I want to play video games. Or anything besides what I must do. I must write a 2-3 page synopsis of my 150,000 word manuscript. Apparently, this causes me to have that dark condition called writer’s block. I mean I can write this blog. None of my 5-6 readers are going to deny me representation based on my clumsy summarization of my life’s work. Do you suppose Stephen King has this much trouble writing a synopsis? I bet his publisher doesn’t make him do them anymore. If only I were so talented.So far I have written all of one sentence.

In the year of Twig Crisdean’s birth, almost all the infants born to the Muddy people were slaughtered. It is Twig’s thirteenth year and time for the hundred and forty-four Plague Year survivors to be initiated at the largest Muddy Gathering in history.

So this is a solid beginning. Perhaps by this weekend I will have an entire synopsis written. I mean, I do know what happens in my book. I did write the thing. It’s too late for coffee and a work night so whiskey is just a bad idea. Maybe I’ll read some Stephen King. That usually causes me to wake up about 4 AM and turn on all the lights in the house. I won’t be able to go back to sleep so I will have to write. Only I find this synopsis business more frightening than all the horrors that apparently populate the state of Maine. Oh well. One step at a time.

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