And I Had Forgotten about the Synopsis
A synopsis, for
those of you who don’t know, is what happens to unchristian authors when they
die of alcohol poisoning.
Or, for the
nondramatic, an intriguing summation of the entire plot of your book.
I’ve spent a
year now making six different versions of a query letter to only decide that I
should’ve stuck with the third. I have long been compiling and researching
agents, I’ve been through at least nine drafts of the manuscript itself,
rewritten the beginning who knows how many times, and I started to feel a sense
of relief. All of the big picture things were accomplished, all I needed were a
few touch ups here and there, just to fix the small things, just to polish…
There are some
select agents I consider my good potential fits based on what they represent, enjoy,
and say in their social media/interviews. These are the ones who seem to have
the same opinions on what constitutes good writing, don’t cut corners with
their literary judgement, and are located in New York with agencies that have
some connections with the Big Five publishers.
As I’m
continuing the final drafts of my manuscript, I decided to look into some of
those agents’ requirements to better gauge what their experience would be—Where
they would stop, what they would have seen, etc. And I realized there was
something I had forgotten.
Just when I finally
had a clean and crisp query that doesn’t embarrass the living hell out of me, just
when I made a beginning that I could read over and over again, just when
finally everything came together…
Here’s the good
news: As I started to write down the summary of events, I began to see the
effect that nine drafts had on my plot. The pain caused by my uncertainty about
transforming the setting from a beautiful backdrop into a full blown storyline,
the side-character who demanded more stage time, the cutting of 70,000 words,
all of it had a positive, tighter influence on the actual story.
I have to reread
the book again. Over the last few months I’d been continually cutting excess
words—a slow and tedious process, one that doesn’t really allow for actually
experiencing the story, and I’ve forgotten some elements and have to remember
where events came to play.
But while I can
sum up the storyline in a fairly brief manner, easily cuing in on the important
scenes as I have spent so much time figuring out what was actual essential, I
have to find how much stylistic choices I should be making. And I’m not talking
about cute sentences or clever phrasing, but ambiance. Normally, a summary
contains none. My query feels to have the right mood as well as clarity, but
that took me a long time to do.
When I see
commercials for a horror film that make me curious but I don’t actually want to
watch because gore and terror are too indecent for my fragile little psyche? I
go on Wikipedia and read the summation. One of the top reasons they say, “Show
don’t tell,” is because editorializing doesn’t chill your bones, raise your
hairs, or gouge deep into your heart the same way having events unfold before
you will.
I wish, in all
honesty, it could be as simple as “Summaries don’t have atmosphere, period, so
why worry about it?” but truth is, I know better. Even if I could get away with
it, there is no reason to outside of laziness.
So I have a
story, it seems. I’m just not sure how to tell it.
I’m going to put
this off, I think.
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