Writing a novel is not easy, anyone will tell you that for free. But what those same people might not know is that, compared to the synopsis, a novel is a breeze.
This is my second crack at a synopsis and this one is even harder than the first. Not only do I know the story better, but for reasons I’m not at liberty to indulge, this new one is also shorter, around a hundred words.
In case you didn’t already know, after you’ve written a story that takes 70,000 words to tell, cramming the whole thing into something that fits onto a postcard is not an easy task.
So, in order to get everything ordered and sensible, one is inevitably forced into an awkward adjective dance with long and breathless sentences, desperate to squeeze every last drop out of the letters before flopping back on the couch, exhausted.
Well, that’s my experience of it anyway.
And it’s still not finished.
The Books
