Recently I asked whether I was getting my “message” across, and the immediate responses gave me a clue that I might need to make some changes. When I did, another group of people said they preferred the way I had summarized things originally. Ordinarily this might have left me confused and indecisive, but in reality there was something of value in each response – they made me think.
I realized I’d made the same mistake with the synopsis as I had early on with the story. I’ve mentioned before that my wife kept asking me “what’s it about” and I’d ramble off a whole book of explanation, to which she’d reply, “no, what’s it really about?” Eventually I was able to figure that out and really write the story I needed to.
The synopsis is a bit of a different animal. This is the summary, the make or break piece that’s either going to lead to glory or heartache. It has to be right. Scratch that; just being good enough would suffice (for people who are satisfied by such) but I’ve set my goal to hit on both those notes. But how?
What’s been giving me fits recently is the “what’s expected” aspect. Most memoirs, it seems, are about some kind of resolution to a devastating problem, and some of those I’ve read are seemingly endless grinds I had to force myself to get through. Indeed, my current “long” summary of Over the Hills and Far Away makes it sound like a long grind session, too. I imply a promise of relief but give no indication of delivering. Back to the drawing board.
My second iteration threw in more information including some detail of the promised “fun” to counter the additional detail of grind. I then also threw in the international travel and finished with some attempt to nail the stakes. This version felt like I’d rebuilt the entire presentation and only gotten a little closer to the goal. Not good.
I could go on rewording but, in reality, what I need to do is rip open the soul of the story and ask “what’s it about?” If I’m honest with myself, the answer will be chillingly obvious.
