Scofield’s Wall: a how-to reflection on outlining a novel

By Michelle Barker

For anyone who doesn’t know, Michael Scofield was the mastermind behind the escape in the TV series Prison Break. The show had its moments (some brilliant dialogue and edge-of-the-seat action), but what captivated me most of all was Scofield’s wall.

Come on, novelists. Don’t you covet that wall? That is the wall of a planner. Sticky notes and photographs, articles and blueprints—Scofield had the prison escape planned to the second. Like most plans, it didn’t always work out the way he expected, so he’d have to go back and try something else (sort of like throwing away fifty pages of work you love because you’ve finally accepted that they serve no purpose other than being loved by you).

Scofield was a planner.

When I first started writing, I didn’t outline at all. Is it a coincidence that my first novel took ten years to come out? I doubt it.

A few years after that novel was published, I enrolled in the novel-writing class at UBC’s MFA program. Our instructor insisted that our submissions be accompanied by (gasp) a proper outline. I had no choice: I had to learn how to do one.

I was amazed by how useful this one-page entity was. Figuring out in advance things like the climax, the ending, the turning points—it was revolutionary. I became a true believer. Outlines weren’t just useful; they were essential. You had to do one. Anyone who didn’t was crazy and would end up wandering around the outer darkness without a midpoint reversal forever.

Well, that turned out to be not quite true either. As with most things, the middle ground is the most sensible place to hang out. Outlines are great... until they’re not. The novel I have coming out next spring proved that point. It started as a 114,000 word fully outlined behemoth that I finally had to accept wasn’t working. So I started again, planning the new draft down to the scene. I even used index cards. I taped them to my wall and moved them around and felt so Scofield-like I almost got a tattoo (if you haven’t watched Prison Break, have a look at Scofield’s tattoo).

It didn’t work. I mean, at all. Eventually I pulled the damn cards off the wall and threw them in the recycling bin. I had to concede defeat. (Let me also say this novel was almost the death of me, but that’s a separate issue).

Eventually I found an approach that suited the project—a half-plan. I knew where I was going, sort of. I did not know what the climax would be, and I did not know how the novel would end. Again, is it a coincidence that the climax and the ending gave me more grief than any other part of the novel? Probably not. But this project defied planning. Every time I tried to do it, I failed.

I have come to the conclusion that when it comes to planning, every project is different. Some are amenable to the detailed outline. Others are not. For me, the best approach seems to be the Vancouver to Halifax idea. I’m planning a journey. I know I’m going to start in Vancouver. I know I’m going to end up in Halifax. There will be stops in Winnipeg and Toronto and I kind of know what will happen in those places, but not completely. The details of where I’m staying and what I’ll eat are things I leave to the moment.

It works for me—usually. That doesn’t mean it will work for you. I think everyone needs to find their own path to outlining, and you need to be prepared for the grisly reality that it’s not a one-approach-fits-all solution. You have to be flexible. Sometimes what you thought would work, just… doesn’t. Sometimes in writing the actual story you find a way that’s better than how you’d planned it. Sometimes you get those middle-of-the-night anxiety pangs when you realize a major part of the plot is implausible, or worse—stupid.

I’ve learned how hard it is to boil your Big Idea down to a couple of paragraphs. I still believe if you can’t do that, your novel has a problem. It might lack focus or be unnecessarily complex. You might not truly know what it’s about yet or what your protagonist truly wants. Kurt Vonnegut famously advised, “Every character should want something, even if it’s only a glass of water.” An outline forces you to find your character’s glass of water (or whatever it is that you’ve created for them to want). That, I think, is worth thinking about before you start penning your magnum opus. But that’s the most I’ll say about what any writer should do.

So, I’m not a true believer anymore when it comes to outlines. You do you, I say to my novels. They say, Yeah, that’s what we were going to do anyhow. But thanks.

Michelle Barker is an award-winning author and poet. Her most recent publication, co-authored with David Brown, is Immersion and Emotion: The Two Pillars of Storytelling. Her fiction, non-fiction, and poetry have appeared in literary reviews worldwide. She has published three YA novels (one fantasy and two historical fiction), a historical picture book, and a chapbook of poetry. Michelle holds a BA in English literature (UBC) and an MFA in creative writing (UBC). Many of the writers she’s worked with have gone on to win publishing contracts and honours for their work. Michelle lives and writes in Vancouver, Canada.