Finding My Way Into Book Three

Pantsing? Outlining? Crafting a synopsis? Navigating what comes next after a two-book deal.

Ever since watching the 2018 documentary “Free Solo”—which follows professional climber Alex Honnold’s attempt to scale Yosemite’s 3,000-foot El Capitan without ropes or protective gear—I’ve been enthralled by true stories of improbable physical and mental achievement. I’m immediately drawn to books, films, and series featuring ultramarathoners, Everest expeditioners, Pacific Crest Trail through-hikers, and big wave surfers…despite having no desire to attempt any of these activities myself.

I think these stories captivate and inspire me because they illustrate just how much we’re able to achieve if we’re willing to dream big enough, work hard enough, and ignore the doubters and detractors who would rather see us keep both feet on solid ground.

I think it’s also because I consider writing longform fiction to be something of an endurance sport. Just like the monumental objective posed by El Capitan in “Free Solo,” authors must climb the seemingly insurmountable mountains of our novels inch by precarious inch. And long before we begin the climb, many of us devise a plan to reach the summit. Because just as there are many ways to scale a mountain, there are many ways to write a new book.

Photo by Samuel Ferrara on Unsplash

I signed a two-book deal with Bantam, an imprint of Penguin Random House. So while my debut novel, WE DON’T TALK ABOUT CAROL, was just released in June, the first manuscript of my next novel was due to my editor in mid-July.

I’ve carried a tiny seed of an idea for my third novel for quite a while, though I tried my best to ignore it while I’ve focused on meeting my deadline for Book Two. And then something totally unexpected happened. Shortly after hitting send on the email delivering my manuscript to my editor, I stepped into the shower. And in the steam, the entire mystery for Book Three unspooled itself in my mind, completely unbidden, as though uncaged by my submission of Book Two. But beyond opening a new Google doc on my phone and spilling my ideas into it before I’d even toweled off, I wasn’t sure which step to take next.

There are countless podcasts, books and workshops dedicated to demystifying the process of attempting to get your first novel traditionally published. Generally, you need to polish a manuscript within an inch of its life, gather and consider feedback from beta readers, polish again, write and revise a query letter, query until you secure an agent, revise with your agent, go out on submission to publishers, and hope an editor falls in love with your work.

But does this process differ if you’ve already been traditionally published, yet are between contracts?

Signing copies of WE DON’T TALK ABOUT CAROL at Murder by the Book in Houston - copies are still available for purchase at the time of publishing this post! https://www.murderbooks.com/signed-books

The short answer? It depends.

I have an option clause in my contract with Bantam/Penguin Random House, granting them the first right of refusal on my next novel—standard practice in publishing. Some contracts even stipulate what must be delivered in this process, though mine isn’t that specific.

Some authors submit an option proposal package, often including a detailed synopsis (3-5 pages) and a few sample chapters. Some editors prefer to receive a full manuscript, and some authors find it necessary to get further into a novel—or to write the whole thing—in order to develop a synopsis (hello, pantsers and discovery writers). Sometimes, if an author has a strong track record, they can sell a book on a pitch alone.

After chatting with my brilliant agent and a few talented author friends who have recently sold option books, I’ve decided to try my hand at developing a synopsis as my next step—for the first time ever.

I wrote my debut novel without an outline, employing that familiar writing metaphor of writing as though driving through thick fog, only able to see a few feet in front of my proverbial headlights. I continuously thought of the reader as I wrote, asking myself what would be the most intriguing, or satisfying, or page-turning thing that could happen next, and letting that guide me.

I outlined my second novel before drafting it, largely following the Save The Cat! Writes a Novel method. I did this before securing my two book deal; I was curious to see if outlining would improve my process, and I thought it would be helpful as the book has more than one POV character with arcs I needed to keep track of. I’m hesitant to speak on the effectiveness of this approach for this novel until I receive feedback on it from my editor 😅. But I can say that outlining made me feel more confident about hitting my deadline—or at least, more aware of how I was tracking against it.

I initially found the idea of writing a synopsis intimidating. A 3-5 page document that somehow maps an entire story from start to finish, including plot, character arcs and spoilers?

Thankfully, a generous author friend graciously offered to share the synopsis that secured her next book deal with me. Seeing her engrossing, twisty, and smart storyline distilled into four-and-a-half tidy pages unlocked something in my brain. And I realized I might actually enjoy crafting a synopsis much more than outlining.

Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash

When I think of outlines, I largely think of major action beats that drive the plot forward. There’s typically some internal transformation involved, as I consider the major ways in which the characters will evolve. But the details of who my characters are, how they came to be that way, and how they interact with one another typically reveal themselves to me over the course of the drafting process.

As a natural pantser, it’s difficult for me to see my story clearly in clipped bullet points. The fact that synopses are written in prose feels much more intuitive to me. And because I’m not limited to high-level bullet points, I have room to consider and include the details of my characters’ backstories, the nuances of their relationships, and all the complex connective tissue that carries a reader from major story beat to major story beat—the details that make a storyline feel like a novel, not just a list of plot points.

I’m probably only 45% through the first draft of my synopsis, but as of right now, I’m enjoying many of the same magical, serendipitous moments of discovery I thought were only possible while drafting a manuscript—such as realizing two characters share a similar internal wound that bonds them despite their differences, or discovering that a character’s chronic pain has a sinister backstory, or that a side character has a much more pivotal role to play than I’d originally thought.

It’s too early to tell whether I’ll begin to always draft a synopsis as the first step in developing a new novel. But I’m glad to have a new tool in my toolkit as I map my path to the summit of my next novel.

How do you plan your approach to a new writing project? Do you prefer to outline or craft a synopsis in advance, or do you tend to write by the seat of your pants? Let me know in the comments!