Some sort of love thing

 

I’ve just started a new novel and this time, this time, FOR REAL, I’m going to use an outline. 

Oh, ha ha ha. I crack myself up. 

But at least I’ve taken baby steps toward one, by writing a synopsis. The first draft of my most recent novel (and, let’s face it, every one before it) was an unholy mess, involving characters and scenes that ended up on the cutting room floor, which meant I wasted tons of time on stuff that never made it into the final version. It was the first time I had to push a deadline, although luckily the pandemic pushed it for me, with a much-delayed publishing date. 

Still, lesson learned. I vowed never to put myself through that again. 

But an outline! Sitting down to write every day knowing what was going to happen? On one level, it sounds lovely. On another, I’d really miss the surprise of the just-right plot twist that occurs out of nowhere when I’m stuck. 

Hence, the synopsis, something that leaves plenty of room for improvisation, but provides enough guidance to keep me from straying too far into the weeds. 

A few weeks ago, I signed up for a virtual and extremely helpful Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers program by Sharon Mignerey on “Writing the Dreaded Synopsis.” Armed with newfound knowledge, I filled out a handy chart with characters, plot twists and subplots. 

Turned out pretty well, if I say so myself. But something was missing. 

Oh. That. 

With every book, my wonderful and supremely patient agent, Richard Curtis, has given me the gentlest of nudges. “What about the love story?” 

By which I think he means sex, but whatever. 

Once again, when figuring out what the hell was going to happen next, I’d forgotten to add something besides ambition and fear to set my protagonist’s heart pounding. 

So, in the final blank space under subplots, I wrote:  

Some sort of love thing, 

I wonder what it will be?