Writing accomplishes considerably more for authors than simply putting money in their pockets. In truth, for most writers, the money is more sporadic than you’d think and little more than icing on the cake. We write for more reasons that I can enumerate, but it boils down to this: we write because we can’t not.
We’d love the hours spent at our computers to be more career and less hobby, but long before storytelling resembles a dependable money-making endeavor, dedicated writers are receiving gifts. Gifts that the writing itself imparts to the author.
No wrappings, no bows, nothing tangible to slip under the tree, but if you’re working with any sort of consistency you might notice certain invisible attributes cropping up in your creative soul.
You begin to master things like people-watching, problem solving, impatience, procrastination, working when you don’t feel like it, finishing what you start. I could go on and on–the disciplines that develop out of the daily grind are many and, strangely enough, they’re treasures you dig out of your own chest.
Of all these hard-earned gems, the one I value most is empathy.
Reading has a way of developing this in us as well, but the act of creating a character, giving her a mind and a will, insecurities and faults, regrets and talents, a family history and a place in the world to inhabit–the time spent poring over and pouring into this creature can grow you.
The trick is to do it honestly.
Give your character dilemmas to solve, unsettled relationships, mountains to climb. In my own writing I’ve found that once I have the semblance of a character sculpted, certain things make sense for this character to do as she navigates her life and certain actions wouldn’t make any sense at all.
On occasion, I’ll get an email from a writer pal and it’ll look like this (usually with a hint of panic attached):
So. I need my main character to poison her brother. But she loves her brother! Still, it has to happen. Only, why would she do that? Help! I need a reason.
And so we get to work. We begin to develop a motivation. Most likely this reason will change the character in fundamental ways. An adjustment that can be both difficult and helpful to the writer. The lesson is this: there must be a reason for everything a character does.
Because there is certainly a reason for everything you and I do.
It’s not always an intelligent reason or a moral reason. Often it’s flawed and desperate. I find that most of my characters do things out of fear. That says a lot about me, I think, but it also helps me slide into the shoes of real-life human beings making decisions because they’re afraid. I can empathize because in so many ways my characters are showing me what it’s like to go, to do, to act, and to hurt out of a dark, terrified place.
It’s a gift, friends. The ability to empathize.
And if you make it a habit to write honestly, the penning of a story will compel you to search out empathy–not just for your characters, but for those around you making choices you don’t understand.
And right now, if there’s anything this world needs more of, it’s empathy. A willingness to climb out of our worn-in, cozy sneakers and into another’s. We might be uncomfortable there. We might not like the roads those shoes take us down, but if we practice writing honestly, perhaps we’ll remember to live honestly. In that way, the gift of empathy can lead us to build bridges. Not just in our stories. But in this great wide world.
A world that is sometimes very hard to understand.