Week Thirty-Nine: Pitching Novels at the London Book Fair

So this week was the London Book Fair at Olympia, Kensington. I went along, as I usually do these days, met my agent, talked to my editors, went to several parties, chatted with fellow authors and a few publishers I may work with in future. And now my feet are throbbing and I'm laid up in bed with post-Fair flu.

But it was all worth it. Honest.

London Book Fair 2017

At the LBF, you will find thousands of publishers, editors, agents, and yes, even authors, from all over the world, and all under one roof for three days of buzz and excitement about books. Plus associated book-trade businesses and bodies, including bigger names like the Society of Authors, the Bookseller, etc. Then there's the Ivy Club, which hosts a special pop-up for the fair, with individual booths boasting luxurious leather sofas and armchairs, where all the top London agents do their deals. (Including my own agent, of course, dahling!)

All the fun of the fair, in other words, in one massive exhibition hall with free books and handouts on almost every corner!

Never traditionally an author-friendly event, the LBF has become increasingly more open to authors in recent years. There is the large Author HQ hub, for starters, an entire corner of the fair devoted to all things author. Amazon's KDP self-publishing company seems to sponsor much of this activity, and their team will happily talk to anyone who strolls up and asks about self or indie publishing. At Author HQ, you can hear writers talking to a large audience about their self-publishing successes, or even editors and agents disclosing what they're currently looking for ('A great story with strong characters,' is invariably the unhelpful answer). There's another area at the fair dedicated to children's publishing too, with talks that go on all day, also featuring writers and editors etc.

As an unpublished author, or if you're looking for representation, you can pitch to individual agents - possibly editors too - in the Author Hub if you book up a pitch slot well in advance. There's more about this on the London Book Fair website.

There are frequent launches and even publisher parties that sometimes allow you to drift in univited, especially if it's a smaller indie publisher. See what's on at the LBF website or look out for 'party here 6pm' notices. You can also hook up with fellow authors for a chat about trends and, ahem, any new gossip. Some of them may even stand you a coffee ... Thanks, Alison!

I often meet up with fabulous author Alison Morton at LBF for a good old book natter. This year we shared a table and a chat with John Jackson too, who's just landed a contract with Crooked Cat Books. Thanks to Anita Chapman for the pic!

If you're already published, and/or represented, the fair is a great place to meet your editor(s) and agent, and discuss the year before and the year ahead. You should ask them for a meeting slot a couple of months before the fair - which is an early spring event, usually April, though it was in March this year, which everyone agreed gave it a very different, slightly under-prepared feel.

NB

Everything I am about to say is my individual opinion, based on my own experience, which is fairly considerable but limited to certain areas of publishing. It's not gospel. Caveat lector.

Prepare well for this meeting. You may only get ten minutes, or up to half an hour if you're lucky, to pitch possibly several projects in a convincing manner. Wednesday is a good day for an appointment. Tuesday, everyone is getting settled in. Thursday, everyone is tired, especially by the afternoon, and may already be thinking about heading home, rather than listening to your pitch.

Don't over-dress for the occasion. You're not going for a modelling job or to seduce (not physically, anyway). But do wear something clean and smart-casual.

Writers can get away with a scruffy look as 'creatives' but generally only if they're men. Sexist, I know, but you could reduce your chances of a sale if you turn up looking like a bag lady. I rarely wear make-up but always slap some on for the LBF. I also dye my hair to remove a few grey hairs - only a few though, honest. I'm still practically a teenager. This year I wore black leggings and a black top on the first day - pretty low-key - but coupled it with a new suede jacket and a glitzy necklace. To meet my agent and editors at the Ivy Club, I wore black boots and a bright, slightly kookie, knee-length skirt with again, a plain black top.

Slightly crazed, but not actively terrifying. One hopes.

Dressing like you belong in an industry is the first step to getting into it. So while it may feel a bit superficial, do consider your look and what it says about you. And never drench yourself in perfume or body spray beforehand. It can make people uncomfortable and they'll soon want you to go away!

For the pitch itself, much will depend on your relationship with the person you're pitching to, and also your track record. Old hands in a longterm relationship with an agent/editor may be able to get away with very little by way of a pitch ('It's a Christmas romcom,' was one of my briefest pitches this year, which got a nod) while if you're newer to the business, or transitioning from one genre/publisher to another, you will almost certainly need to go into greater detail.

In some cases, the discussion may even become thorny and require delicate navigation to avoid looking like a total noob. Be prepared to answer difficult (often unanswerable, in my opinion) questions like, 'Who do you see as the readership for that book?' or 'What's its USP?' (Unique Selling Point).

This is my latest book: a domestic noir psychological thriller, in a nutshell. (Not literally in a nutshell. That would be weird.) 

Avoid answering, 'Blimey, I dunno,' to the first (even though it's probably an honest response) as you need to at least pretend to have considered such a question. 'Young professionals' would be better, or even something tighter like 'college-educated women between 18 and 60.' For the USP, if you're at a total loss, you could always try something equally buzzwordy, like 'Oh, it's a high concept premise.' Naturally, this won't wash well if it's, for instance, a gentle romantic novel where nothing unexpected happens.

So think about USP and readerships and longterm strategies and market placement (where your book might fit alongside other similar books) and also author branding. But don't get fixated on them. The story is still everything.

Author branding is where the publisher puts you in a box, composed neatly of whatever novels you normally write, and heaven help you if you decide you want to make a hole in that box later, escape and write something different. Branding will suit some writers better than others. But publishers do love branding their authors - ouch! - and if you can approach a hungry-for-series editor with a new series/brand idea that fits the current market, especially if it has a high concept USP, you're almost certain to get a yes.

For an example of a brilliantly constructed author brand, look at Alison Morton's 6-book Roma Nova series, starting with INCEPTIO.

Almost certain. Not a guarantee. Because there are no guarantees anymore. Not even with so-called 'safe' books that seem to fit the market perfectly.

In these troubled economic times, with the book trade shifting constantly under our feet, book people have become nervous types who want to hang onto their jobs. If your great new idea makes a loss, they're the first ones to suffer. So they're always looking for sure ground, for safe choices, for reasons to say no. Not reasons to say yes. Go into every pitch meeting with that caveat in mind.

Prepare, but don't look over-prepared. Don't clutch a synopsis sheet in your sweaty fist - or worse, a laminated sheet or something in a protective plastic wallet - and stare down at it while stammering out the printed words. Be relaxed, be natural, take a breath. Smile.

In film and television, pitching is a thirty-second art at entry level: fast, slick and honed. Bang, bang, bang ... and out. Things are gradually moving in that direction in fiction land too, but we're not there yet, thank goodness. Old habits die hard. Novelists pitching to agents and editors may not bother with much small talk anymore, under sheer pressure of time, but 'Hello, how are you?' for instance, is still incorporated into most pitching strategies.

For your actual pitch, first know the market as well as any author possibly can. As above, 'It's a Christmas romcom,' pins an idea down to a niche genre and even a seasonal market. Perfect. Details come only after you've laid that groundwork in the listener's head. If you've done good research, you might even suggest a publisher. 'It's a dwarves and sorcerers epic; Tor might be interested.'

If it's literary fiction, look confident and pitch that as a genre. 'It's commercial lit fic' won't necessarily turn them off (even if it's not likely to be commercial, pretend that it is and hope they accept that at face value; honesty is not always the best policy when pitching!). Some big lit fic books can make massive sales these days, especially if they are issue-based. Everyone loves a big issue they can get weepy over. (Not me personally. But then, I'm 'ard as nails.) All the same, your chances of a yes to lit fic will improve if you can throw some recent bestselling buzz-names in there: 'It's on similar ground to Jessie Burton/Joanna Cannon/Emma Healey' should make their ears prick up. Note the recent bit. Everything has to be new, new, new in publishing. Don't tell them it's like a Catherine Cookson novel, or they'll already be looking over your shoulder at the next person in the queue.

Be as specific as possible. 'It's a Christmas animal fiction feel-good novel for adults ...'

Once you have their attention with some firm market placement, pitch the story itself, starting with character. Character is vital to a pitch. Total lack of a plot will get you a no almost every time, of course. But if your character sounds intriguing, an interested agent/editor may try to help you improve the plot rather than give a flat no to a character description that's hooked them.

Beware of too much detail though. Details will bog you down and you'll lose sight of that USP.

'It's about this mother who ...' (Try to be emotive with your nouns: 'mother' or 'wife' will work better than 'It's about this woman.' I know, I know, what can I say?) Work in two or three key characters, quick as possible, and then tell the listener why they should care about them. Jobs can be useful shortcuts to building a character if all else fails. 'It's about this mother/wife/zoo keeper's assistant who's dying of [incurable disease/condition] and she wants someone to [look after her elephants etc.] when she's gone.'

Pressure is always a good way to make a pitch sound saleable. Unity of time, as Aristotle knew, gives even a mediocre plot that extra edge. 'There's this astronaut stranded on Jupiter and he only has fifteen hours to save all of mankind.' Make sure you turn the screw hard though. 'Unfortunately, he has to sacrifice his wife and baby son in order to save the world.' Who could resist that?

Which brings me to my next caveat.

Make sure you're pitching the right story to the right person. The editor who wants the Christmas romcom is unlikely to want the Jupiter astronaut story. An easy-going agent might take both, but most agents will be looking to steer you down a branded path if possible. One or two related genres only. Be aware of that when going in with five different book pitches all in different genres. You could look like a no-hoper without realising it.

'If this Western pitch doesn't work out, maybe they'll like my idea for a sci fi 7-book series set inside a black hole. Or my paranormal trilogy set in Basingstoke.'

Especially when approaching an agent for the first time, try to look like you work in one discrete area by only preparing pitches that fit that genre. Romance OR historicals OR crime, or subsets of these. Not all of them. At least for now. You can bamboozle them with something different once you've hooked them. Alternatively, if an agent says at the end, 'Is there anything else you'd like to write/you're working on?' that could be a signal they like you as a person/writer, but not the genre or ideas you've been pitching. Then you could say, 'Actually, yes, I'm also interested in giant alien bug attacks.'

Despite all these games and ploys, the best book pitches are natural and fit organically into the flow of the discussion. They should come across as more a conversation than a pitch, an easy give-and-take. Tell the story of the book, if you like, but keep it short and animated. If they interrupt a pitch to ask questions, so much the better. Don't answer briefly, with impatience, and then go doggedly back to your pitch. Let the pitch develop into an organic conversation. If their eyes glaze over at any point, move on quickly to your next idea.

And make sure you have a second idea. And a third, and even a fourth, if necessary. You may only need - or have time - to pitch one. So make it your best idea, the one you've prepared most for. But don't be surprised if they prefer the final, slightly desperate pitch you pull out of thin air at the last second, maybe something you thought up on the way to the meeting or that fell out of your mouth unexpectedly when you started talking.

The Borough Book Bash, held every month, is a London pub-based event open to anyone interested in publishing. Great place to network after LBF with up-and-coming editors and book folk, and also to get new Twitter followers, ahem!

Book people like pitching authors to be prepared and in control of their material. But they love raw. They love passion and edge and sheer buzz. They're always looking for that new thing, that big thing, that shimmering book just out of sight ...

So make sure you keep at least one back-up, half-formed, slightly crazy idea in your noddle. Not on paper, never on paper. And whizz that idea out if you think it's gone badly, and the agent is politely opening their mouth to say, 'Well, it was lovely to meet you ...'

If things go well, you may not need that crazy back-up idea. But it's there, just in case.
 
Most importantly, if pitching to someone you may work with over a number of years, make sure you can get on with that person. Hard to judge in a ten minute meeting, I know. But trust your gut. They'll be trusting their guts on the other side of the table. So if they say no, they may be doing both of you a favour. You need to find the person who clicks with you and your writing, so you can both make it a longterm working relationship, not a one or two-book deal.

Get an email address and hand over a card if you like, but the important thing is to make a real connection. That other stuff can come later.

Good luck!

Oh, and bring water and snacks. There are places to eat and drink at the book fair, but they're often very busy, and are also very expensive. And if you're female, watch out for those long queues for the loo, especially around lunchtime. Take something to read while you wait!

Week Thirty-Two: To Be Or Not To Be Edited?

I've chatted about writing again today on a new AD HOC podcast, recorded last week on Day 5 of my writing retreat in rural Devon. This is an irregular podcast about my own writing journey, usually under 10 minutes' long.

For those who like to listen to podcasts, here's the link: https://www.spreaker.com/user/janeholland/day-5-of-my-writing-retreat

During the podcast, among other things, I discuss the loneliness of writing retreats, a lack of prawn cocktail, how to strengthen a character's unlikely motivation (in this case by giving him a daughter to worry about), and most importantly perhaps, whether or not tis nobler to suffer editorial intervention or to go solo and eschew editing altogether.

Oh, I'd better cross that out. What would my editor say?

This last point is something that I change my mind about constantly. Good editors can vastly improve books and provide a superb sounding-board for writers who are not quite sure where they're going with a piece of writing. Always a wonderful thing.

But the wrong editor for you - or simply a mistaken editor - can leave you gnashing your teeth, cornered like a rabid animal and forced into some horrid - and usually pointless - confrontation over some detail which they want excised and you'd rather keep. They can also influence you even before turning in your manuscript, if you've been working with them a while: you hear their disapproving voice in your ear, and start to second-guess yourself, or self-correct, knowing you will only find that paragraph or plot development deleted by your editor if you leave it in.

Is that a good thing though? Or is it cramping our style? I ask these questions out of an impish spirit of enquiry, you understand ...

Stronger-minded writers may just tell editors to lump it in that situation. But I've always been rather careful about staying friends with mine - not that such courtesy has done me the slightest bit of good career-wise, mind you - so I tend to swallow editorial changes wherever possible and reserve my refusals for moments of absolute need.

Which means I'm often to be found shaking my head silently over notes in the margin ... and probably suffering from stress because of it.

Anyway, since becoming self-published - first as Elizabeth Moss, then Beth Good, then Victoria Lamb, and now very successfully as Jane Holland - I have learned to make do with self-editing. This mainly comes down to minor structural changes and correcting my own grammar and punctuation where necessary. I am an experienced novelist now, and have worked as a fiction editor myself, and was even brought up by a Times newspaper sub-editor, so such tasks are not beyond my skillset - and doing them myself saves me a fortune in freelance editorial fees.

But I know other writers may not have the same level of expertise, and self-editing may cost them readers. And I'm also uneasily aware that some changes - character development, for instance, or continuity errors, or even some plot holes - may not be as obvious to me as they are to another skilled reader.

Now, was she wearing a red hat when she was murdered, or a blue one? Damn ...

So I could be missing out by not going to a freelance editor, and indeed many would condemn me straight out for not doing so, without even looking at my books to see if that's justified - simply because it's not considered the Done Thing to self-publish without paying someone £300-£500 to go through your book with a red pen first. (And thereby losing most of your profit.)

However, I blow raspberries in the general direction of those entrenched enough in their views to claim NOBODY should self-edit, regardless of the exorbitant cost of getting a full-length novel edit, or of that person's skills, and point instead to the many glowing reviews across all my pen-names which suggest the opposite to be true.

In my podcast, I don't discuss that though so much as the wonderful freedom that comes from being a self-publisher: able to write precisely what I want, in whatever style I choose, knowing that nobody in the universe can force me to change a single word of my manuscript against my will. After many years of working closely and even exhaustively with editors at mainstream publishing houses, it feels a little scary at times to be walking the editorial tightrope without a net - but also incredibly liberating and empowering.

More in my AD HOC podcast.

Meanwhile, what do you think about editors and their role in a novelist's life? They can make a bad book good, a good book brilliant, but also at times make a writer want to tear their hair out in despair. Would you ever be willing to publish without one?

Week Twenty-Four: Writing My First Contemporary Thriller

Those who know me well will agree that I am a genre-hopper. I hop from one genre to another with scant regard for market positioning, or what publishers and retailers like to call 'author branding'. This is one explanation why, despite having written several dozen novels, I am not a star in any one genre. (I will leave the other possible explanations for you to guess at on your own.) But that does not mean I would not like to be!

About a year and a half ago, while I was still knee-deep in an historical fiction series, it was suggested to me by a senior editor that I should write a contemporary thriller. A crime novel, but not a police procedural. Being a rabid fan of Lee Child's Jack Reacher novels, I embraced the idea with enthusiasm and excitement. At last, a chance to show what I could achieve as a contemporary writer within a popular mass-market genre.

But of course it's also an over-crowded market, and the novel I produced over the next year did not appeal to the editor who first suggested it. It went through several laborious redrafts, then was sent out to other publishers. Nobody wanted it. The rejections differed as to detail but the overall message was the same. Like the three bears' porridge, it was too hot, too cold, too salty, too sweet etc. for the market.

The project was then handed back to me, with the suggestion that I should self-publish.

To say I was disappointed is grossly to understate the matter. It was a serious blow to my self-confidence as a writer, especially as I was by that stage out of contract with all my publishers. After some years in traditionally published historical fiction, that book represented my calling-card script as a contemporary writer. A calling-card that had been handed back to me by a disdainful majordomo, and the door slammed in my face.

After some time nursing my wounds - I wish I could say 'downing tequila on a desert island' but I'm not that cool - I sorted through all the rejections I had seen and picked out the main thrust of their issues. I worked out how I could rewrite the book to 'fix' it. One key change was making my main protagonist older. A simple enough change, on the face of it. But of course that involved rewriting every single page of the book, because in the process of recasting her character, her narrative voice had to change, to mature, to harden. Rather like me as a writer ...

I really wish I had not chosen to write this scary scene so late at night ...

The main differences I noted between writing GIRL NUMBER ONE (the title of my thriller) and my previous novels, mostly either historical fiction or romances, were as follows:

Pace - a contemporary thriller is fast and furious. It has to be, to deliver the requisite thrills and keep an easily distracted reader turning the page. So introspection and description take a back seat, and action comes to the fore. The verb becomes king here, the adjective and adverb have to be rooted out. Not 'I thought' or 'I saw' (I chose a first person narrator) but 'I did'. Dialogue can take the place of internal monologue, which means it has to work harder, to underline character, drop clues and turn the plot.

Tone - the narration of a contemporary thriller is terse, or at least that's how I prefer it. It's also highly self-aware. This is someone who observes everything around them, whether a trained or natural detective, constantly noticing, examining, deciphering, unravelling, understanding. And often without an excess of emotional response, as emotion tends to hamper that process. (Emotional response being the sine qua non of the romantic novel, I often found myself working at the opposite end of the narrative spectrum to my other books.)

Character - the characters in a contemporary thriller are not, in general, those you might encounter in other genres (though that rather depends on the writer). They have to be boldly drawn, sometimes even starkly and at speed, because a thriller is about action and reaction, rather than a leisurely character study. But the main protagonists also need qualities that others around them noticeably lack: massive intelligence, strength, resolve, courage, generosity, kindness, plus a few special skills. They must leap off the page without being caricatures, and linger in the reader's memory, not least because some of them may become suspects later.

Where the narrator is concerned, assuming that is your chief protagonist, we need the reader to care about that person deeply. Otherwise, there will be little reason to keep reading when he or she is put in danger. Such a character must be sympathetic and strongly-drawn enough to elicit an emotional response from the reader. By which I really mean, he or she must feel true.

Truth - a contemporary thriller should seem realistic, even more so than romantic or historical fiction, and the actions of its characters must be completely believable too, even when your plot is unlikely or even preposterous at times. So how to achieve this? In the same way as a sci-fi or fantasy novel, you have to anchor the world of your novel somewhere that feels very realistic, and therefore works to distract the reader from the unlikeliness of your plot.

In my case, I decided to follow the well-worn advice, write what you know, and achieve narrative truth that way. So I based the world of my debut thriller on the Cornish village in which I was actually living at the time of writing. I was then able to describe, with absolute accuracy and consistency, the village layout and its surrounding area, the views, the flowers in bloom at each season, the likely weather, the very feel of the air ... A bit of a cheat, perhaps, but I wanted to nail that 'truth' element of the thriller first-time-out.

Did I manage to nail it though?

The proof of the thriller is in the reading, and I hope you will give mine a shot. You can find a free sample or buy GIRL NUMBER ONE on Amazon. Digital only at the moment, with paperback POD to follow.

GIRL NUMBER ONE Amazon US

GIRL NUMBER ONE Amazon UK

UPDATE: GIRL NUMBER ONE is currently at #3 in the UK Kindle Store (as of December 3rd 2015)

Week Eleven: Good versus Evil Characters

Is Heathcliff evil?

Here's a strange thing about characters and readers. Readers tend to want main characters to be nice and to do the 'right thing', so they can identify with them while they read, and so feel nice themselves. To assure themselves that they too would do the right thing, if it came down to it. That's the theory of the main character, anyway. That as a reader you enter the skin of the narrator - usually the protagonist in today's fiction - and look out through their eyes. And if the view becomes a bit icky or disturbing or inconsistent, well, you might put that book down and tiptoe away without finishing it.

In nineteenth century fiction, writers could often get away with problematic and even downright evil main characters by telling their story via an innocent - and therefore untarnished - narrator. Wuthering Heights, for instance. But secondhand narration has gone out of fashion, along with the epistolary style - telling a story through a series of letters - and apart from bestselling gems like Bridget Jones' Diary and Diary of a Wimpy Kid, readers prefer straight narration to other ways of telling a story.

As a writer - this applies more to genre fiction than literary fiction, but is still apparent even among the literati - you are being constantly urged by editors to make your main characters nicer. To stop them sleeping with the wrong people, stealing, telling fibs, murdering their loved ones. This is not so difficult for writers who tell their stories within a fictional corridor where 'baddies' rarely do anything worse than give you a bad job reference or steal your boyfriend. But even within that limitation the concept of character morality is equally as valid as it is for a crime novel or historical drama, where you might reasonably expect the most gruesome murders, kidnappings, massacres, beheadings. The parameters change, but the reality remains: main characters must do the right thing, and do it consistently, without ambiguity.

His Dark Lady: Shakespeare's mistress

So how to cope when your story demands a morally questionable action on the part of your main character, but even as you are writing the scene you can hear your editor's polite refusal in your head, or beyond that, some reviewer's outraged objection? I have had some rather cross responses to my portrayal of Shakespeare in my Lucy Morgan trilogy, with reviewers complaining that it is 'unfair' to suggest WS slept with other people behind his wife's back - even though his sonnets and his long absence from the marital bed hardly paint a picture of fidelity. And in this case, there is something more to be said about tarnishing the reputation of a long-dead person - a national hero, no less - with scurrilous suggestions of immoral goings-on backstage that no one at this remove of time can ever possibly prove. Or not without a time machine.

But all this begs questions about our role as authors, and our responsibilities both to readers and to fiction as a whole. Should we pay lip-service to some unlikely and unspoken ideal of morality in order to avoid causing controversy, or write what we feel to be the truth in our story (fiction should represent 'truth' to the writer at least, if to nobody else) and accept that our choices may be unpopular with some readers? And if we do shrug off the limitations of morality and pursue a dangerous fictional truth, what have we achieved besides making our books uncomfortable to read and probably unsaleable?

Why not just throw up our hands and accept that what the majority of our readers want - even in a crime novel - is a consistent world with nice, unthreatening main characters, where 'bad' people are punished and right nearly always triumphs?

Well, that's the wise thing to do. We all want to be read, after all. Read and paid.

But people are complicated. And characters are people, or ought to be. Characters should be capable of possessing both good and evil, humour and horror, love and hate, and above all they should be allowed to hold conflicting opinions. To be contrary. To fall in love with two different people at the same time. To say they want one thing but actually go after something completely different. To be human. This is where publishers suppress more demanding fiction. Being experienced in the realities of selling books, they rightly know that the vast majority of readers dislike too much complexity and can handle only a small amount of contrariness. So they insist that characters should be consistent, should be strictly one thing or another, so that we can all sell books and make a reasonable living.

Consistent! 

Show me a person who is genuinely consistent, and I'll bet you it's a corpse.

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn: an ambiguous read.

I'm still hoping that fiction - which moves like the sea in waves of fashion - will shift eventually into a place where inconsistency is the new gold standard. Where writers are praised for creating deeply ambiguous characters capable of holding two diametrically opposed beliefs simultaneously without risking the loss of internal logic. Where readers fight to be confused and manipulated and lied to. And not patronised. That may be why Gillian Flynn's 'Gone Girl' was so popular, even though many found it an uncomfortable read. Because in this age of superfast broadband and social media our view of life and morality is becoming both more simplistic and more sophisticated, more clear-cut and more ambiguous, and we are beginning to demand fiction that reflects our own uncertainties in the face of this new, constantly shifting, inherently contradictory social morality. 

QUESTION: Should fictional main characters be nicer and more consistent than real people? If so, why?

Week Seven: Learn To Love Your Synopsis

I've been writing a new synopsis this week, so this topic is of acute interest to me. The discussion that follows is an amalgam of several I have written before on the art of writing a synopsis.

What Is A Synopsis? 

Generally speaking, a synopsis is a short document, sometimes one page, maybe 2-3, in which you briefly describe your main characters and the chief action of your story. Leave out anyone and anything non-essential. It's not a blurb - i.e. cover copy. That merely sets out a scenario without giving you the end result. In the synopsis you must tell the reader not only how it starts, but how it ends. And you're in trouble if you don't actually know by now.

 

This is a selling document, so write and present it professionally. Check your spelling and punctuation. Try to sound sane. This may be your only chance to showcase your writing skills to a busy agent or editor.

Whatever you do, keep the synopsis easy to read and check that, even if the book is dark, it never feels depressing or dull. If you enjoyed writing your book, let it show in the synopsis. Let your story shine.

Be a great synopsis writer: it's never too soon to start taking your work seriously.

 

What's the Point of a Synopsis?

Writers hate the synopsis. It interferes with the old illusion that writing fiction is a mysterious creative process, handed to us by a lyre-playing Muse, to be messed with at our peril. It makes our writing feel like a grubby commercial venture.

But you have to tell agents and publishers what's in it for them, just as a blurb tells the reader what to expect inside the covers of a book. Though a synopsis is more than an extended blurb. It has to achieve a number of goals. First, and most importantly, it should tell the person reading it what happens in the book. Note, not what the book is about, per se, but what happens and in what order.

Produce professional-looking synopses

Don't Include Everything

That's trickier than it sounds. Good novels often have sub-plots that weave through the main plot. So should we mention those or leave them out? If they have a genuine bearing on the main plot, they need to be in the synopsis. If not, then we can safely leave them out.

Some synopses are only a page long. With two to three pages, you can afford to mention the milk-maid's dalliance with the master, which provokes the son to leave home and join the army, which makes the wife hate the husband - and the freckle-faced milk-maid - when her beloved boy is subsequently killed in action. Otherwise, just start with the granddaughter packing her bags years later ...

Only mention these subsidiary details in passing. A few words should suffice.

Basically, a synopsis should sketch out the plot, location and main characters without going into too much detail. It should convey genre, where appropriate. Best not to open though with 'This is a funny book.' Keep the slick one-liners for the 3-minute pitch.

But Always Tell Them How It Ends

One common thing writers feel instinctively when describing their stories in advance is that they shouldn't reveal the ending. 'I won't tell you what happens after that ... but it's very exciting.' We don't do that in the synopsis. It's a non-fictional document. It's like packaging. It should tell the buyer what's inside, and how many grams of fat, and is that saturated or Omega-3?

In the synopsis, we tell the editor precisely what happens at the end, and why. Yes, even if it's going to spoil it for them.

Be A Little Imperfect

Having said all that, the synopsis must be a flexible document above all else. It should be constructed like a house in an earthquake zone, to move subtly with changes of mind and heart. It should not resist such changes and tumble down, killing your protagonists in their beds. Agents and publishers have an infuriating tendency to ask for changes. Sometimes they ask for them at the start of the writing process and sometimes halfway through. (Or later, when the book is actually finished.) You will need to be open to those changes, and not have your story so tightly bound together that no daylight can be admitted between plot points.

So the ideal synopsis is a little imperfect: it should err on the side of being too lightly written, kept flexible, with gaps - rather than holes - left for the editor's input, and neither too pithy nor over-ornate. A synopsis should always suggest rather than state baldly.

Keep things flexible

A Collaborative Document

Never forget that your synopsis will become, in many cases, a collaborative document. Writing a novel isn't quite like writing a screenplay, but by the end of the process, a number of different experts - often with clashing views on how a novel or even a synopsis should be written - will have stuck their fingers in the pie of your story and cheerfully wiggled them about. So be prepared for interference and try to view it as helpful in most cases. By the end, you may no longer recognise the novel you intended to write. C'est la vie!

Not Written On Loo Roll

Sadly, the days of the writer as an eccentric genius who goes off into a hotel room for ninety days and emerges with a ground-breaking novel written on a roll of perforated paper are long gone.

The synopsis has become unavoidable for most people, and can be one of the banes of a writer's life. But it represents the key to the first gate of the contract, beyond which a writer may not pass without permission. This may not be ideal for every writer, and there is a strong case for rebellion. But while the people who pay our wages continue to say we have to produce them, it might be wiser simply to capitulate.

QUESTION: do you love or hate writing a synopsis, and have you got any tips on how to do it?