“I’m stuck.”  Sally said as I hung my purse on the chair and shucked off my jacket. Outside, the last remnants of a late-season snow clung to the ground. I’d had to dig out my Uggs for a trip to town for our weekly chat.

“Good,” I said.

“What do you mean, good?  I thought you were rooting for me!”

“I am. But let me guess – you’re in chapter six or seven and the thrill of the first act has worn off, and now you’re slogging through the middle, wondering what to do next.”

She narrowed her eyes at me.  “How do you know that?”

“I’ve written thirty-five books.  I know what happens around chapter seven.”  I smiled at her and sipped my coffee.  A raspberry white chocolate indulgence.

“I did everything you told me to do – plotted the black moment, figured out the grand ending, even came up with the Act Two fun and game events that causes him to grow. And still I’m stuck.”

I nodded.  “But have you told yourself the story yet?”

She frowned at me. “I know the story. I dreamed it up.”

“Maybe.  But the fact is, until you sit down and tell it to yourself, you can’t see the flawed motivations, the dangling story threads, the implausible plot nuances …or even the magnificent metaphors and themes.  You have to tell yourself the story – preferably out loud – to spot these things.  So, when I hit the wall after my speedy first act beginning, the sure cure is to sit down and tell myself the story.  Which means…write the synopsis.”

“I feared you were going to use that word someday.”

I laughed.  “Think of a synopsis as the story, in a nutshell. The only reason it feels overwhelming is because you’re worried about other people reading it.  For now, let’s say it’s just for you, so it can be as messy and tangled as you want.  You’ll straighten it out, clean it up and make it sparkle later.  For now, your synopsis will serve as your roadmap to get you from chapter 7 to the end.”

“I have to tell myself the entire story? It just sounds exhausting.”

“You’re about to write an entire book.  I’m asking you to invest four hours in the summary to see if it will work. Would you rather wait until you’ve invested six months to discover you’ve hit a wall or are writing in circles?”

“But doesn’t that take the fun out of the discovery of the story?”

“Listen, if you know you’re going to Boston, does it take the fun out of the discovery of Boston as you tour the city? No.  It just helps you know how to pack.  That’s what a story summary does – it points you in the right direction. The discovery happens when you get into the scene.  And you can change the story if you decide it won’t work, but at least now, you have words on the page.”

“Listen, again, it’s not etched in stone – you’re allowed to change the story if you’d like as you write. But for now,  you have a “script” to follow as you flesh out the story. But here’s the good news…you know if your story works.  And that’s essential, because frankly, that’s what’s holding you up right now…the fear that your story won’t work, right?”

She made a face. “I guess I need to tell myself the story.”

“Three to five pages, single spaced. I promise, you’ll be glad you did.”

Truth:  Telling yourself the story in synopsis/summary form helps the author discover story holes and motivation flaws and keeps you from wasting words and time.

Dare: Can you tell yourself the story?

Tomorrow, in Quick Skills,  I’ll give you some hints on how to get the story down on paper!

Susie May

P.S.  I have a new book out!  Check out Baroness – the story of two women coming of age in the Roaring Twenties!  (It’s in a two-pack at Sam’s club with Heiress, Book #1!)