Concision is not my strong point.  Why say it in three words if ten are available.  Waffling and wittering is a way of life for me both in speech and written word. Attempting to summarise my book in a concise and precise way is dogging me all week. My dreams are filled with words, with me drowning in them one minute, floating skywards on them the next. None of it bears even a remote connection to reality.

Knowing in the marrow of my bones what the story is about, it is hard to understand why it is so extraordinarily difficult to dredge it up on to the page. It is all so familiar to me, going round and round in my head, that I think the reader is equally familiar with it. Thus I leave out huge chunks of vital information while getting bogged down in description not necessary to the synopsis.

It is said that familiarity breeds contempt and there are days when contempt for my all too familiar characters is not far away. A synopsis needs to have life and jump off the page instead of the flat, pedantic summary I’ve so far come up with.  My novel can’t leave home without this vital requirement so I have no choice but to plod on.  Dredging, searching, asking, listening for the right words, in the right sequence, to present themselves on the screen.

None of the excessive words are wasted even if they won’t make the final version.  Under the layers and layers of redundant words the kernel of the story will emerge. The synopsis will be short and alive just waiting to be snapped up by an intern sifting through the slush pile.  In best fairy-tale manner all this plodding will have a happy ending.

Plod on


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