Magnanimous
By Donald Maass | October 14, 2015 |
Do you have a game face? Is your personality different at your desk, on a date, and in the stands at the baseball park? Are you hard-charging at work but relaxed on weekends? Are you foul-mouthed in the privacy of your car but eloquent when making a wedding toast? Can you be patient with children but not with fools? When are you at your worst? When are you at your best?
You are different depending on the day, right? Maybe even the hour. Who isn’t? There are times when you are great to be around. There are other times when the world should quietly tiptoe backwards away from you, palms raised. You no doubt feel that way about others, too. There’s the friend who’s a riot on one drink but blistering to be around after three. In your family there’s the complainer and the saint. There are colleagues who are great company and others who at six o’clock you’re happy to wish a great evening, see ya tomorrow.
Generally speaking, we choose company that is pleasant. People who are warm, open, curious, compassionate and interesting are good to be around. We gravitate to people like ourselves, who share our outlooks, interests and values. It’s nice to spend time with nice people, isn’t it? We want that from others and hope to be that in return.
So, question: What kind of person are you asking your readers to spend four-hundred or so pages with? What sort of company are you providing for your readers to keep? I don’t mean just the temperament of your protagonist but your own. What sort of spirit are you bringing to your fiction? What vibe are you putting out on your pages?
[pullquote]What kind of person are you asking your readers to spend four-hundred or so pages with? What sort of company are you providing for your readers to keep? I don’t mean just the temperament of your protagonist but your own. What sort of spirit are you bringing to your fiction? What vibe are you putting out on your pages?[/pullquote]
In manuscripts I meet many protagonists who are sour, snarky, bemused, self-pitying, singly-focused, disconnected or, frankly, just plain dull. This would seem to fit the framework which says that protagonists should be yearning, obsessed, suffering, isolated and in need of change.
It also means spending time with people who are a drag. Even more, these authors are promising their readers that their every new title will be a slog. The spirit of their fiction is negative. Many would say “redemptive”, since everything comes out great at the end, but the far off outcome isn’t the point. It’s the experience of reading that can either be burdensome or inspiring. It can engage readers’ hearts or turn them off.
The solution isn’t necessarily creating characters who are relentlessly chipper and nothing but fun, though that might be a relief. Yearning, need, struggle and change are essential to good story, yet all of that can be accomplished in a spirit that invites us in more than makes us run screaming. The difference lies in how you, the author, feel about your characters, the story world and everything in general, and how that finds expression on the page. You are what you eat. In the same way what you write is you.
What is your best self? I will bet that your best self is generous, curious, compassionate, understanding, insightful, prescient and large. You are humorous, have an eye for irony, and rue human nature even while you are tolerant of it. You are far-seeing, wise, and grasp truths that others do not see but should. You’ve learned from experience and value days that throw you curves. You see life not as a problem to solve, a feast for the senses, or as something to survive. For you, life is material. It stuff to shape in service of a greater good.
Story for you is not just a plot to wrestle to the mat or a journey to take but a celebration of our endurance, a forgiveness of our sins, a bountiful grace to bestow, a freedom to roam, a greathearted kindness, and a high-minded call to our better natures. You tell stories with purpose but without judgment. You trust yourself to create, your characters to act in ways beyond the ordinary and your readers to bring their hearts to situations that are tough and troublesome.
In a word, you are magnanimous. You are the best our human race has to offer. I know that because you write.
But I ask you, is that spirit truly shining through on every page? Let’s face it, some writing days are a dog. Sometimes it’s a struggle to get through a page. That shows. The process of writing a novel is long and deleterious and too often we can feel that in the read. When you’re cranky so is your novel. On the other hand, when you shine your novel does too; that is, it can if you allow it to and know how to make that felt.
Here are some approaches to help your magnanimous self shine on the page:
- Stop at any point in the story. What’s funny here? What’s ironic? What’s peculiar, crazy, wrong and out of bounds? Why is that somehow just perfect right now?
- Stop at a point of pain. What’s beautiful despite the darkness? For what can your POV character be grateful? If this had to happen, what’s the saving grace?
- Think about your story world. What’s wonderful about it? What’s the greatest good? What should be shared? What would we love about it even more if we knew?
- Think about your protagonist. Find one way to set this character free. What’s a gift you can give your protagonist? In what unexpected way can he or she be fulfilled? What dream experience could come true?
- Think about a time of pressure. What is excellent about this challenge? What’s cool, awesome and exciting about being in this situation? How can your protagonist be creative? How can your protagonist exceed his or her own expectations, and even your own?
- Pick a secondary character. What potential does your protagonist see in this person that others miss? What façade can your protagonist see through? What flaw is forgivable? What strength can be admired?
- Who in the story can rise above a situation? Who can forgive when forgiveness isn’t earned? Who is high who can show humility? Who is low who can muster dignity? Who can open their home? Who can impose tough love? Who can sacrifice? Who can inspire? Who can admit wrong? Who can show love when damnation is deserved?
- Pick any page in your manuscript. What’s happening? Who in this scene can act more noble, strong, just, fine, generous, loyal, or principled?
- Pick another page. What is unseen, surprising, symbolic? What demonstrates a principle or proves a point? Who gets that?
- Pick another page. What do you enjoy about anyone on this page or anything that’s happening? Find a way for your feeling to shine through. How would you sum it up? Who on the page can think, say or show what’s in your own mind?
We all have perspective on our lives so it’s puzzling to me that in many manuscripts characters do not. It’s easy to get caught up in a story’s conflict. It’s hard to remember that characters have a life apart from what’s happening. However, when characters see no farther than their noses then neither do we. When the spirit of a story is timid, bleak, defensive, showy, judgmental, coldly realistic, or self-absorbed, what chance is there of rocketing readers to the heavens and exploding their hearts like fireworks?
Magnanimous is a quality but also a practice. It’s something to embrace every writing day and on every page. When you do not only will readers be caught by your spirit and transformed themselves, they will forget that it’s happening and attribute the buoyancy they feel to the story they’re reading. Actually, it’s coming from you.
So, what is your best self and how is that spirit shining in the scene you’re working on right now? Go on, be generous. You’ve got heart to spare. Spread it around. When your spirit is large your stories can be too. Make magnanimous your goal and when you get there we’ll cheer.
[coffee]
Donald Maass (he/him) founded the Donald Maass Literary Agency. in New York in 1980. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004), The Fire in Fiction (2009), The Breakout Novelist (2011), Writing 21st Century Fiction (2012) and The Emotional Craft of Fiction (2019). He has presented hundreds of workshops around the world and is a past president of the American Association of Literary Agents (formerly AAR).
Wow. Once again, I am inspired, I also feel (again) like you’re reading over my shoulder. I now know how to use the way my protagonist deals with his current dilemma to show his character growth relative to his handling of a similar choice in the first book of the series.
You also have maybe put a finger on why I feel like both my productivity and the writing itself have improved since I got a better handle on managing my depression. I think the myth of the tortured writer/artist is so prevalent in our society that many people in the creative world are afraid (consciously or subconsciously) that they’ll lose their edge if they are no longer in the grip of depression and anxiety. For any of those writers out there, let me just say it really isn’t like that. Get help if you need it. Not only will your life be better, your work may be, as well.
I couldn’t have said it better. Depression is real but not a prison. You can get out of it and more easily than you think. Help is all around. Thanks for sharing your experience, Shawna. You remind us there’s no shame in this all too common condition among creative types.
Thank you yet again for such an amazing post. I continually look forward to them. Inspiring!
Welcome, Amy.
Don, thanks for another post packed with insight and wisdom. I’ve read lots of novels that were well written and expertly plotted, but I just didn’t connect with the main character. I never considered that the flaws in a character might be related to the author’s flaws, but it makes sense. Part of the problem may lie in our devotion to some of the fundamental principles in fiction writing. For example, we are taught to infuse tension and conflict in every scene, but that can translate into creating characters who come across to the reader as snarky, negative, or cynical. The questions you pose above should help any writer to avoid that and draw more “magnanimous” characters. Above all, we need to work every day to stay in tune with our own emotions and strive to become our own best selves. By doing this, it will help us to create characters with emotional depth and appeal. It’s not easy, but the payoff is huge in terms of stronger, multi-dimensional characters in our stories. Thanks again, Don.
You’re right on, Chris, creating story trouble so easily leads to characters who are themselves troubled. Most fiction writers write to inspire so it’s a shame that their characters do not. It’s entirely possible, though, to create characters who are struggling but not insufferable.
Meant to say snarky, not snaky, but both may apply here.
“Snaky” should be a word!
Again, lovely post, and I learn so much from everything Don has to say =) Thanks for sharing your experience and knowledge!
I definitely feel the “dragging” parts lately and try not to let life get in the way of my novel!
You know how when you smile it can lift your spirits even if you’re feeling low? I think writing can be like that too. Lift your characters to a higher plane and you can lift yourself, too.
An inspiring take on a vexing challenge. How does one create a protagonist who’s flawed (“…yearning, obsessed, suffering, isolated and in need of change”) and still be one whom readers (and editors) will ‘warm to’?
Excellent question. Being challenged, conflicted, burdened or struggling are conditions, which is not the same thing as one’s temperament, personality or mood. Goodness can shine through even on dark days. In fact, it’s even more inspiring when it does. Who says characters must be miserable? Why not allow them some strength? Showing that doesn’t detract from narrative tension. It anything it heightens the drama that story conflict provides.
Thanks for a fantastic post. One of the approaches you suggested sparked a shiny new idea for the scene I just wrote last night – it’s going to change it significantly, but for the better I think. Now I can’t wait to get back to it!
I love to hear that, thanks!
My best self loves being alive to experience the highs and lows of being human, and to explore my capacity to love. And I know that why I write is because the human experience is such a boundless mystery to me. I want my stories to be facets on that diamond, with all the harness and softness, brilliance and darkness. I re-watched Braveheart last night, at first for the scenery, which is a source of inspiration for me. But I ended up in love all over again with Mel’s William Wallace, a man of passion and blind spots, capable of great loves and hates. A man full of paradoxes, but with one overarching desire that made sense of all the opposites, or if not sense, a grand kind of madness. So I thank you for your inspiring post this morning. It’s wonderful to have you back!
Nice to be back, too.
Thank you for this. I love the beginning narrative, which has me nodding in agreement, but the list of questions at the end is even better. I will copy this into the Scrivener sidebar and get back to work on that troublesome scene.
Scrivener has a sidebar for notes, inspiration, etc? Man, I really have to try out that program. Thanks and glad the questions are useful.
Yes, it’s a great help. I attempted a screen print here, but no go.
Donald, your insights are always helpful. Am starting a folder just for your articles on my desktop. Many thanks.
Great idea!
This post calls to mind for me something Kurt Vonnegut said:
“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”
Yeah. Writing for me is a lot of this.
So how’s the flight going? You have me wondering what wings I’ll grow today.
You are growing truly eloquent, Mr. Maass. I can feel how you’ve changed and grown over the years. You are the epitome of Magnanimous.
“A celebration of our endurance, a forgiveness of our sins, a bountiful grace to bestow, a freedom to roam, a greathearted kindness, and a high-minded call to our better natures . . .”
Yes, yes, and yes. Yes to all!
Deb
Aw, that is a high compliment, thank you.
Hey Don, this is a heartening post, to think that our best selves can shine through on the page. Thanks for the lift. Coffee’s on me.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. The literary gods well know that I like dark fiction. But I’ve always known there was a limit. I’ve walked away from epic fantasy that I just found too dark, with no redemption in sight. But I’ve been wondering about specifics, and this post and a few of your past essays are helping me to find them. For example, the other day someone mentioned Joe Abercrombie in the comments here on WU. It had been five years or so since I’d read his First Law trilogy. I’d finished, but I’d found it just a tad beyond my “darkness threshold” – just a bit too violent and pessimistic about human nature. But I’d heard Abercrombie’s name a couple of times recently, and took this last occasion as a sign. I started Best Served Cold, which I knew to be set in the same world as First Law. And, boy, does it start in dark territory – the protagonist, Monza Murcatto, a leader of a mercenary host, is betrayed by her employer. In the opening chapter, she is savagely beaten and witnesses her brother’s murder while in a stranglehold, then thrown off a terrace down the face of a cliff and left for dead. By chapter two it’s very clear the entire book will be about Monza’s survival, and her finding and murdering the seven responsible for the events of chapter one, all in the name of vengeance. Pretty grim, huh?
And yet… I can’t put it down! So what is it? A couple of things came to me this time around (thanks to the WU craft-guru). First, Monza’s playful (if snarky) relationship with her brother. She not only loves her brother, but really cares deeply for him (anyone with siblings knows there’s a difference). He’s perhaps all she has in the world, and we can immediately see how much that means to her. They are generous with one another. We are shown and taken to “higher emotions.” Then there’s Abercrombie’s humor. Not Monza’s. As I said, she definitely leans to snark. As do most of the other characters. But I smile and laugh a lot, even in the telling of this dark tale in a grim world. That’s to your point today. Abercrombie himself is shining through. I can only conclude he must just be a damn funny guy. Seems like it would be a hoot to share a pint with him.
It’s interesting. I’m still not sure why I’m drawn to “the dark side.” But it’s getting to be fun to figure out what works for me and what doesn’t, and to better see why – in no small way due to you, and to WU. So thanks. Here’s to finding my way to utilizing my findings on my own pages.
I haven’t read the First Law novels but dwelling on the dark side is a common story condition. Snarky narration is also a standard solution. I’m finding snark a too convenient device these days, it’s lost its buoyant effect on me. It becomes a cheap substitute for true intimacy. But it does lighten dark situations and maybe I should give it another looks especially in the hands of a Joe Abercrombie. Thanks for the suggestion.
I’m enjoying this discussion. Snark can turn to straight-up meanness when it’s not accompanied by a little wink or a nudge, so to speak. It goes back to what you’re saying about the heart of the author on the page. It seems to me (without having read him) that Joe Abercrombie has found a way to insert some levity into the darkness. That’s always welcome.
Donald – Had not initially noted who penned this piece but quickly evident.
You have an ability to recognize and focus on aspects of story that arise from a part of the spectrum not identified by most (can you also hear ultrasonic dog whistles?).
Illuminating and useful!
Much appeciate your sharing.
Thankfully I cannot hear dog whistles but I can hear the clunk of emotional cliches and the groans of stories overburdened with misery. Makes me want to cover my ears.
This might be my favorite of your posts yet, Don. Really fabulous. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks, Annie, I strive to do better.
Hoo, boy, did I need your post today. I’m looking again at the first chapter in light of a beta reader’s comment that my protagonist is too wimpy. I need to show more of the steel behind her generosity. Beyond that, though, the comment has me wrestling again with the question you pose: “What kind of person are you asking your readers to spend four-hundred or so pages with?”
Like Vaughn, I’ve read (and abandoned) novels whose darkness was too much for my emotional stamina, as well as those whose protagonist bored me. Your questions have given me lots of ideas, especially the one about secondary characters and what the answers might say about the protagonist. Thank you!
Readers pick up what kind of character your protagonist is almost immediately. Their minds are made up before you know it. So why not show some goodness right away and reinforce it throughout?
Thanks for this post. It answered a lot of questions I’ve had about why so many of the novels I’ve read lately had characters I didn’t like and led me not to finish the story. I’m going to save this post and use it as I plan and plot my new novel and develop the characters’ emotional journeys. We writers have been taught to make our characters suffer but we haven’t been encouraged to let their spirits shine through. I hope I can do that.
I encourage you to let your character’s spirit shine through. There. It’s official.
So, you’ve done it Don: you’ve entered Lincolnesque territory. When I read your fine piece here, I immediately thought of that Lincoln quote:
“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
“The better angels of our nature” was the part I remembered, and it’s what I sensed you trying to encourage, that even when the coffee’s weak, you walk out to a flat tire and you chip a tooth at lunch (and the same things happen to your characters, but worse), the floor of your humanity remains uncracked. Thank you.
(Of course, now that you’re paddling in Lincoln’s currents, we’ll expect you to guide us through all rapids, no matter how rough. Thank goodness you brought a lantern.)
Oh my! Thanks for the quote Tom. I found myself singing the Magnificat … and almost in tears. Don, thanks for a most inspiring essay that comes at the perfect time for me. I just finished a revision of my novel and took a week off to go visit family. After I catch up on the household chores, I can go over it with a fine toothed comb to make sure my work glorifies the Lord.
“The better angels of our nature.” We have the angels inside us, if only we will see it. Mr. Lincoln was right.
Don, I have never read a writing craft post that so moved, inspired, and enriched me as a writer that I wound up in tears. Until now. Thank you for this.
Lori, I have much to thank you for in return. Keeping spreading the grace.
Don, got a lump in my throat reading this. Clearly struck a nerve. I have two quotes from your books taped to my monitor so I see them everyday. “Push your characters to places they will hate to go” and “What is the worst turn his scene can take?” They prevent me from making everything turn out peachy. Now I’m going to have to make room for one or two of these quotes.” Thank you!
I am thinking of marketing Post-It’s with pithy writing advice on them, might save you some Scotch tape?
That is an awesome idea! Go for it. Put me down for order of Pithy Post-Its.
This is a great way to look at things, Donald. Thanks for providing a unique and insightful lens through which to view this writing challenge.
I see this problem a lot in novels that are supposed to be humorous – many writers mistake being snarky and sarcastic for being funny. It ain’t necessarily so. Unless we understand *why* the character is so snarky and/or sarcastic, he or she can simply come across as negative and cynical. In other words, that character has not yet earned the right to be so cynical with us, the readers – we simply don’t know them well enough yet to find such an attitude appealing, much less funny.
A variation I’ve seen is when the characters complain too much, which can make them sound very entitled – a big turnoff.
Obviously we can’t make all our characters nice. But you’ve highlighted how crucial it is to make us actually *care* enough to want to spend a few hundred pages with these people. Great stuff, as always.
Cynicism is pervasive in our age. Time to change that. Would you consider running for office?
I agree. I’m saving this post in my desktop folder. It seems to me that some of the great writers of the past (Chaucer, Austen, and Trollope come to mind) possess the sensibility Donald describes: keenly aware of human flaws but also generous and large-minded and ultimately hopeful. And at least some of their characters strive for grace. I find that I can’t read the contemporary fiction that is too bleak or has unlikable people. Same thing with some of the TV shows that are really popular right now.
There’s a reason “It’s a Wonderful Life” runs on a loop on TV every year at Christmastime. We want to be inspired and reminded of our better selves.
Your words reflect what people want to find in others whether it’s the woman at the checkout counter or a new best friend. It doesn’t matter. It’s so very basic and yet writers are often thinking conflict, raising the stakes etc and fail to remember that the person being created on the page should be multifaceted, someone the reader wants to hang around with. Yes, the reader might cringe or cry during the novel, but there has to be some relief–as with any relationship. If it’s all strum ind drang after a while you might just stay away. Thanks, Don, great post. Back to the keyboard.
Yes, it’s easy to get so caught up in plot mechanics that one forgets about plain old decency. We find it every day in life, so why is it so rare in fiction?
Another keeper. Thanks for taking the time to craft and share such an eloquent. and inspiring post. The quality of your writing is as instructive as your insights and knowledge. I’m so happy you’ve returned to WU.
Glad to be back in the swing of it.
Great post, Don. Thank you!
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
You bet, Denise.
Awesome post, Don, good to have you back.
One thing I do to capture the magnanimous, for each character whose skin I crawl into, is ask myself: does this person embody something I aspire toward? If not, what will take them there? What’s standing in their way and how will they have to change to overcome it (because the need to change inside is far more interesting to me)? Where is the desperate need to be better and how does it drive them forward through change that will break them, redefine them, make them stronger? Or, spinning this in another direction, if they embody something I aspire toward, what will break them, teach them that they’re wrong?
A character might be flawed, but if there is an inner drive that glimmers from the beginning — a kernel for change — then that itself, for me, is just as powerful as seeing them in full strength, in touch with their innermost sense of purpose. A character might be strong and noble, but what lies beneath this facade? I’m far more interested in strength that’s found in weakness and vulnerability, for it’s therein where I find the real value of story.
Are you sure you’re not actually Victor Hugo?
Shhh! That’s supposed to be a secret!
Thank you for naming and defining this need in stories.
I’ve struggled with trying to make my main character sympathetic while also showing her flaws. Sometimes her flaws overwhelm her sympathetic side. My crit partners let me know.
I’ve also tried to sort whether or not it’s appropriate to use lightness or humor in places where my main character tries to deal with her fears and with the darkness of the situation she finds herself in.
Wonderful, thought-provoking post.
Flawed people still are good people, most of the time. Fiction writers tend to focus more on the former, less on the latter. I hope that changes.
I love your suggestion to stop at a point of pain and see what can be beautiful despite the darkness. I feel like I grew up studying stories/poems that had bleak endings with darker main characters, and I do tend to enjoy those (and the trend continues today with, say, Gone Girl). But as an author, I do want to bring to life characters that my reader is rooting for and situations that show some hope–because the reality is there is always hope. Enjoyed the post.
Hope is underrated. We all need it. All stories need it.
Very interesting post! Thanks so much for your insight.
Welcome.
You have encouraged me to want to be better. And more. Thank you.
And your fiction too, yes?
First of all, Don, thank you for expanding my vocabulary today. Magnanimous was not in it and for the reasons you stated, it should be–and now it is.
A few months back I started taking a different perspective on my “protagonist” and thinking of him as a hero to me, in my eyes a personal hero heralding certain qualities. What a difference that shift made. This came after a period of change in my own life perspective as well. A middle-aged gentler side perhaps edging out the highly-critical Jersey girl of my earlier decades. Your post today made me think of this change.
As always, your posts make me want to write bolder and bigger and brighter. And deeper. Giving me something to think about for quite awhile.
Hey Shirley, Is there something about Jersey that makes one critical? Maybe so. And maybe Portland is the cure. Need to get back there myself. Hope you’re well!
Don, Maybe it was just my perfection-seeking family. ;) Am doing well. Thanks. I hope the same for you and your loves. Hope to see you out here. In April at BONI for sure. I’m attending next year. All the best!
Hi Don! It’s Sarah (who retells fairy tales) from the Hood River conference in April.
I LOVED this post– and your point that goodness doesn’t have to lessen the tension in a story.
It made me think of one of my favorite childhood novels: A Little Princess. For me, the story wasn’t about whether young Sara would get her fortune back. It was whether losing her fortune and Miss Minchin’s abuse would make Sara relinquish her dignity, humanity, and kindness. Sara’s decisions to be magnanimous became THE central conflict of the story- they didn’t detract from it.
It seems to me that relentlessly chipper is boring and makes for boring stories because it doesn’t involve choice. Or have a cost. But being magnanimous always involves a choice, and often has a high cost. (I’m thinking of all the situations you mentioned in the “Who in the story can rise above a situation?” exercise.) I think if we frame being magnanimous in terms of choice and cost, it will never lesson the tension of a story.
I totally agree.
Hello, Good Sir.
When I teach about yearning, I always frame it as a state of grace the character, perhaps unconsciously, hopes to encounter. The kind of person they want to be, the way of life they hope to live. Even in the darkest or most unaware circumstances, almost everyone is striving for that braver, truer, more caring way of life.
Those who aren’t suffer from what Simone Weill refers to as “Affliction,” a state of loveless suffering — like that experienced by victims of torture so cruel it utterly breaks the soul.
What is true of the characters is also true of the writer. Even if the story is tragic, the ability to confront misfortune honestly and bravely can be–should be–ennobling, even if that nobility first takes the form of a stunned silence.
As a writer, I try to think of myself as a loving creator of broken souls trying somehow, knowingly or blindly, to mend.
I think the magnanimous quality you speak of from the writer is often revealed in voice (though, as you note, it’s also revealed in the choices we make). The first fifty pages of Kate Atkinson’s Case Histories are almost unbearably heartbreaking, but something in the grace and insight of the writing keeps us going — until we finally encounter Jackson Brodie, whose self-effacing wit and obvious concern for others lets us know we have found our Diogenes.
I would add, however, that trivialization of the tragic in the name of “heart” can be just as unrewarding as the snarkiest of neo-Holden Caulfields. This was my beef with The Lovely Bones. I tried to read it after my wife died and couldn’t get more than ten pages in. There simply was no reconciling my experience of death and the author’s rendering of it, which I found so insipid it was almost insulting. (But I was grieving, and very, very angry.)
Which leads to my final note: there are some narratives that need a certain cold-heartedness, or at least a devoutly cool eye. I’m thinking, in particular, of combat narratives. I’m reminded of Tim O’Brien’s “How to Tell a True War Story,” which makes the point: If it makes sense, or has a “message,” it’s not a true war story. This comes through in Martha Gelhorn’s war reportage as well, which I greatly admire.
Sometimes telling a difficult truth without sparing the reader any of the difficulty is also a kind of magnanimity. I think the difference between doing this well and doing it badly lies in the writer’s intent, and the relationship he hopes to forge with the reader.
Welcome back, soldier.
Hey David-
Nice to be back.
“Almost everyone is striving for that braver, truer, more caring way of life.” That I think is at the heart of the political extremism in our divided land. Right and left, liberal and conservation, all want a better, more perfect world. What’s sad is that so many think there is only one way to achieve it–their way.
The path to a more perfect world starts with being magnanimous. It starts here.
“As a writer, I try to think of myself as a loving creator of broken souls trying somehow, knowingly or blindly, to mend.” Beautiful, David. Your words go to the heart of what–for me–it is to write fiction. Thank you.
Don, you’ve described a quality of voice that has me returning to certain writers again and again. There’s a generosity and warmth in their world which I suspect is a tangible expression of their sunny personalities, though I don’t know them enough to confirm the overlap. It provides a subtle form of mentorship, in a way, as if they’re saying, “Yeah, things can get downright awful in reality, but we still have *this* we can enjoy.”
That mindset became critical in medicine, of course, both for my patients and myself, but I’m not always good at maintaining it on the page. Thanks for providing some ways in to the writer I’d like to be.
I’m not sure I would call Stephen King a sunny person (though he’s great in person), but his fiction nevertheless shines with generosity. He writes about death but from a heart that treasures life.
Where have you been?? If it’s too personal a question just ignore it. Glad you’re back!
“You are the best our human race has to offer. I know that because you write.” <–That phrase will be rolling around in my head this week. I'm struggling with it. But it's powerful.
Me and my family were in South Africa for six weeks, completing our second adoption.
CONGRATULATIONS!!!! That’s awesome. Lots of happy thoughts and smiles going your family’s way.
Hey, Don, good to see you back. I trust your trip was fruitful.
For various reasons, I haven’t felt too magnanimous lately, and because of that, my writing has suffered. After a spell at the keyboard and a quick review of what I’ve written, my words get a highlight and delete. Everything’s coming across brassy. Cynical. Bitchy. And that’s so unlike me…it’s just where my mindset has been lately. Shaking it off and getting back to the genuine, magnanimous me has been elusive. My iron-clad confidence has also taken a beating.
I realize how this attitude wears on people in real life, therefore, it must also do so on the page. In real life, when I get like this (and it’s rare — I usually have a rosy disposition about everything), I isolate until I work through it. If I can’t, I turn to trusted individuals to help me. And I’ve found I’m isolating from my work, my writing, the artistic community. This is not good. At times I think, “Struggle is imperative to the artist’s growth.” Except I don’t feel like I’m growing…I’m stymied. Stagnant. Bogged down in a mire. Heck, I can even sense a dark cloud over this comment! Gee, Mike, get a grip.
But it shall pass. And I keep writing…I just don’t show it to anybody. If I did, someone would most certainly have their protagonist kill my protagonist just to shut him up.
Thanks for the great article. I’m bookmarking for the bullet points. Welcome back!
Thanks, Mike. I appreciate your candor. We all get in a funk, down, defensive, prickly or what have you. The hard part of that, I find, is remembering that such a frame of mind is temporary. When I’m in it, it feels permanent. But of course it never is.
What impresses me is your self-awareness. You know you’re being a grouch and that that is not the real you. I’m going to emulate that. Strangely, I find that one thing that reliably lifts me out of a sour mood is writing. I prescribe for myself more of that. Ah. I feel better already.
I appreciate the uplifting words and the prescription. I’ll take two metaphors and call you in the morning. Thanks again. :D
Great post. Very inspiring. I’m going to link over here from my blog.
Thanks for this post, Don! Encouraging! Something that occurred to me today is that this principle applies to invented worlds, too — there’s a lot of fantasy and sci-fi out there that takes place in worlds so unpleasant or hopeless that I end up being genuinely unwilling to experience them (through the story) long enough to find out how things turn out for the characters.