I’ve run into a brick wall. A big one. And it’s not one of those television moments where I hit the brick wall, bounce and climb over the wall. More of a total thud. Groaning. Not moving.
I’m trying to write a synopsis to accompany a proposal and I have no idea how the book ends. The black moment, the resolution—all of it’s a total mystery to me. I’m not even seeing enough of a glimpse so I can fake my through pretending I know how it all turns out.
Sadly, and then some stuff happens isn’t enough.
In desperation I went to my plotting partner—also known as TK—over dinner and wow, did that no go well. Once I informed him there’s an accidental pregnancy involved, he refused to help me. My characters are “irresponsible scumbags” and don’t belong in a romance novel. His moral rigidity frightens me and I’ve made sure all of my Harlequin Presents are well hidden.
So here I am, stuck doing household chores in the hopes something will jar loose so I can get on with my life. I have to go grocery shopping later, so maybe something will pop up while I’m driving.
For now, the pot’s on the burner, but nothing’s boiling.
I hate writing synopses. Hate ’em. I can’t plot in advance, and I don’t even like writing them for a book that’s already completed. I just find them really difficult to write somehow.
TK makes me smile. I wonder if he will loosen up one day? He reminds me of a romance hero. His heroine will be a punk rocker chick. She will give up the punk hair and make-up but not the punk clothes. He will wear unpressed jeans. It will be a marriage made in heaven.