One of the things I like to do when I’m not sitting in front of the computer is to work on jigsaw puzzles. I think I might have crossed the line into addiction somewhere along the line, based on how many puzzles I have sitting around the house in stacks and piles almost as big as my TBR stack. My husband and I work on one every day while I’m taking my lunch break.

In recent weeks, I’ve been struggling with the plot of my work in progress (Replica, my dystopian YA), and it occurred to me that plotting a novel bore some striking similarities to solving a jigsaw puzzle. You start out by looking at a seemingly overwhelming jumble of images and colors and shapes. When your eyes adjust a bit to the jumble, you start being able to pick out the edge pieces and fit them together. This part of the process resembles writing a synopsis–you’re laying out the shape of your puzzle, creating the framework in which the finished image will sit.

For me, putting the edges together/writing the synopsis is relatively easy. (Those of you for whom writing a synopsis is pure torture may now throw your rotten tomatoes at the screen. It’s okay. Hey, I don’t have to clean it up.) I can paint the big picture without having to figure out all those pesky details that will come back and stymie me later. (The example I always use when describing how I write a synopsis is that in a synopsis, I can write something like “and then the heroine escapes from the dungeon,” without having to figure out how the heck she’s going to pull that off. I leave the pesky details for the actual writing the book stage.)

My method for working a jigsaw puzzle once the edge is complete is to look through the box, stirring the pieces around, paying attention to what colors and patterns catch my eyes. I’ll then select the most distinctive ones and put those sections together.

That’s pretty much how I plot my novels, too. I write down each of the plot points I’m most sure of on index cards, starting with the most prominent. I don’t worry about where exactly in the framework they fit, or how they connect to each other. I don’t even worry about what order they’re in, at least not at first.

Of course, after putting together the easy pickings, I’m left with a box full of pieces that look distressingly similar and indistinguishable. Pieces that look like they could go anywhere. (In other words, I’m left with all the hard stuff.) That’s kind of how I feel about plotting books, too. I’ve got these major events planned out, and I’m really excited to write them. But I don’t necessarily know how to get from one to another. I must trust that when I start writing, the way will become clear.

But just as some jigsaw puzzles are harder than others, so too are some books harder than others. Replica has been one of the hard ones for me. The big picture has always been clear in my head, but this puzzle seems to have more pieces than others. Figuring out how to get from one major scene to another, what all the little connecting pieces should be, has been a struggle. Kind of like doing this puzzle, in a fact:

So much going on, so many variables, so many directions I could go. Sometimes, I sit down and work on a puzzle all through my lunch hour and get no more than a handful of pieces put together. I leave the table feeling frustrated, like I’ll never finish this one. But the miraculous thing is, often when I sit down the next day and stare at the same jumble of pieces that stymied me the day before, it all becomes clear, and they fit together easily. Just like sometimes with a book, I end up completely stuck on what should happen next, going into paroxysms of angst worrying that I’ll never figure it out. And then suddenly, the answer comes to me, and the way is clear.

I’m happy to report that I have reached the “the way is clear” stage on Replica. In my mind, I have the full picture of the rest of the plot, including how to get from one scene to another. I may have to make some changes as I go, may figure out that some of the pieces I thought fit together are actually mistakes, but I no longer find myself worrying that I’ll never solve the puzzle. So I guess that’s the final way that plotting a novel resembles assembling a jigsaw puzzle to me: no matter how hard the puzzle seemed along the way, no matter how many times I got stuck and pulled my hair out, I eventually manage to finish. And that’s good to know when I’m in the midst of the struggle.