Countdown to 100 #2: Three Things That Show Up in Everything I Write

I've talked before about writing what you know, and how that isn't necessarily a rule we need to follow. As a student, then an English major, then an Education major, I often wrote essays about chapters I hadn't read, books I hadn't finished, and theories I didn't agree with. I sometimes picked thesis sentences I didn't believe in whatsoever, just because it was fun to see if I could prove a point using these literary techniques, even if I didn't believe my own point.

My genres of choice have always been Fantasy and Science Fiction.

All of this is to say that my own personal writing motto is probably closer to "Write what you don't know." For me, sometimes the only way to figure a thing out is to write it down. Writing is a way to figure out what I know, what I think, and what I feel. I can't write what I know, because I don't know it until I write it.

And there are some issues so big, and messy, and complicated, that I don't understand them even after I've written them.

These are what I call "themes." 

These are the big topics, things that run deep in my life and my psyche. And they show up in all of my work, whether the stories are about fairies, Space Pirates, or the fainting governess who goes to work for the brooding hero who may or may not be a werewolf. It was only in re-reading a crapload of my old work in an attempt to find something really good for tomorrow's Throwback Thursday post, that I realized how much I repeat myself. All the time and energy I put in to being "creative," and all along, I've just been transparently typing hundreds of pages of therapy for myself.

Here are the three things that every substantial story I've written have in common. Warning: my psyche gets laid pretty bare up in here. Avert eyes now, if prudish about emotional nudity.

#3. There is a romantic relationship, and it starts with bickering, name-calling, and sometimes actual physical fighting. 

It's like slap slap kiss is the only thing I know how to write. I think the roots of this sad, sad pattern come from the very early days of my romantic life, where I had a really big crush on a boy who was unfailingly cruel to me. (And, ok, I wasn't exactly "kind" back). 

It's like the beginning of that movie "He's Just Not That Into You," where the little boy insults the little girl. Subsequently, the little girl's mom tells her, "Honey, that means he likes you."

So if a guy likes you, he'll insult you and run away. If a guy is nice to you, expresses actual interest, and sticks around, there's probably something wrong with him. Maybe he's the Baxter, or maybe he's trying to con you into giving him your social security number. 

I didn't think I believed any of this crap, but my heroines beg to differ: the only hero worth making out with is the one who insults you. 

#2. The main character has a complicated relationship with her parents.

I mean, who doesn't? But it repeats with annoying consistence in my stories. The main character is always the oldest, always has younger siblings (or step-siblings or half-siblings), and her parents are always kind of jerks about it. The dad, who is often not her real father, but an imposter, is always cold, distant, and mean, and often tells her to leave his house (or occasionally sells her) so he can take better care of his other children, the ones he really loves. Or sometimes he's just dead, in which case he was nice when she was little, but then disappeared.

The mother, on the other hand, often expects way too much of the main character, sometimes leaving her completely in charge of all seven or so of her younger siblings, and all the cooking and cleaning, or occasionally just abandoning them altogether, by choice or by death. If anything goes wrong, or any of the younger kids misbehave, the cackling mother character invariably blames the main character. "You're the oldest!" she admonishes sternly. "It's your job to set a good example/protect your siblings/take care of your sisters."

While this always leads my main character to be extremely devoted to her siblings, it also creates some resentment and distance between her and the parent characters.

I worry that people will view this as autobiographical. Specifically, I worry my parents will view it that way.

In reality, the emotions have some root in my actual childhood emotions-- I really am the oldest of several siblings, and I did see it as my job to take care of them, and I didn't always succeed at that, to the pain of everyone involved. And sure, sometimes maybe I felt a little ignored or pushed out by my dad, but we're cool now and we understand each other better. And maybe I felt that my mom's expectations were a little high and she put a little too much pressure on me at times, but we've ironed it all out and get along well. I love both my parents and admire them.

But the parents in my stories still tend to fall into these patterns. 

Maybe it's just laziness. Or maybe I still haven't quite figured out how to tell the story I need to tell.

#1. The main character suffers a devastating loss which she perceives to be her fault.

Parents, siblings, pets, friends: every one of my main characters suffers at least one horrible, earth-shattering loss. Sometimes this happens before the book starts, and the story is about the fallout of loss and the journey to get back to normal. Sometimes it's part of the story, and we see the before and after. Sometimes there are many losses in the character's life, and the story is about the challenge of loving people, when you're constantly reminded of how easily that love can be taken away.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why my characters are always plagued by loss. We're human, and loss is inevitable. Everyone dies, someday. The people we love can be gone in an instant. There are very few people who don't learn this at some point, and the only reason they don't learn it is because they were the first to die, which is hardly a better alternative. So it's nothing new. Everyone goes through this.

I just happened to learn about loss a little sooner than I would have preferred.

I don't think it's coincidence that my first recorded attempts at fiction-- a blue journal filled with clunky handwriting, attempting to take on the voice of another 8-year-old, journaling from 1850s California-- comes on the heels of my first loss. My littlest sister was only 18 months old when she died. She died on my watch, as I saw it. She wanted to play Barbies with me and the two sisters between us, and I told her no. I told her to go play by herself. And she did. And that's the last thing I ever said to her.

After that, the only thing I wanted was for the world to be different. I wanted to leave this reality and go find another one. I wanted to create my own world, where I controlled who lived or died, where nothing bad ever had to happen. I thought if I made my own universe, I could be a better god. Kinder. More benevolent.

Instead, I find myself trying to emulate the world that is, to reproduce it as closely as possible. I find myself understanding God, as I write these tragedies and hardships for my characters, tears streaming down my face as I torment them, promising them that it's all for a reason, that in the end they're going to be so happy, I promise, that everything I'm doing to them has a reason and a purpose.

I don't really believe that God is like that. I don't think He sits down and scripts out the bad things that happen to strengthen us. I think sometimes, bad things just happen, and it's up to us whether we find a way to make something good come from it.

For me, my losses and pains have multiplied into a thousand fictional heartbreaks.

I don't know yet whether that's a good thing.

I hope it is.

And I hope that someday, I can stop writing the same story over and over, and finally just say what I meant to say, and start again. Tell a new story.

Maybe something with dragons.