In writing circles, there are three camps of writers, all of which are seriously flawed human beings and we should all judge them:

• Planners: Methodically figure out everything well in advance, both in terms of the characters and the world they live in. In practice, this means not only do you know what all the hobbits prefer to eat for breakfast, but you also know the farms they prefer to get their oats from and the separate farm they prefer to get their yogurt from. Also the juicy gossip about the farmer that nobody really likes but sells pretty good berries. May not actually get around to writing the story.
• Pantsers: Have an idea. Characters might be in the story. They might do stuff. I dunno, what do you think I should write about?
• Plantsers: Like planning. Some of the time. Does write the plans down and is sure they’re around here somewhere. Goes ahead and does whatever and decides this was what the plan probably said. Quietly deletes the plan later so that there is no evidence.

As you can tell, I have great respect for all modes of creativity; writing is writing, after all. Writing is also incredibly uncomfortable sometimes. Maybe its the time we spent in withered old Ms. Spettle’s english class, with her perpetually bluish hair from hairdye much too seldom to pass even casual inspection or permanently sneering lips despite being also pencil thin at the same time, but somebody is always ready to judge your writing as inferior. By somebody, I mean you. Unless you had Ms. Spettle. Then you and Ms. Spettle. But mostly you.

See, that felt good. Was it on point? No. Was it writing? Yes. Was it good writing? Eh, kinda run on sentence, but Ms. Spettle really had it coming, and it felt good to be catty about the hair dye. I mean, looking back on things as an adult, self care is expensive, and if you’re getting paid a teacher’s salary, it isn’t as if you have a whole lot of disposable income to throw around. Still, 7th grade me thought it was so dumb that she didn’t think anybody would notice how smurftastic her hair was.

There, two whole paragraphs done, and I.. completely lost the thread. Still, there is a certain freedom in rambling off in zany tangents, and that is why I am team Plantser. Yes, I had an agenda, and I sure did plan something to talk about, but sometimes its more fun just to go wildly off course and decide if that maybe wasn’t the best outcome than the plan you had laid forth. I introduce this because it is a fun way to write if you can stifle the inner critic that either scolds you for veering offscript, or nags you for writing something so clearly train-of-thought that nobody will ever be able to fathom your incoherent ideas.

One of the crazy tangents I had for my story ended up becoming the whole chapter arc. I put orcs into my fantasy story, which was an entirely innovative bold move that I am sure you respect. Well, alright, not that part. I put orcs into my fantasy story that are both incredibly innovative and incredibly stupid. Admittedly, there are other orks that can claim to do that, so again, not exactly pushing the envelope. Mine wanted to knock down a human fortification, and are ready to go to war to accomplish that. How would they pull off this feat? By building a giant wooden raft, large enough to hold their entire army. There is no sea route to the castle, nor any water on the way. So they need to farm pigs, render the fat, grease up the bottom of their raft, and go sliding along the countryside in order to slam it into the human garrison’s fort.

Yes, it is an orc raft. And by the last act of the book/game, you will build it and sail it for great glory.

Where did all this come from? Because I had a plan to put orcs into my story, they were the key to freeing half of the party who was held captive by the human army, and I had no good ideas as to how to make a war between two armies fun at all. Hence, one night while writing, it hit me: Orc raft. Why the hell not?

That’s the core of my advice about writing: Why the hell not? No matter if you’re a planner, plantser or pantser, go create something. If making it methodical or entirely on the fly is your thing, it doesn’t matter a fig. What matters is that you wrote something that didn’t exist before you did it.