Synopsis Adventures
As you know, Bob, I'm heading out to MisCon next month, where DAW Books is guesting. I'm hoping for a sit-down with an editor so I can pitch the novelthing at them.
I don't have a synopsis. Synopses are of the devil, I'm firmly convinced, and I'm stalled there. Thing is, I've pretty much outlined all but the last two chapters of the thing. You'd think it'd be the easiest thing in the world to just sit down and do it.
You'd be wrong.
I'd rather be doing anything but working on this damned synopsis. So I have been. Which doesn't mean I've been actually working, of course, because that would be too productive.
I think my reluctance to finish it is twofold:
1. I'm afraid the novel actually sucks, and sucks so much that I can't fix it. Considering the fact that I finished the thing clear back in 2009, this is not an unreasonable fear--even though people have told me that it's "compulsively readable." This is Writer Insecurity at its finest.
2. If I finish the synopsis, that means I have to go back to actively marketing the thing again. The agent hunt is a soul-sucking descent into the bowels of Hell. Not only that, but I am not a novel writer. This has been amply demonstrated across 42 short stories. Heck, the novel didn't start as an actual "novel project," and if you can remember that far I wouldn't even call it that until I was 25,000 words in and figuring out that, yeah, this thing was going long, okay. The only thing I've done since, that's even close to that length? Has been the sequel to it--which will probably never, ever see the light of day, because it's way too close to my id for comfort. Ain't no one wanna see that. People would be (justifiably) " Oh, John Ringo, no"-ing at me.
So, yeah. Not a novelist, and I'm pretty sure that agents don't want a one-shot wonder. Which is not to say that I couldn't do another novel somewhere down the road. The Angry Bitter Angel 'verse begs to be expanded and the ramifications explored, and there's another fantasy novel on my back burner that I need to actually outline and work on as well.
So. I need to break free of this stupid paralysis and just do it like the Nike ad says. And then I can ship the damn thing off again, and work on the short stories that I actually need to work on--of which there are three, right now, all in various stages of first-draft-itis.
Argh.
I don't have a synopsis. Synopses are of the devil, I'm firmly convinced, and I'm stalled there. Thing is, I've pretty much outlined all but the last two chapters of the thing. You'd think it'd be the easiest thing in the world to just sit down and do it.
You'd be wrong.
I'd rather be doing anything but working on this damned synopsis. So I have been. Which doesn't mean I've been actually working, of course, because that would be too productive.
I think my reluctance to finish it is twofold:
1. I'm afraid the novel actually sucks, and sucks so much that I can't fix it. Considering the fact that I finished the thing clear back in 2009, this is not an unreasonable fear--even though people have told me that it's "compulsively readable." This is Writer Insecurity at its finest.
2. If I finish the synopsis, that means I have to go back to actively marketing the thing again. The agent hunt is a soul-sucking descent into the bowels of Hell. Not only that, but I am not a novel writer. This has been amply demonstrated across 42 short stories. Heck, the novel didn't start as an actual "novel project," and if you can remember that far I wouldn't even call it that until I was 25,000 words in and figuring out that, yeah, this thing was going long, okay. The only thing I've done since, that's even close to that length? Has been the sequel to it--which will probably never, ever see the light of day, because it's way too close to my id for comfort. Ain't no one wanna see that. People would be (justifiably) " Oh, John Ringo, no"-ing at me.
So, yeah. Not a novelist, and I'm pretty sure that agents don't want a one-shot wonder. Which is not to say that I couldn't do another novel somewhere down the road. The Angry Bitter Angel 'verse begs to be expanded and the ramifications explored, and there's another fantasy novel on my back burner that I need to actually outline and work on as well.
So. I need to break free of this stupid paralysis and just do it like the Nike ad says. And then I can ship the damn thing off again, and work on the short stories that I actually need to work on--of which there are three, right now, all in various stages of first-draft-itis.
Argh.