You know what they say about the early bird.
I admit I kinda felt for that worm. But nature. Also, it wasn’t early, it was afternoon, but you get the gist.
What’s that, hypothetical reader? No, that wasn’t just an excuse to work in these pictures from my Chicago Botanic Garden excursion reminding us how glad we should be that the only remaining dinosaurs snack on worms, not us. I mean, do you see that eye? DO YOU SEE IT?! If it wasn’t a cute little robin, it would be terrifying.
But that’s not what this post is about.
With the A-to-Z Challenge, there are scores of bloggers who planned out their posts in advance, selecting a theme. Many of them are you! No, no, not YOU, hypothetical reader, I mean the fun, interesting, awesome people who have been stopping by this month. No, hypothetical reader, I’m not saying you’re not fun, interesting or awesome. Can we talk about this later? In private?
Anyway, I am not a planner. I don’t plan my blog posts. When I got the A to Z emails talking about theme reveals, I laughed internally. I often don’t know what I’m going to write about until my fingers hit the keyboard.
I’m like that with my novels, too. I couldn’t plan what my characters were going to do or how they would react if I tried, because they often fight me at every turn. Margaret, the protagonist of Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only) battled with me the whole way through that book. She’s an obstinate one.
There’s no one right way to approach writing. Some of us are born panstsers (writing by the seat of our pants, thank you NaNoWriMo) and some of us are planners. I suspect that inside the heads of planners, Chopin plays in airy open room as the characters politely pick up their lines and move effortlessly from plot point to plot point.
Inside my head (I won’t speak for other panstsers) drawers hang at perilous angles. Papers, strewn everywhere, flutter in the breeze from a leaky metaphoric window, catching on piles of plotting laundry and squabbling characters. The blinds are crooked, and someone keeps putting on the kettle to boil, but never actually makes the tea.
Yet somehow, eventually, the floors are cleared and shiny, the characters get to where they were heading, making promises of future plans, and that cup of tea is enjoyed in a sweet, completed silence.
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A Bit to Read 
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