(Wait for it. I’ll get to the post, I promise. Let me complain. If I don’t do it now, the post will be littered with random whining. No one likes random whining.)
Oh, God I hurt. People should not be allowed to go to restaurants on Easter. More importantly; “all you can eat” buffets should be completely and irrevocably illegal.
Okay. I think I’m done.
So, it finally happened. I am this *smushes fingers until they’re almost touching* close to being done with the outline of Blood on the Quarter. The story is so close to being solid I can almost taste it. I got through the major plot point, figured out how a few characters are going to get where hey need to be without it seeming ridiculous, have a clearer idea of how one of my sub-plots is going to go, and even did away with extraneous information that doesn’t do much but sit there like a frog on a log with nowhere to be. The only thing that’s left is the ending and some world building.
A steampunk New Orleans doesn’t just build itself, you know.
Technically I should be celebrating. (Woo Hoo! Go R.J.! You’ve come this far, only a little more to go!)
Feels like I’m running the bloody marathon and I’m at the halfway point where there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Except my light is sort of dim and hard to see. I suppose it would be easier if I squint (my vision is terrible) but that’s just so much of an effort and I’m so bloody far-!
Point is, I started thinking last night a I was falling asleep.
How the hell am I going to write a synopsis of this thing? How am I, in one very short paragraph, going to summarise Lizzie’s untimely demise and the events afterward? Despite the flash fiction, Lizzie is only one part of this tale I am trying to tell. The real story doesn’t begin until she’s dead and buried. In a manner of speaking, anyway.
More importantly; will anyone read it? Will anyone follow the story? Do I achieve a thick enough plot that people aren’t just going to toss the book aside with a *thbt* and a disappointed shake of their head?
It was hard enough writing the hook line for the story, how am I going to sit there and say; this is what has happened, here’s the problem, and this is why it’s bad and what could happen if my characters don’t succeed.
I suppose I could be fretting for nothing. The story is in its infancy; there’s only the outline to speak of. Maybe as I keep writing, keep narrowing and refining, the answer will come and the synopsis will find itself.
After all, this outlining business has done wonders for the plot.
Toodles and Happy Easter!