when does the story take place?
What backstory affects current events?
What point of view best serves the story?
What major scenes or clues must be established early?
What is the likely climax and ending?
What research should I complete before drafting?
You do not need perfect answers to every question. You need enough answers to make the first draft easier rather than harder.
Planning a novel is ultimately an exercise in asking questions before the reader has a chance to ask them. Who is this person? What does she want? Why can’t she get it? Why should I care? What happens next? Why did that happen? What will she do now?
Answer those questions well, and you have more than an outline. You have the beginnings of a story.
Want more practical help with writing? Download my free ebook, Working Writer Tips: How to Write Anything Better, Faster, Easier, and receive my free weekly Advanced Writing Tips. And discover my other writing resources at WorkingWriterSecrets.com.
–Dan Ramsey, Working Writer