A synopsis is often misunderstood as a summary of a story. That’s not its purpose. Its point is to prove to someone else (agent, editor, publisher, bookseller, reader) that you understand story, not specifically the story, but how to build a story. It’s a preview test, not of your manuscript, though that counts secondarily, but an audition of you.
Writing a synopsis feels reductive, mechanical, a waste of time, a cruel butchering of hundreds of pages of eloquent prose all compressed into one or two pages. For query letters, the length is around 150 words or one paragraph, covering the broad concept, central conflict, and emotional hook. For most agent and publisher submissions, the length is around 500-800 words, covering all major plot points, climax, and resolution in clear, professional prose. For contests, book proposals, or when specifically requested, the synopsis can go to two to three pages or around 1,500 words and would include key subplots, secondary arcs, and maybe dual timelines.
Publishing professionals rely on properly written synopses. In a busy world where everyone has too little time and too much to do, a synopsis reveals more than plot. It exposes pacing, structure, and character motivation. It gives the potential reader of your manuscript confidence that you have command of narrative momentum. It’s a microscopic shot telling the reader whether your manuscript is likely to work before they even open the manuscript.
Like most writers starting, I thought a synopsis was much the same as a pitch or a back-cover blurb. When I flipped to the other side of publishing, the business side, I saw it completely anew. Spoiler alert: a synopsis is a summary of the whole story, including the ending. In its body, it should include the protagonist’s core desire, what’s at stake, the size of the stakes, the major turning points that build tension and momentum, the central conflict, how the central conflict resolves, and the protagonist’s emotional transformational arc.
A synopsis is not meant to seduce, entice, or even trick an agent or publisher into reading your work. It is intended to clarify. Plot and character clarity are entirely different than a back-cover blurb.
A synopsis should be written in third person, present tense, regardless of the novel’s point of view or tense. Formatting expectations are single-spaced with one-inch margins. Include the title, your name (your author’s name), and the word count of the finished manuscript at the top.
A great trick to help ensure a fantastic read is to keep paragraphs clean and readable, with plenty of white space for visual ease and perception. Because the reader is going down the page quickly, the story gives the appearance of momentum.
The synopsis should begin with the protagonist and the inciting event, then trace the central arc through the rising stakes until the climax and resolution.
Stay on the spine. Avoid dialogue, subplots, and character overload. Keep the action high. Think broad strokes, clean lines, and emotional throughlines.
The only way to do them is to jump in. Start by writing a vomit draft. This will probably be three to five pages, capturing every major event in rough sequence. Expect this draft to be far from perfection. This draft serves nothing more than to give you a condensed framework from which you can do the real work.
Now you are going to distill your vomit draft. Ask specific questions and pull them from your vomit draft. What drives the story or book forward? What does the protagonist want? What stands in the protagonist’s way? Where does the most profound change occur?
You’ll go through several drafts of this.
Keep condensing until the spine of the narrative stands on its own. Each pass should remove surface details, sharpen emotional focus, and break down the arc to the most dominant phrasing. Your three-to-five-page vomit draft is like a big slab of marble. Each draft chisels away to reveal the essence beneath until you get it down, at times, to one paragraph. Not an easy art project, but certainly one that will give back bountifully if done correctly and with care.
Don’t think you’re giving a dry narrative. A synopsis not only tells about the manuscript but also implies what kind of crafted writer you might be, and introduces your voice and writing tone. Even though a synopsis is functional, it should sound like you. The reader needs to hear your voice.
You also need to infuse the synopsis with elements of your genre. A thriller synopsis should pulse with urgency. Romance should shimmer with emotional stakes. A literary novel should feel contemplative and introspective. You don’t do this overtly. You use your language to communicate genre, tone, and voice. Infusing these into the synopsis gives the agent or publisher the confidence that you can carry the same control and style throughout the full manuscript, which makes them want to read it.
Stepping away from my writing hat and putting on my business cap, I see several common mistakes when packaging a project or considering a manuscript. The five most egregious mistakes start with the synopsis being too vague and flowery. Things need to be concrete. A line like “secrets come to light” tells me absolutely nothing. That’s four words of wasted space. Be specific. If it is essential, don’t imply, tell me what those secrets are.
The flip side includes too much detail. Remember, this is the spine. You are stripping off all nonessential flesh. Every scene, character, or setting description tends to suffocate the pacing. Keep it lean and mean. Get to the point. Keep the forward momentum—the action—always in play.
Speaking of forward momentum, use as many active verbs in the synopsis as possible. Active verbs convey momentum. The impression you want to give is that your manuscript moves forward, no stalls, no slow points. Passive structure and verb use kill that. Make your story sound alive and exciting.
Some of the most boring synopses are structured solely around the plot. This happens, then this happens, then this. What sells books are the characters and the trials, tribulations, and frustrations they face, and how they resolve them. These are the character arcs, which lead to emotional arcs. As you write your synopsis, appeal to both the logical mind of your reader as well as the visceral, emotional mind of the reader. Include emotional arcs. Plot alone is insufficient. Show character transformation. This will pull the reader in and make them want to read your full manuscript.
And, lastly, probably the most common mistake is withholding the ending. Writers think that if they take the agent or editor to the end and then don’t reveal the ending, they will tease the reader into dying to read the whole manuscript. Don’t delude yourself. It’s much easier for an agent or publisher to pass than waste time reading a manuscript they might not even publish, only to discover the ending. Give the spoiler. Tell how it ends and how everything necessary wraps up so the reader of the synopsis knows you can effectively close a story.
A synopsis should read like the skeleton of a compelling story. It’s not an outline. It’s not a sales brochure. Even truncated, it is a story with all the elements of a well-told manuscript. It’s your story in microcosm. Use all your writer craft tools to make this synopsis freestanding on its own.
I suggest you write three versions of your story. A one-sentence version. A one-paragraph version. And a one-page version. Each version will help you tweak the others. Having this in one place will give you all the versions you need to pitch your project in any situation and handle all requests. You can see why I say it is almost more challenging to write the synopses than it was to write the manuscript. Narrowing down the 80,000-word manuscript to a single sentence? It isn’t easy. But it’s a job you have to do if you want to make that sale.
Like I hope you do with your manuscript, read each of these versions aloud. Your voice will catch bumps in the telling that your eyes alone will not. If anything sounds flat, fix it, because your story structure may be flat as well. And, if the synopsis is an exact take of your manuscript, you may see, through writing the synopsis, that your manuscript is not quite as ready as you thought. You can use your synopsis, then, to go back and fix your manuscript itself. Retooling and more retooling is the writer’s modus. Take advantage of all the signals that might indicate something in your manuscript is weak, then fix those before you send them out to anyone.
When you think your manuscript is perfect and your synopsis is pristine, give your synopses (all versions) to someone who hasn’t read your book. See if they grasp the plot completely? Does the synopsis move them? Is everything clear? If anything is awry or unclear, if any gaps are found, fix those before sending it to anyone who has the power to cut the project short (an agent, editor, or publisher).
When you can summarize your story clearly, you’ve proven to yourself (and others) that you actually understand it: plot, character motivation, structure, meaning. A synopsis forces you to answer the most complex creative question ever: What is this story really about? Once you can answer that in 500 words, the novel becomes easier to pitch, market, and ultimately, remember. Don’t shortchange the step. It’s crucial on so many levels.
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