I hate that question. I hate that question with a passion that could fuel the sun. Most writers? They hate being asked, “So, where do you get your ideas?” I actually don’t mind that one because it allows me to be a complete smart ass.
But I hate being asked what my novel is about. That question could mean several things, like, what is the plot? What is the theme? Is there a moral? What are you trying to say? And, if it’s just the plot, then how in depth should I go? Does the person even care? Does the person have time? What if they’re only being polite?
At some point, I normally stutter out some stupid one line atrocity, and the person nods, smiles, and says, “Oh, that sounds interesting!”
And then I’m just standing there, thinking, “Really? Maybe I should have added this or that. Or maybe I should have worded it differently. Tonight, I’ll go home and work out a short little summary so that I can be prepared next time.”
However, while I’m thinking this, the person has moved on conversationally and is now talking about their cat or what their hair dresser said the other day.
Ladies and gentlemen: this is my life.