When we last met, I was writing a novel synopsis, but not at the behest of an agent or publisher. I was 10 000 words into The Paradise Motel and in need of some scaffolding. The synopsis would be a living document. It needed to be strong enough to guide me, but malleable too. (If you haven’t read Plotting VS Pantsing, you might want to do so here as this post is its sequel 😳.)
Because I’d written a fair way in, I already knew my characters, what they sounded like, what they looked like. I knew the town. But the plot was shaky. If I’m honest, it still is. I have a motivation problem at the end and maybe a likability one as well. But anyhoo, let’s look at synopses because they can still help to get you through, even they don’t solve all of your problems in your first draft.
Dramatic Question
I love characters. I love how a jumble of genes and experiences make us unique as well as similar, sometimes strangely so, but I do run the risk of writing long character sketches rather than stories. Enter the dramatic question. If I think about it (and I should be thinking about such things), for readers to take the long journey with me I should give them some idea of what they are in for. The risk is if I don’t put them on my path, they might decide my story is about something else and by the time they get to the end, if they ever do, they will be dissatisfied.
The dramatic question is posed in the beginning and must be answered one way or another in the end. This is where I work out what kind of book I am writing. eg. Will lonely bloke end up finding the woman or man of his dreams? Will superhero save the day by the defeating supervillain? Will bumbling detective solve the case despite her obvious character flaws? Will a long-distance truck driver find a place to call home?
That last one is my attempt to craft a dramatic question for my own work in progress, The Paradise Motel. I have such problems with this. These questions seem too abrupt, not nuanced enough, but I have to remind myself that that is the point. Of course, the world building, the whole cast of characters, the secondary challenges which go into rounding out this novel come into it, but not now. I’m finally understanding that simplicity is the magic of the dramatic question. It needs to be simple. It’s how I can test of the legitimacy of my story.
And the answer to the dramatic question comes only after the pressures of the plot act on the protagonist, and build to a whopping great climax 😳 at the story’s end. The answer could be Yes, No or Perhaps. Maybe the character doesn’t want whatever her previously-damaged self desired. She has new, less destructive, dreams by the end. That’s a story too. We heal, we move on in real life, and the same can be true of a character. Maybe she doesn’t though. Her reaction to the events of the story could prove she’s incapable of change and what does that say about Homo sapiens?
A Novel Synopsis
In my case, once I knew where my story was going, I needed a few signpost scenes to drag me along and, at its heart, this is the spirit behind a working synopsis. Just a quick note, though. A synopsis destined for an agent or editor is something different. It needs to be no more than one or two pages, so as tight as a cat’s bum. Even if the only person who will see mine is me, I know I can’t keep on and on with it because it will cease to be the quick reference I need, become unwieldy and I will have lost my big-picture view.
If you are looking to write your own working synopsis, have a look at a three act structure (for a very loose interpretation go to plotting v pantsing, if you haven’t already). The three act structure helped me determine which pivotal scenes I wanted to include in my synopsis. For example, the inciting incident (which should be as early as you can make it) is the bridge between Act 1 and Act 2. Something happens which shocks the protagonist out of their day-to-day (Act 1) and launches them on their way. They need to decide how to respond to this upheaval and this forms the bulk of your story, including their false starts and failures, and takes up the huge and terrifying expanse of Act 2. If you are a fan of symmetry, don’t attempt three equal acts. If you take as long to present Act 1, as you do to tease out a solution in Act 2, your reader would have lost patience and moved on to other books and writers. It is true that fans of literary fiction are more patient, but even then there needs to be a whiff of something in the air, a tingle on the skin, to keep them turning pages.
Midpoints
I’ve heard it said that the first half of Act 2 is the protagonist trying and failing with old techniques, the midpoint is where the old ideas are exhausted and the second half is where the character recognises they must approach their challenge in a new way. A midpoint scene was a good idea for me. So I fleshed one out. My long-distance truck driver has his life-changing epiphany, forced on him by all which has come before and finally knows if he is to make a success of things, he must suck it up and put himself out there.
Climax
Then I catapulted myself to the climax. If you remember, The Paradise Motel grew out of this one scene and so I wrote it, breaking my rule to keep it simple. Of course, writing out of order like this means there’s a lot of supposing. I hadn’t walked the walk with this character throughout the book. I couldn’t imagine the cumulative effect of all the scenes which would make up his journey, but you might be surprised how freeing it was to have written it anyway, even in the knowledge that I’d need to rewrite it. I imagine it as more than a signpost. I see it as a flashing sign in the dark, dark night of the first draft and I was happy to have it with me.
Onward Ho!
That got me writing again. I suppose you can see that my working synopsis is far from complete. True. I wouldn’t show it to anybody. 😏 Actually, that’s not true. I’d show it to Jen. It might help her understand where I am going with it and she may be able to explain where I’ve hit the mark and where I’ve missed it. I still have the motivation problem and the likability problem, but that’s okay. At least I know it. I have my dramatic question and my working synopsis to which I can hold up my misshapen first draft. That’s not a small thing when faced with what comes next.
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