Synopsis. A word that rolls off the tongue, but for whatever reason, torments the mind. Meant to be brief, it summarizes the enormous novel that took up hours, weeks, months or even years to write. It’s one of the smaller tasks on the homestretch toward publication. But let’s face it, the SINopsis is nothing short of hell to write; the wolfsbane that taints a writer’s healthy motivation. Why? The story’s already written, what’s an extra dozen pages?
I remember back in middle school, my small group of close friends decided to match our personalities to the type of cars we’d someday drive. Silly I know, but fun. So my friend Dani, a laid-back, earthy, horse-riding, free-spirit would drive a Jeep. It screamed freedom. On the other hand, my friend Kate, hands-down, would drive a pink Cadillac convertible with fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror. I don’t think I need to go into her personality type too much to explain why.
This is a little late this week because, well, my grandmother turned 89 years old. And since I consider that pretty darn amazing, I chose to put off my blog post in order to celebrate her birthday with her.
Off the East coast on a small peninsula between Wrightsville and Myrtle Beach, a large bridge perched high above ground level, offers a birds-eye view of the homes and the beathtaking shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean. The small town just before the bridge carries the kind of peaceful simplicity that most of the city vacationers seem to take for granted. The shops, though externally weathered, are clean and well kempt. Here there are no big attractions, strip malls or water parks; only the essentials. Food, toiletries and other basic supplies can be purchased at the local Food Lion down the street. And a stretch of seafood restaurants along the strip, mostly made up of locals, serve some of the best crab legs on the coast.
Throughout high school and college, I’d been given many opportunities to test my hand at nurturing. I think it was then that I decided I should never have children. I recall a plant given to me once – one of those hard-to-kill types. I was delighted to see it live beyond the first week. When the second week went by and it was still green and full of life, I figured it was time to start celebrating some milestones. For every week that passed, I rewarded myself with a little shopping trip. It was my incentive to keep the thing watered and happy. I didn’t go all out, maybe a pair of shoes, a dress or some make-up. It was always just something little to keep me wanting more, which was ultimately good for the plant.