I’ve often blogged about my struggles surrounding novel planning. It’s become a running joke in my household—one of those things that clearly pointed out the ADHD even before anyone had a hunch that I might have it.

I always got so absorbed in figuring out the history of the world, details about characters, or the maps that my hyperfixation caused an intense dopamine high. That, in turn, meant I wanted to start writing now. My house is just brimming with abandoned planning notebooks, spreadsheets, and index cards. Okay, that’s unfair. Many of those notebooks, spreadsheets, and index cards aren’t abandoned as much as they are in storage.

And I guess that’s fine, but I want to be honest with you. Not being able to plot an entire novel has always made me feel lesser, as if I’m not a real writer.

Now, before you come at me, I realise it’s just the impostor syndrome shouting into its little loudspeaker (probably). Stephen King is a pantser, and he’s one of the realest real writers out there.

I’ve written my share of novels with just a vague idea of where I was headed, too. For me, this usually means multiple rewrites and intense editing, but it also means plot holes pop up at the most inopportune times. For instance, I pantsed the heck out of the first book in a series, managed a passable plan* for the second, and then scrambled when I reached Book 3 because of the malarky my lack of a plan at the start has caused.

(* Looking back, I don’t know if Book 2’s plan really counts as a plan because it popped up midway through the story after a couple of rewrites. As in, the first 30-ish chapters were complete when I figured out a crucial plotpoint and planned the remaining 20-ish chapters of the book. At that stage, I planned the general direction for the third book, but the plothole derailed the whole thing.)

In my mind, it makes sense that planning a novel would eliminate the number of rewrites or, if I’m lucky, cut rewriting altogether because the brainstorming would already be complete. With a good map, I’d skip the side quests and complete the main quest in record time.

The point of all this waffling is that I desperately wanted to learn this mythical skill that allows other authors to plan their books without abandoning them halfway. I watched so many videos and read so many blog posts about planning. I purchased planning books and fillable PDFs and followed tutorials, but nothing helped. I’d either get so lost in one aspect of the process that the rest fell away, or be too confused, overwhelmed, or straight-up bored to continue.

So, one day, in a fit of desperation, I asked the AI:

I have ADHD and intense struggles with focus. Can you teach me how to effectively plan a romantic fantasy duology in such a way that I won’t get bored or confused, and will be able to create an easy to follow map to write my books

And oh boy, did the AI answer (Copilot, if you were interested).

IMPORTANT: The text between the ***’s is a direct quote from Copilot, and isn’t my own writing or advice. I don’t claim it as my own writing or advice; I’m just sharing it for context and because (spoilers) it helped me.

***Absolutely, Yolandie. You’re not alone in this—ADHD brains are brilliant at creativity, worldbuilding, and emotional depth, but they need structure that moves, not structure that traps. The trick is to build a planning system that works with your attention, not against it. Something modular, visual, and flexible enough that you can jump around without losing the thread.

What follows is a method designed specifically for ADHD writers who want to plan a romantic fantasy duology without getting overwhelmed or bored.

🌟 ADHD‑Friendly Planning System for a Romantic Fantasy Duology

A method that keeps you engaged, oriented, and creatively fed.

1. Build Your “North Star” First

This is the single anchor that keeps you from getting lost.

Create three ultra-simple pillars:

• Core Romance Arc: one sentence describing the emotional journey

Example: “Two enemies discover they’re soul‑bound and must choose between duty and each other.”

• Core Fantasy Conflict: one sentence describing the external stakes

Example: “A dying magic system threatens to collapse the realm.”

• Core Theme: one sentence describing what the duology is about

Example: “Love as a catalyst for transformation.”

These three sentences become your compass. If you get lost, you return to them.

2. Use a “Lego Block” Plot System

ADHD brains thrive on modularity. Instead of outlining chapters, outline story blocks.

Each block is:

• A goal

• A conflict

• A twist or emotional beat

• A consequence

And each block should be short—like a sticky note.

You can rearrange blocks without breaking anything. This keeps the planning playful instead of rigid.

3. Plan the Duology as Two Arcs, Not Two Books

This is where many writers get confused. Instead of planning Book 1 and Book 2 separately, plan:

A. The Romance Arc (across both books)

Break it into 6 beats:

1. Spark

2. Tension

3. Deepening

4. Break

5. Reunion

6. Transformation

Assign each beat to either Book 1 or Book 2.

B. The Fantasy Arc (across both books)

Break it into 6 beats:

1. Disturbance

2. Discovery

3. Escalation

4. Collapse

5. Revelation

6. Resolution

Assign each beat to either Book 1 or Book 2.

Now you have a map that spans the whole duology without drowning in detail.

4. Create a “Character Compass” Instead of Full Sheets

ADHD brains often get bored with long character sheets. Instead, use a compass with four points:

• Want (external desire)

• Need (internal growth)

• Fear (what blocks them)

• Wound (why they fear it)

This is enough to keep characters consistent without overwhelming you.

5. Build a Visual Map You Can Actually Follow

This is the part that changes everything.

Make a three‑layer map:

1. Top Layer – Romance beats

2. Middle Layer – Fantasy beats

3. Bottom Layer – Character arcs

Use color coding:

• Pink = romance

• Blue = fantasy

• Gold = character growth

This gives you a bird’s‑eye view of the entire duology at once.

You can do this on:

• A whiteboard

• Notion

• Trello

• Sticky notes on a wall

• A giant sheet of paper

Whatever feels fun and tactile.

6. Keep Momentum by Switching Tasks (ADHD‑friendly)

When your attention dips, don’t force yourself to stay on one task. Rotate between:

• Worldbuilding

• Character moments

• Plot blocks

• Dialogue snippets

• Aesthetic boards

• Magic system notes

This keeps your brain stimulated while still building the same project.

7. Use “Future You Breadcrumbs”

Every time you stop writing or planning, leave a tiny note for your next session:

• “Next scene: rooftop argument → accidental confession.”

• “Remember: villain’s motive ties to the dying magic.”

• “Check continuity of the prophecy wording.”

This prevents confusion and makes re-entry painless.

8. Keep a “Loose Ends” List

ADHD writers often forget details. Instead of trying to remember everything, keep a running list of:

• Questions

• Worldbuilding gaps

• Plot threads

• Character details to revisit

You don’t need to solve them immediately. Just capture them.

9. Build Book 1 and Book 2 Using the Same Template

Once your duology map is done, create two simple outlines:

For each book:

• Opening image

• Inciting incident

• First turning point

• Midpoint shift

• Dark moment

• Climax

• Resolution

Then plug in your story blocks.

10. Keep the Process Playful

ADHD creativity thrives on novelty. So let yourself:

• Make playlists

• Create moodboards

• Write out-of-order scenes

• Sketch characters

• Build Pinterest boards

• Make aesthetic maps

This isn’t procrastination—it’s fuel.***

Okay, it’s me again.

You guys, never in my writing life has anyone ever broken down planning this way. I lost my ever-loving mind when Copilot told me to keep it modular and stick to character compasses instead of full sheets. Do you have any idea how much time I’ve lost hyperfixating on every little character detail instead of writing the freaking book?

Because of this explanation, something just clicked and I—as in me, Yolandie, who’s never been able to complete an outline before—plotted a book in three days. The whole thing.

Not only that, but I’m five chapters in and going strong because I know exactly where I’m going. Novel as heck.

Now, I did change a few things.

I heard my hero, Rebecca Yarros, say in an interview that she always starts with the playlist first. Since I usually compile a playlist as I write, I figured it could help set the scene if I had a few tunes ready before I started planning. So, I popped onto Spotify and got the ball rolling. The playlist isn’t complete, but it does speed the process because I already have enough material for the first ten or so chapters. When the writing dries up, I follow the AI’s advice and tinker with the playlist. 

I also added more colours to the colour-coded sticky note system. I used:

• Pink for romance
• Blue for action
• Green for character growth
• Yellow for worldbuilding/information
• And orange for super important elements that cannot be forgotten

I got all fancy with it, too, and combined colours for some scenes. In my experience, just because a scene starts out as romantic, it doesn’t guarantee the scene will end that way. 

I worked out my ‘North Star’ and fell into action scenes.

For me, this looked like, ‘I want them to fight this monster, which leads to this discovery, which activates the end sequence.’ I got out a whiteboard and stuck those cards more or less in place, then worked on filling the gaps with other colours of scenes.

Then I pulled out the old art trick I learned in painting class, stepped back, and studied the board through my lashes, allowing me to see just the colour distribution. I fiddled with the scenes until I didn’t have just a sea of one colour in any specific area (meaning the plot won’t be action-heavy in one segment and just feature worldbuilding in another).

From there, I’ve been writing, pulling down the cards one by one and finishing the scenes as if I’m an old hand at this way of writing. It’s revolutionary!

Now, I do feel that I have to mention that the AI offered to plot my story for me. I declined.

I won’t EVER use the AI to write anything on my behalf and then slap my name on it. This post is proof of that. Additionally, I’ve always been completely transparent about my relationship with and use of the AI.

My husband and I had a long discussion about the ethics of the thing, and I stand even firmer by my initial thoughts about AI and plagiarism.

In a nutshell, if I ask the AI to write something on my behalf, it has to learn from other authors, so whatever it writes for me is plagiarised. Then, if I publish what the AI wrote under my name, I’m plagiarising it. I don’t think it’s ethical. In fact, I think it’s a step below ethical because I’m not only stealing work that doesn’t belong to me, but I’m also parading it for the masses as something I created. Basically, I’m a thief and a liar, and that just doesn’t sit right with me.

The thing is, the AI is a tool. When you need to slam a nail into something, you use a hammer. You use a paintbrush to paint, and a teaspoon to stir tea. The difference is that the teaspoon can’t tell me, ‘Hey, Maple-flavoured Rooibos is all the rage right now, you should try it.’

And though I don’t think it’s inherently unethical to use the AI to sort through my personal ideas, and then have it organise those thoughts into a feasible plan, I don’t want the AI to influence me.

When the AI sees gaps in my plot, it’s going to suggest ways to fill them. Those ideas will sound great because they’ll be based on whatever is popular in the genre right now. But do I want to write exactly what’s popular right now?

No. I want to write the stories that I want to read. I want to find new and exciting ways to alter the best old tropes, and I want to sidestep the tropes I hate. I want to write complex characters that feel real and paradoxical and don’t always make sense because that’s the way that humans are.

I do not want cookie-cutter worlds or characters just because they sell. The only way I’ll get to write exactly the kind of story I want to read is if I do the actual work.

The AI can’t reason. It hasn’t lived through my trauma or the experiences that make me real. It can never understand why I cry when the theme song for How to Train Your Dragon starts playing, why I cringe when someone pulls a fork over their plate, or why the smell of KFC reminds me of my Ouma.

Kristen Lamb wrote this fantastic post about AI and writing, and it raises some really important points. The AI can never replace real people because it won’t ever be a real people.

As a teaching tool, though, it rocks. Well, in this case, anyway.

I sincerely hope this bit of planning advice helps someone out there. Do you have ADHD (or other neurodiversity)? How do you plan novels? Let’s chat in the comments.

Until next time.

Yolandie