I'm sure I explained in a previous post the difference between Pantsers and Plotters. I, unfortunately, rely on voices in my head to help me write. Without all that chatter, I'm at a loss. I've tried plotting and it just doesn't work for me, so all the people talking in my head are really a blessing...at times.
For me being a "pantser" is akin to having someone tell me a story. I listen and jot down the words, but I never know where I'm headed until I get there. It's a lot more exciting, in my opinion, to having a chart of some type that outlines your entire novel for you. I prefer to be surprised. The only problem is when the characters are done, so is the book. I've written some short, some long, and some in between. You never know how long creating a novel is going to take when you're a pantser.
I have to admit I do take notes now because my memory has faded with age. There is nothing worse than forgetting the heroes name and putting in one from another book or having your heroine suddenly gaze through blue eyes instead of green with gold flecks.
If you're a pantser too, you'll be able to relate to this video. If you aren't, you probably will anyhow, since all those words of wisdom your parents and grandparents shared with you still run through your mind. I can hear my granny to this day telling me all little boys wanted to do was get in my panties. I could never figure out what they'd do once they got them on. How embarassing. I never wanted to wear Jockey shorts. Now that I'm older, I realize she was warning me to be a lady. *lol*
So...I may be camping for the next few months, but I'll be working on Sarah's Hope. This will be sort of continuation of Sarah's Heart and Passion. Here's an except closer to the end of that book so you'll better relate to what Sarah is sharing with me now. She's a chatty one, for sure.
Glee squeezed Sarah’s heart. She’d lived through pure hell in a dream, found the love of her life only to lose him, and now she had a second chance. No way was she missing out on the passion she felt for this man. Locking her arms around his neck, she rested her cheek against his chest, drinking in his warmth, his smell, his feel. “I love you, too, Nathaniel Grey Wolf Elder, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend eternity with…even if it’s on a cattle ranch in Missouri.”