In addition to getting all geared up for the June release of Nice and Mean, I’m working on a YA novel, currently called The Book of the Dead. I won’t say too much about it except there are six main characters, a mysterious narrator, and a location that looks like this:

(Well, except that there are people, too. It’s not a about elk. I won’t even pretend that sounds interesting.)

I’m loving writing it, but I don’t always get to write it, because I keep needing to re-outline. I’ve come up with a sort of metaphor. (Actually, now that I’m rereading what I wrote, I realize it’s a simile.)

Writing a first draft is like trying to cross a wide, rushing, rock-filled river. If you’re me, you know where you want to land on the other side–ie, the end of the book. So I can cross in a few ways: charge across the river, freezing cold. You cut your feet on the rocks, get pushed by the current and have to scramble over debris, but at least you land on the other side pretty soon after you started.

You can also gather stones around you on the bank and toss them into a path across the river–at least, as far as your throwing arm will let you. This would be the outline stage, and for me, it’s more successful than the dingle-doodie shamble-run across the river because I’m more likely to land where I want to and less likely to end up stranded in the middle of the river, blocked by a big honking tree branch.

However, I can’t always land the rocks perfectly from the shore. There may be an obstacle I can’t see from where I’m standing. But I’ll get impatient and want to get to the other side–maybe there are some foxes nipping at my heels where I am–so I step out onto the rocks as far as I can go. Drafting–yay! View of the river! The rush!

Then, of course, you know what happens: I may still run into that tree branch. I may see that some of the rocks landed wobblyly (I now dub this an adverb), and I need to shore them up. Or I may realize that they’re not in an arc that will let me land where I had planned to, and I may need to retrace my steps and start again-over and over and over.

At some point, I start to ask myself, should I just abandon these rocks and charge across the river? Am I being wimpy, throwing stones instead of running? Maybe I should run. At least I’ll be able to say I’ve gotten to the other side.

But then I think, if my feet are all bloody, is it worth it? And oh yeah–did I mention that I’ll need to use that same path to get other people–readers–across the river? At some point, it’ll need to be navigable for them, too. So I keep up my rock-throwing, hoping my aim will improve and that eventually, I’ll have the path.

What about you guys? Do you see first-drafting like this at all? Are you a rock-thrower or a mad dasher? Or somewhere in between? That’s where I am now: in between. Maybe I’ll see you there.