‘Letting Go of Preconceptions, or Why Improvisation Can Still Take You Far’

In every issue of Pen, the Naoki Prize-winning author Satoshi Ogawa presents a new essay in his series ‘A Non-Conformist’s Guide to Surviving Society’. In this series, Ogawa reflects on the often eccentric strategies he devises to navigate life’s everyday challenges. Below is the nineteenth installment ‘No Plot.’

One of the questions I am most frequently asked when speaking about my work as a novelist is: ‘Do you create a plot beforehand?’ A plot, in this sense, is a structured outline of a story’s development—a kind of blueprint or specification sheet for the novel. Asking whether a writer works from a plot is essentially asking whether that structure is designed before the actual writing begins.

Whenever I answer that I do not, many people—especially those who have never written fiction themselves—seem surprised. ‘How can you possibly construct such complicated stories without a plan?’ they ask. Personally, I feel the opposite is true. Creating a complex story in advance, in the form of a detailed outline, strikes me as far more difficult. It is precisely because I do not rely on a plot that I am able to write intricate narratives.

From conversations with fellow writers, I get the impression that authors are divided almost evenly between those who plan extensively and those who do not. But even within those categories, there are countless gradations. Some map out every scene in detail, deciding exactly what will happen on which page. Others work only from a broad synopsis. Some prepare outlines but rarely look at them again once the writing has begun. As for me, even if I do not formally write out a plot, I often begin with a vague sense of the story’s overall direction and a few key points I know I want to pass through.

The main reason I avoid writing detailed outlines is simple: once a form has been fixed, it becomes difficult to escape the assumptions embedded within it. A plot is nothing more than a collection of ideas produced at the conceptual stage. And the ideas an ordinary person like me can come up with at that stage are, more often than not, rather conventional. What frightens me most is the thought of becoming trapped by those mediocre ideas simply because I committed them to paper too early.

Several years ago, a musician friend of mine founded a company with members of his band. Their original goal was to create commercial music and music videos for corporate and private clients. They occasionally landed large-scale projects, but for the most part, work was scarce and the company struggled to find its footing. One day, a university brass band connected to an acquaintance approached them for help. The group wanted to film its annual performance and upload it to YouTube, but lacked the necessary equipment. My friend agreed to lend them the gear. Then they explained they also needed people to handle the filming, so he ended up operating the cameras himself.

Once the footage had been captured, they asked whether he could also edit the video. Before long, his company was handling the entire process, from filming to post-production and online publication. The video was well received within the club, which invited them back the following year. Word gradually spread to brass bands at other universities, and requests began pouring in. My friend realized there was genuine demand there. The company that had originally been intended to survive on composition work gradually transformed into a business specializing in filming and editing musical performances.

It was precisely because the company allowed itself to move away from its original vision that it survived. I think the same is true of novels. There is a kind of originality that can only emerge by straying from one’s initial intentions. If you are unable to come up with a brilliant idea from the very beginning, perhaps the important thing is simply to remain willing to change direction along the way.

After all, Toyota once manufactured weaving looms. And Yamaha only became an engine maker because the company kept responding to unexpected demands. Even without beginning with a perfect idea, perhaps abandoning one’s assumptions and preconceptions is enough to arrive somewhere one could never have imagined at the start.

About the author

Satoshi Ogawa was born in Chiba Prefecture in 1986. He made his literary debut in 2015 with This Side of Eutronica (Yūtoronika no Kochiragawa, Hayakawa Books). In 2018, his novel Game Kingdom (Gēmu no Ōkoku, Hayakawa Books) earned both the 38th Japan SF Grand Prize and the 31st Yamamoto Shūgorō Prize. He was awarded the 168th Naoki Prize—one of Japan’s most prestigious literary awards, recognizing exceptional popular fiction— in January 2023 for The Map and The Fist (Chizu to Ken, Shūeisha). His latest work, Your Quiz (Kimi no Kuizu), was released by Asahi Shimbun Publishing in 2024.