What does your revision process look like as a planster?

Answering the "Writer's Advice" TikTok thread...

My process probably doesn’t look like another planster’s. I’m not just writing while I’m working through a manuscript. I also format my own work, so while I’m drafting I’m usually inserting format markers, dividing chapters into subsections, and revising sections as I read through them to check the flow. I’m constantly asking myself whether something is there for me, or whether it actually helps the reader move through the piece at a better pace.

It definitely slows me down. I’ve tried not formatting while writing, but most of the time I end up doing both at once.

Being a planster, I’ve often described the process as working inside a kind of controlled chaos. That might sound intimidating, but the easiest way to explain it is that I’m sitting on a fence. I can lean toward structure when I need it, and I can lean toward instinct when the story demands it. I outline when necessary, but I don’t always start there.

At one point I developed a method to deal with sluggish, stuck parts of a manuscript called The Purging Method. Being a planster absolutely led to that. If I had been strictly a planner or strictly a pantser, I don’t think I would have developed it.

When I’m stuck, I’ll purge thoughts into a separate document or even a notebook. It gives my brain a place to unload everything without forcing it into the manuscript. In doing that, I’m also giving myself time away from the piece.

Early in my indie career I didn’t do that. I would just ram straight through a manuscript and only let another set of eyes see it when it went to an editor or a beta reader. Over time I learned that stepping away is actually one of the most important parts of sustaining workflow. Your eyes get tired staring at the same screen all the time.

Some of the best advice I was given over the years is advice I still give writers today: step away for a few days, sometimes even a few weeks. That distance lets me return to the manuscript more like a reader than the person who wrote it.

When I come back, I’m asking myself questions constantly.
Does the story move?
Is the pacing working?
Is the flow doing what I want it to do for the reader?
Have all the important points been made clearly?
Am I missing something?

Distance makes those answers easier to see.

One flaw writers tend to have, myself included, is forgetting that we already know the story. It’s in our heads, our notes, or our outlines. The reader doesn’t see any of that. They only see what’s on the page. A reader may never know that page thirty-four was supposed to hold a conflict if the writer removed it for pacing. Writers can become blind to these gaps because we already know what’s supposed to happen.

Stepping away helps with that too.

It lets the bigger picture come back into focus.

This is where the planner side of being a planster really helps. I can look at the manuscript structurally: chapter order, character arcs, escalation of tension, thematic cohesion, narrative structure. I’ll move sections around, check for redundancy, add missing transitions, clarify stakes earlier in the story, and work through the bones of the book one chapter at a time.

Personally, I break my revision down chapter by chapter and review them as I finish each one. I learned a long time ago that if I don’t do that, it’s easy to miss things.

From there I move scene by scene, tightening and clarifying where needed. Dialogue gets sharper, sensory details stronger, motivations clearer, emotional beats more grounded. This is where I also start doing line editing, tightening sentences where the chapter needs it.

Once I’ve gone through every chapter and checked the formatting decisions I made earlier, I read the manuscript again as a complete piece. I usually go through a manuscript several times before handing it off to a beta reader or editor for a final round of fresh eyes.

Because by that point, I’ve done everything I can from the writer’s side of the desk.

And then it’s time for someone else to see what I can’t anymore.