A few weeks ago a friend and I were given the chance of a lifetime. We were invited to attend William Bernhardt’s Five Day Workshop, by Mr. Bernhardt himself. It will be an amazing experience and I cannot wait. With all of this excitement though comes trepidation, and I felt the sting from Monday night after work.
Reading through Mr. Bernhardt’s welcoming email I actually thought I was going to have a panic attack. For months I have been dreading the thought of having to write my synopsis. Why, I have no idea. I wrote the novel. Why would a synopsis be that difficult? I mean, sure it is a very complex puzzle of getting just enough of the right details and plot that agents and publishers want to beat down your door, and sure it can be one of the main reasons your book goes in the trash. What could possibly be hard about it? Or intimidating? So you can imagine the sheer panic I felt when I read the words:
“Do I need to bring my work in progress?”
Yes. That’s what we’re working on! And I would like everyone to email me their first twenty pages, with a one-page synopsis, as soon as possible, before the seminar begins (now would be good). There will be red ink waiting for you on Monday.”
I’m sorry, but I think I just hallucinated. I should read that again.
Well now what? What, nothing. Bottom line was I had to write the synopsis – now. Waking up at three o’clock the next morning I began, and three hours later I had my synopsis. I knew it was rough, how could it not be; however, by the end of the day, with several different edits here and there, I was pleased with it enough to send it along with my twenty pages. And in that moment the new horror reared its ugly head. The Author of twenty-six New York Times Best Sellers was going to be sitting in a chair reading my work, and worst yet, sending it back with his opinion.