We get a bad rep.

Pantsers are christened as such because they write as though they’re “flying by the seat of their pants.” Another way to call it is discovery writing. Much of this process is improvising as they’re developing their characters or their plot. You know… discovering along the way.

I am one such person. Why do I pants instead of plotting (planning) my novel beforehand?

It’s a common feeling: you’re reeling over the pain of writing your draft, spent months in revisions, went through scores of lukewarm beta feedback, and someone you know—someone who has a shining draft—gets an agent offer. Gets an editor and a publishing deal. Someone you know is glowing on social media and is self-publishing their dreams.

And you sit there and wonder… what the hell is wrong with your work? What the hell is wrong with you?

The truth is: nothing.

Jealousy is a real ass-kicker.

The last time I watched Rob Reiner’s The Princess Bride (originally aired in 1987), I was prooooooobably nine years ago. That was twenty-five years ago. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting this time around—my memory of the film is hazy, flashes of images at best without a name to put to any character.

I have learned that her name is Princess Buttercup. That surprised me.

But you can be sure I remembered one throughout the years: Inigo Montoya.

I was about 54,000 words into my manuscript when I could no longer ignore this dreadful, gnawing pit growing in my stomach. Everything was wrong. I wasn’t writing one novel like I had envisioned. I was writing two. Two really bad ones, and I was forcing them into one.

The only thing I was effectively accomplishing was mashing these two halves into a sloppy gruel instead of giving either of them room to cook.

And I should have realized this 20,000 words ago.

So why didn’t I?