Panic hit. My heart rate tripled. "But...but I'm only halfway through writing it."
"I told her you weren't finished. She'd okay with that. By the way, how soon CAN you finish it?"
My dinner did a slow roll in my stomach. "Ah..."
"Can you get the chapters to me tonight so I can start reading and editing it? I'll want the synopsis tomorrow. Okay?"
Spots floated in front of my eyes. I willed myself to breath. It seemed I'd just been crushed by a steamroller. "Sure."
Now writing a synopsis is not my favorite thing. I know few authors who enjoy the process. I liken reducing an 80,000 word manuscript to 2 pages to squeezing a size 20 behind into a size 10 girdle...while you're still wet from the shower. Such tugging and pulling and cussing.
I had the first page roughly pulled together by the time my agent sent back the three chapters with her tract changes. An hour later, I sent the chapters back with all her requested corrections made. She told me to update my bio and marketing plan. I beat my head on the keyboard.
Then started blankly at the synopsis on my monitor and sighed.
Did I mention I dislike writing these darn things?
Not only do I have trouble keeping the verbs correct--present tense only. I feel as if I'm merely writing this happened and then this...oh...and then that...
Can we spell boring?
And let's not forget this certified pantser was only halfway into writing the book. As a pantser, I had a vague idea where the story was going, but not the specifics. Now, I had to lay it all out. But what was "it"? How does one summarize something that's yet to be written? I kept telling myself some writers write their synopsis first. Surely if they could, so could I. Right?
My stomach wasn't having any of it...neither was my mind.
I laid out what I wanted to have happen in the last half of my story in bullet point format. Then transformed them into sentences that basically said this happened and then this...oh...and then that. I had it e-mailed to my agent by seven tonight. By eight, she'd sent it back with her track changes. So by nine, the whole mess was done. She'll email the submission package tomorrow.
Now that the rush is over, the doubt demons are knocking at the door. Why do we always feel we're not good enough?
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