The Writer’s Mind: An Insatiable Appetite for Understanding
By Jo Eberhardt | March 5, 2016 |
Photo by Flickr user Marco Bellucci
A few weeks ago, during a conversation about my random thoughts and anxieties, a friend of mine said, in good humour, “Your problem is that you always want to know why things happen, instead of just accepting that they’ve happened.”
The conversation went on, and many other things were discussed, but that observation has stayed with me. It’s gone round and around in my head, building itself a nice little condo in the back of my mind and showing up uninvited at inappropriate times. Why has it stayed with me? Because, no matter how lovingly it was presented, the word “problem” made me feel that this is a character flaw; that my desire to understand the hows, whys, and wherefores of people and events makes me somehow weaker than someone who simply accepts that things happen without question.
As I’ve thought about this, I’ve travelled down many a dark road — ones all too familiar to those people who resonated with Mike Swift’s brilliant article a few days ago. I’m writing about this topic today not because I’ve found the light at the end of the tunnel, but because thinking about the journey I’ve been on has thrown up more questions than answers. And, as we all know, it’s questions that inspire us to write. If we had all the answers, we wouldn’t feel the need to sit and write 80,000 words about them.
Things happen because…
First of all, let me start by saying that my friend is absolutely correct. I do always want to understand the why of things. And not in a shallow superficial way, but in a deep, “what happened to this person when they were younger to prompt them to behave and believe in such a manner today?” kind of way. To be honest, I used to think this desire to understand the deep motivations of other people was a natural part of being human; something everyone did instinctively. But, as it turns out, this is not the case.
There are three main responses I get when I talk to people about wanting to understand why people do the things they do.
- Sometimes things just happen.
This phrase has always felt, to me, like a phrase that could be used offensively against a room full of physicists with devastating results. - Everything happens for a reason.
I hear this phrase used a lot, and always mentally add the clarifier: “And the reason is that other things happened first.”
Note: Often people using this explanation are finding comfort in religious belief. Which is wonderful and not at all to be dismissed. But I have to assume that, in this case, the “reason” is that God or the universe or whatever spiritual agency involved has previously done things to ensure this new thing happens. - Things happen because other things happened first.
Now, don’t get me wrong, looking for understanding is not the same as finding it. But, to paraphrase one of life’s bumper stickers, it’s not the destination that matters, it’s the journey.
So, do I have a Problem?
There is a lot to be said for acceptance — for accepting that things are as they are, and we may not have control over them. Certainly, it brings a great deal of peace. But there is a difference between acceptance and blind acceptance; between taking things as they stand, and wilfully choosing not to understand, or even seek to understand, how they came to be that way.
In fact, isn’t that the entire purpose of storytelling? We, as writers, send our readers on journeys of understanding and empathy.
We don’t just want to see Frodo throw a piece of jewelry into a volcano, we want to experience his journey along the way. We want to taste the evil he’s trying to destroy; to feel his fear and uncertainty; to understand how he overcame his feeling of being smaller (literally and figuratively) than all the grand heroes around him, and succeeded at his quest.
Likewise, we don’t want to find ourselves in conversation with Elizabeth Bennet as she tells us that she and Mr Darcy are never, ever, ever getting back together, and then suddenly find ourselves invited to their wedding.
No one would read a story where things just happen at random, and reason has not been invited to the party.
Maybe it’s a Writer Thing
Maybe my need to understand the why of the people around me isn’t a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it’s just a thing. In fact, maybe it’s just a writer thing.
I’ve read plenty of first drafts written by new(ish) writers where characters take completely incomprehensible actions. Not just incomprehensible to me, but incomprehensible, apparently, to both the writer and the characters themselves. In fact, back in the I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing days, I’ve been that writer.
Greg swept the hair off his face and dropped to one knee. “Mary, I love you. I’ve always loved you. Will you marry me?”
Mary stared at her partner of six years in horror. “No!” she yelled. She turned and ran out of the room, tears running down her face.
Look, my actual version of the above included significantly more magic and (a little) less melodrama, but the fact is that when a critique partner asked me why Mary was so horrified about the proposal, the best answer I had was, “Because she doesn’t agree to marry him until the last chapter.”
If I were writing that scene today, I’d damn well make sure I understood why Mary said no. Maybe her parents had a nasty, messy divorce when she was a small child, and as it dragged on through the courts, getting nastier and messier, she came to believe that true love can’t survive the reality of marriage. Or maybe she was cursed by an evil sorcerer, and any man she marries will die a painful death. Whatever floats your boat. It doesn’t really matter what the reason is — it only matters that there is a reason. The reader doesn’t need to know it (right now), the character doesn’t need to know it (consciously), but the writer absolutely, definitely, 100% needs to know it.
Practice Makes Perfect
Ray Bradbury famously postulated that you need to write 1,000,000 “practice” words before you get to the good stuff. Whether or not that arbitrary figure is correct, the point is well made: to be a great writer, you need to practice. And so we hurl ourselves into the word mines day after day, confident that, eventually, all our hard work will pay off and we’ll strike a rich vein of… wordiness? My metaphor’s wearing thin. Nevertheless, we understand that practice makes perfect, or a close facsimile thereof.
But how do we practice the inimitable skill of backstory?
We can use our wordsmithing to practice flashbacks and revealing backstory through dialogue, action, and blank spaces. But that’s not the same thing as practicing the art of developing backstory; of delving into the innermost motivations of our characters, and immersing ourselves into the various traumas and tribulations that have built their core beliefs about themselves and the world.
But, do you know what helps?
Trying (and often failing) to understand the Whys of ourselves and the people around us. It’s impossible to really know what lurks at the heart of men (to coin a phrase), but the process of trying to understand — of looking at values and beliefs and behaviours and speculating about their origins — makes us more empathic. And that, in turn, makes us better writers. Which makes us better at understanding the motivations of others.
It’s life imitating art imitating life and so on, ad nauseam. And maybe that’s the way it should be.
So, why did that one sentence uttered by a friend affect me so deeply? Maybe because when past relationships have fallen apart, ex-partners have told me that I ask too many questions. Maybe because, at a deep and unconscious level, I internalised the idea that I’m “different” and somehow “lacking” from a young age. Maybe because, if I look deeply enough, I’ll find a single moment of personal trauma that defined my world-view as a seeker rather than an acceptor.
And I can accept that.
Do you find yourself wondering why people do the things they do, and speculating on the answers? Have you ever been called on it? And does doing so make you a stronger writer?
[coffee]
Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbor’s cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her veggie garden.
VERY, VERY good. The more I delve into my WIP the more I look at the people around me and wonder why they’re acting as they are. Deep POV = Understanding Deep Motivation. Also liked that acceptance does not equal blind acceptance. In life, and in fiction. Thank you for verbalizing what I have experienced at a deep level!
Thanks so much, Carol. I’m glad it resonted with you so much.
I work for a large corporation. On of its flaws consciously, or just as an effect of being a big machine, is that often people are shown how to work a procedure without knowing why they use the procedure. I can’t learn that way. In order for a procedure to stay in my memory, I have to understand the underlying reasons for said procedure. And I don’t belive I’m alone in this need. I think it is a general human need. When the underlying reason i.e. backstory is understood, there is a lot less employee margin of error.
I think you’re right on the mark in this post, Jo. One can’t understand forward movement without some grasp of what’s behind.
Thanks, Bee. Your comment actually reminded me of a story from back in my corporation-working days. I managed a small team at a travel agency, and was training a new employee. As I always did, I explained how inputting certain codes into the flight booking system meant the passenger would get a special meal type. But no matter how many times and ways I explained it — and I’d done this same training many, many times before — this one particular employee just couldn’t get it. It took me to the point of absolute frustration before I took her out of the office and we went for a walk through the city. We walked quietly at first, then I made some idle chit-chat. And we kept walking until finally she said (with at least as much frustration as I was feeling), “But I just don’t understand how me typing some letters into my computer means that in six months time the passenger will get a halal meal! How does the airline know I’ve put it in there? And how do the flight attendants know? And if they do know, how do they know who it’s for?”
She needed to understand the “why” of every process so much more deeply than any other person I ever trained. But once I realised that, I spent her training time taking her on excursions to see how her actions in store results in action on the other side of the system. It was a good lesson in the different levels of ‘why’ that people need.
Hey Jo – I understand your article isn’t about empathy, but you reminded me of an article I read some time ago about writers and layers of empathy.
Knowing why people behave the way they do has a lot to do with empathy. Understanding one’s own goals and motivations – even the simplest goals and their motivations – is the basis of the simplest type of empathy (she wants that sandwich, she must be hungry). The next level has to do with prediction (she worked all day without lunch, I’ll bet she’ll be hungry). The third has to do with prediction plus a change in our own behavior (she’s been working all day, and will probably be hungry, so I should have dinner ready). Of course we could go on from there, but we then have to explore complex motivations (she’ll be hungry, so if I have dinner ready, perhaps she’ll be in good humor and therefore prone to return the favor). Of course, some of us have much simpler motivations for making dinner (I love the way she smiles when I surprise her). Or even slightly more selfish (maybe she’ll do the dishes if I make my famous chili. I can drink those craft beers whilst I cook, and tell her I put them in it.)
Of course I’m not saying your friend lacks empathy – that “just let things happen” attitude is usually a choice. But I would argue that we writers tend to me more empathetic, and therefore are always trying to predict the various layers of empathy and the complex motivations behind it. It’s part and parcel to what we do, and as you suggest, is probably at least part of what brings us to the page: to unravel and find understanding in complex situations.
Great piece. I’m empathetic to the way you feel. Just keep on digging! You are flawlessly being you.
Thanks, V. As you say, I wasn’t writing about empathy. And yet, I absolutely was. Becaue, you’re right, that need to understand the deeper motivations is very much about empathy. I love your examples — taken from your own life, I presume.
Enjoy your craft beers!
Wow, you struck a nerve here, Jo! I have ben called many things because of my need to know why? Annoying, ‘too intense’…you get the picture. But I’ve always been fascinated with ‘why’. But now I see it not as a problem, but a Gift, because if we are going to tell stories that people can relate to, we need to be willing to dig. You said it so beautifully, above, about the ‘why’. “…the reader doesn’t need to know it (right now), the character doesn’t need to know it (consciously), but the writer absolutely definitely 100% needs to know it.”
So for a non-writer, our need to understand why people do what they do might be a problem, but for us its part of the job. Thank you for a wonderful post!
Thanks, Susan. Your comment struck that nerve right back, actually. I’ve been called “too intense” more times than I can count, but until I read your comment, I hadn’t put the two things together. Sounds like it will help both of us to remember this this is just part of the job. Happy writing!
Wonderful piece, Jo. Thought-provoking.
I also think people who ask why, want to create a change in a particular trajectory of individual or communal behavior. It’s fine to have peace and acceptance within my soul but where’s my compassion (and, selfishly, my self-survival) if I don’t want to seek peace and acceptance for the larger world.
If I remember and understand what has happened in the past, I can use that information to help bring about a larger circle of hope, a larger circle of peace for more people.
And some writers do exactly this mind-shattering presentation of what’s happening now and our potential future. My go-to example is Hunger Games. A reality game of life and death and an uncaring government taken to extremes.
Thank you.
Hi Lisa. I think you’re absolutely right, of course. There is very much an element of wanting to know why our actions prompt a certain reaction so that we can ensure it doesn’t happen again or that it happens all the time.
“Wow. When I said that, my friend got really angry. I don’t want to upset her, so if I understand why she got angry, I can make sure not to say anything that will make her angry again.”
“Wow. When I did that, my friend laughed. I like making her laugh, so if I understand why she found it so funny, I can make similar jokes in the future.”
A lot of that happens subconsciously, of course. But it’s the simplest example of how we ask Why in order to understand the deeper motivations of the people around us. Developing skill at that simple questioning enables us to get better at understanding the broader world and, as you say, bringing peace to more people.
“We, as writers, send our readers on journeys of understanding and empathy.”
I think right there you’ve caught the duality inherent in the purpose of a novel.
Understanding does mean asking “Why?” Fiction that engages us, or me anyway, gets to the heart of what makes our hearts the way they are.
Ultimately, though, what is there to understand except that things are the way they are–and that’s okay? Reconciliation to ourselves and others really means accepting.
Which can only come from empathy, pure feeling, the end of asking “why”. What drives a quest is the question, what ends a quest is ceasing to ask the question.
Go ahead and seek answers, Jo, if you ask me. Just consider that what you truly seek isn’t an answer, it’s an embrace.
Lovely post.
I read your comment a few hours ago, Benjamin, and I’ve been mulling it over.
On the one hand, I’m not sure that I entirely agree with what you’re saying. On the other, your entire comment resonates with some of the most peaceful energy I’ve ever come across. I both crave that level of peace and am repulsed by it. It’s an interesting duality in myself that I didn’t expect to find while reading comments on WU.
You say: “Ultimately, though, what is there to understand except that things are the way they are–and that’s okay? ”
I see this point on a personal level. In seeking to understand the effect my childhood had on the person I am, the deep questioning I did resulted in first, understanding, and second, acceptance. No matter how terrible many of the things I experienced in my younger days may have been, they have all contributed to make me the person I am today. Things are the way they are, and that’s okay.
But when talking about larger and more immediate situations, I don’t think it’s always valuable to simply decide that things are the way they are and that’s okay. If we universally held that view, where would the world be? Would be simply have accepted that slavery is as it is, and that’s okay? On a more modern note (and I’m sorry to bring up politics, but it’s impossible to exist in any kind of global community and not be inundated by it at the moment), isn’t it worth questioning why we find ourselves in a situation where Trump is on a trajectory to be president? I find the concept of simply saying, “Well, it is what it is and that’s okay” to be defeatist at best.
Perhaps that’s not what you meant. Perhaps I’m simply not at the point in my own quest to understand how your statement applies to larger situations. (And that’s okay.) But I can tell you one thing for sure: I wish you and I could sit down with a bottle of wine and discuss this topic further.
Thanks so much for your comment, and for giving me something to mull over this morning.
LOL, well no, not exactly what I meant. I was speaking of stories, what characters do in them and what we seek from them.
In life, on the other hand, we should very well wonder why. All kinds of great things happen when we do. The polio vaccine. Relativity. Trump. No wait, not Trump, sorry, but we should still ask why, especially in that case.
Repulsed by peace–? I’ll have to think about that, maybe ask my friend the Dali Lama about it. Oh wait, I’m not friends with the Dali Lama. Why?
I guess you and I will have to discuss the issue further with the aid of a bottle of wine. Great suggestion. Looking forward to that!
Ah, thanks for the clarification. That makes a lot more sense. And, yes, I think questioning the Why of Trump is something we should all be doing. :) (Even those people who, like me, live on the other side of the world.)
I think what I mean by “repulsed by peace” is that I worry that if I found such internal peace, I wouldn’t have the necessary internal discomfort to seek answers — and thus I would find myself without the drive to write or even live.
Inner peace, to me, seems like one of those worthy goals that you actually don’t want to ever reach. Because, what then?
I’m pre-emptively booking a wine & conversation date should we ever find ourselves in the same city. :)
Great post. back in the day I graduated with a major in psychology, because I thirsted to know all the whys. As I have become older, I find myself being less analytical of my own situations, more accepting. less willing to dig, and maybe it’s because digging can be too painful. I don’t know. My curiosity about people remains, though, as well as the empathy. When my son talks about his co-workers i will say, how old is so and so? Is he married? Why is he working there? And Danny will sigh, exasperated. “God, i dont ask that stuff, mom.” I think this quest for understanding does get expressed in our writing somehow…so I think it’s a trait to be celebrated. :)
Tee-hee. That’s why I ended up minoring in Social Psychology, Ellen: trying to understand why people do what they do. I agree with you that for writers that’s a trait to be celebrated.
I studied a couple of semesters of psychology, too, in my younger days. I’m prettys sure first year psych class is full of people trying to understand who they are and why people do what they do. :)
Let’s celebrate that trait together! Thanks for commenting, Ellen.
That was soul food, 100% pure relatable goodness. I’ve had that same conversation with people (“You ask too many damn questions, Stacey”) and I arrived at the same conclusion (There’s clearly something wrong with me.) Close friends become uncomfortable when I look at them sometimes because they know on some level I’m trying to bore my way in. I don’t mean to. It’s just that the need to understand is overwhelming. It defines me–and it surprises me when I fail to discover that curiosity in others.
So thank you. Truly. I feel better now:-)
Thanks so much, Stacey. I’m glad this resonated for you. Over the last few weeks, I’ve reached a point where I’ve realised that the need to understand defines me, too. It wasn’t until I was questioned on it that I really acknowledged how much of my “self” is tied up in my questioning — both the questioning I do aloud and the questioning I do inside the safety of my own mind.
Honestly, one of the reasons I wrote this post was to find solidarity. Thanks for helping to provide it.
Hi Jo. Thank you for great advice for writing and life. It helps to understand what motivates those who we interact with whether real people or imaginary characters. Sometimes, the hardest person to figure out is ourselves.
You made the point in your second paragraph when you figured out why your friend’s comments bothered you: the word “problem.” From there, you could decide what to do with the advice. Without that understanding, the comment would still be living in the condo in your mind.
I may have a high-rise in the back of my mind. Maybe that’s why I write women’s fiction. A significant part of the characters journey is understanding the “why” of herself.
Thanks, Stephanie. I have an idea for that high-rise in your mind. Maybe you could turn off the heat and raise the rent. Alternately, mine that high-rise for everything it has to offer and pour it into your fiction. Happy writing!
Amazing post, as always, Jo.
I really have had to learn to curb my (not always loved by others) habit of asking too many questions (especially when I, not meaning to be rude, interrupt). I look back on a conversation and realize I asked about a bunch of details no one else even cared about. But I had to get the big picture in my head.
Now if I could just save that behavior for the important conversations.
Thanks, Carmel. I’m glad it resonated with you. I think the thing to note is that while you may ask a bunch of questions no one else cares about, YOU care about them. And that should be important enough. Happy writing!
Lovely post, Jo. I actually believe that this is the great gift we as writers give to readers: a chance to experience the world through someone else’s eyes and thereby broaden our understanding and increase our empathy. You’re so right that we can’t do that without asking why over and over.
Thank you, Barbara. I couldn’t agree more. I credit my natural empathy with having been a voracious reader my whole life. I like to think I can return that gift to others.
Great post. I too have always wanted to understand the whys of people’s beliefs and behaviors but as much as I study the answers remain illusive. I have written about some of these conundrums on my own blog but have been unsuccessful in capitalizing on any of it in a marketable story.
All in good time, as they say. I have no doubt that as you continue to question and explore beliefs and behaviours, that will translate into stories that others can relate to. Happy writing!
Thank you, Jo. Great post.
Without curiosity, where would we be as fiction writers? That need to know drives us. Maybe it spills over into our personal lives and relationships, and maybe there’s a need to “think before we speak” sometimes! But “why?” and “what if?” are the essential questions of fiction. Who wants to read “Goldilocks went in the bears’ house, ate their food, slept in their beds, and then the bears came home and ran her off”? How much more interesting to know why Goldilocks went to the woods that day, why she was curious (or why she had no boundaries!), why she did the invasive things she did, why the bears were irate at her violation of their space, etc.
I’ve been spending a great deal of time developing the backstories for the characters in a new novel, one that I’ve had trouble getting into. I recently read The Art of Character by David Corbett, as fine an exploration of character in fiction as I’ve ever run across. Corbett has taken me on a journey into the depths of these new characters. I won’t use everything I learn about them, but as I get to know them better, they’re coming easier on the page.
Thanks for the kind words, Gerry. Nothing — NOTHING — pleases me more, than to know that book is helping a writer.
Thanks, Gerry. I’m glad this essay resonated for you. You’re absolutely right — it’s the motives of our characters that are most interesting, even more so than their actions. I have small children, and I actually learn a lot about storytelling from them. I can’t get through a rendition of Goldilocks and the Three Bears without them demanding answers to questions like: “But WHY would she do that??” and “Why isn’t Goldilocks with her mother?”
Happy writing!
My mom was the first to describe me as ‘analytical’. She meant it as a compliment and I took it as one.
Yes, I think wanting to know another’s truth not only makes me a stronger writer, but also a compassionate person.
Sharing our truths makes the world stronger.
That’s a really interesting thought, Leanne. I’ve often been described as “analytical”, but it often hasn’t been used as a compliment. More along the lines of, “Why do you always have to be so analytical?!” I think I shall have to change my mindset and start seeing it as complimentary.
“Sharing our truths makes the world stronger.” Now THAT is a statement that rings with truth.
Thank you!
It is so important in this day and age not to just accept things as they are but to understand why they are. As a teacher I try to help kids reach down for the deeper meaning of something (sometimes anything!). It has always bugged me why some are so naturally curious and others are not. In today’s world it seems that there are less and less people that are curious and less and less people who want to take the journey to see where the questions lead them. Maybe this is why I have always been drawn to writing. Thank you for explaining it in such a clear way!
Thanks, Annay. I’m not a teacher, but am still often bewildered when people show little to no natural curiosity. Certainly my own children (ages 9 and 5) are brimming with questions and theories and wonder. If they can make it to adults with their curiosity intact, I’ll consider that I’ve done a pretty good job of this whole parenting thing.
Happy writing!
Hi, Jo:
What a lovely, personal, useful post.
I don’t think it’s a writer thing. Rather, it’s a curious person thing, and writers are, as Cyra McFadden once said, “People on whom nothing is lost.”
But yes, our search for answers and our incessant questioning can make others uneasy. Julian Barnes says a writer must have universal compassion while remaining an outsider. It would seem you’d second that. So would I.
The line between acceptance and resistance is seldom clear. Spinoza and the Stoics believed that true character resulted from acceptance of the inevitability of things: Fate, for the Stoics.
But Spinoza added an interesting twist. He said that once we accept that things are necessarily as they are, we are free.
By this he meant bondage existed because people try to defy the simple truth of their circumstances and characters. But once one accepts that causality (“what came before”) locks in the present, one no longer feels compelled to deny or reconstruct what has already happened, but to live freely in accordance with the simple truth of who we are and how we understand the world.
He did not get to that insight without a lot of questioning, of course, which he would freely admit. And I think our questions almost always lead us not only to try to determine why things are as they are, but why couldn’t they be otherwise.
And without that mindset, I really don’t think anyone would bother to write a word. (Or try to fathom Newton’s Second Law of Thermodynamics, to use an example your roomful of physicists would embrace.)
Or, as a last stab at this, I’m mindful of the Serenity Prayer:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
I don’t think that wisdom comes from nowhere. It comes from struggling to understand what can’t be changed, and what can. There’s no simple road map to that place. One has to find his own way.
Thanks for the wonderful post on a rainy Saturday morning.
Thanks so much for your comment, David. You’ve left me deep in philosophical thought.
The classical Greek concept of Fate which led to Stoicism is fascinating, and has certainly had a large impact on modern western thought. I would imagine (although I make no claims to be an expert) the whole concept of acceptance of one’s fate derives from there. As you say, the idea that what came before determines the present, and freedom comes from accepting that things are as they are, and the past is immutable.
On a personal level, I ascribe more to the Germanic and Old Norse concept of Wyrd, which differs from the Greek Fate in a number of ways, including, most notably for this conversation, the idea that the past is set.
The threefold nature of Wyrd consists of the elements of “what once was”, “what is coming to be”, and “what will once have been”. While they seem like they could easily be conflated with the simpler Past, Present, and Future, they are significantly more malleable. And, unlike Past, Present and Future, the elements of Wyrd can all affect each other.
They are often represented by water, where “what once was” is the river that flows to the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. There, the water enters the tree and becomes “what is coming to be”. The water spreads through the trees and out through it’s leaves as “what will once have been”, where it rejoins the river once more, forever changing “what once was”. Time and causality in this philosophy are a closed system where the past affects the present, the present affects the future, and the future affects the past in equal measure.
All philosophy aside, however, I agree completely that wisdom comes from the dichonotomy of struggling to understand why things are as they are, and learning to accept that there are things we cannot change.
Thanks so much for getting my mind firing!
I am now on a quest to further fathom Wyrd. Thanks so much for this, Jo. Fascinating.
“In fact, isn’t that the entire purpose of storytelling? We, as writers, send our readers on journeys of understanding and empathy.” Great post and this statement stayed with me. I think I am a person that labors over the question why–especially when I don’t understand the choices that others make. And so that comes into my fiction and helps me work out some of the doubts I have about others, about the human race in general. Studies have shown that people who read fiction are more empathetic–they have walked down these roads with us, with writers. Thanks for this.
I always love reading those studies that show fiction readers are more empathic than non-readers. It somehow validates for me all the many, many, many hundreds (thousands?) of hours I’ve spent reading. Other than the sheer enjoyment factor, of course. Thanks so much for reading and comment, Beth. Happy writing!
Jo,
Wonderful essay, even without the plug for my article. Oh, and thanks for that…glad it resonated with you to such a degree. :D
There was one sentence up there — “It’s questions that inspire us to write” — that struck a nerve and reminded me of a scene from one of my favorite movies, The Matrix. It’s Neo’s first meeting of Trinity:
Trinity: “I know why you’re here, Neo. I know what you’ve been doing… why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why, night after night, you sit by your computer. You’re looking for him. I know because I was once looking for the same thing. And when he found me, he told me I wasn’t really looking for him. I was looking for an answer. It’s the question that drives us, Neo. It’s the question that brought you here. You know the question, just as I did.
Neo: What is the Matrix?
Trinity: The answer is out there, Neo, and it’s looking for you, and it will find you if you want it to.
That question for us writers, as you so stellarly explained, is “Why?” And, just like in the movie, the answer finds us — if we want it to. And when we do; when we observe our surroundings with inquisitive eyes, it frees our minds…at least, long enough for a whole other series of whys to collect.
I’ve always wanted to know the whys in life. There’s a television program over here that fascinates me called How It’s Made. It shows…well, how things are made. Now I don’t have to take everything apart and put it back together to find out. The show tells me.
Except for people’s souls. Those, I still enjoy picking apart. :)
Excellent job, Jo.
Ah, the quiet joy of picking apart people’s souls. At least we can claim it’s research, and not an odd Dr Frankenstein fetish. :)
Thanks, Mike. I’m glad to hear this article resonated with you as much as yours did with me. I’ll take the red pill, thanks!
Asking why is never a “problem.” Just accepting things the way they are and not questioning it is what many people, especially religious and political leaders, expect (demand, actually) from others. It’s how people remain down-trodden and oppressed; or kept in their place. Yes, writers and other artists are naturally curious and therefore, predisposed to asking why. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to understand the human condition and convey those emotions to the world.
There’s a lot to be said for trying to understand the human condition. I like to think that, as a writer, I’m doing my part in the grand scheme of helping others find the joy in exploring internal worlds. Thanks for reading, Alejandro. Happy writing!
People are as interesting as they are varied. Some people don’t want to think too much about the ‘why’. Some people have never really thought about the ‘why. Something about ‘ignorance’ and ‘bliss’ comes to mind when I think about those people. And, I’d be surprised if any of them are novelists.
Ah, yes, ignorance and bliss. The partakers of the blue pills. I suppose that the world wouldn’t be nearly so interesting if we were all interested in plumbing the depths of the human psyche, would it?
Happy writing!
My upcoming memoir “River Girl” is about the “Why” of my childhood and family background. If I hadn’t asked that question, I’d still be struggling to get rid of crippling depression, self-esteem problems and anxiety. Some people, perhaps especially writers, just have to get to the bottom of things in order to get on with the next step, either writing fiction, healing or understanding things in general. I tried the outer journey, first, running away overseas, having adventures, and ignoring my emotional trauma, but it was the inner journey that I had to go on, before I could embark on my other goals, one of which was having a baby and family of my own.
I’ve been down that road myself, Anne, and learned the hard way the no matter how far you run, you can never outrun yourself.
Congratulations on your forthcoming memoir. I’ll make a note to check it out. Happy writing!
The intense, unrelenting need to know the whys of human behavior unleashes wonderful creativity. While we writers may be exhausting, hyper-analytical conversationalists, we sure do provide a damn good ride when it comes to prose!
Thank you, Lyn. This may be the most enthusiastic piece of “be yourself” positivity I’ve ever read. I absolutely love it!
Happy writing!
I write mostly fiction and most of my WIPs are the result of thinking about a true experience from my pest and asking myself either Why? or What if this had happened instead? I do believe it is a writer’s thing to ask Why? Why did this happen, or why did they react this way? It makes sense to me.
Thanks, Beth. It’s always nice to find solidarity with others who think the same way.
I always ask Why. So much so that I figured I might as well double-major and get a philosophy degree, because I think so much about the Why of everything anyway. (So I did.)
I often hear myself saying to people: “For everything there is a genesis.” That means that things happen because things before them happened AND that there’s a Why for everything that happens–even if you have to go back quite a ways to find it.
The Why is always more interesting. When I teach, I almost always just tell students the plot. We focus on Why something happens, not just that it happened.
I swear, I missed my calling. I would’ve made a great FBI profiler.
You know, you’re not the first writer I’ve heard say would make a great profiler. Must be something in the need for understanding. I really like the quote: “For everything there is a genesis.” Beautiful.
In my experience, people who aren’t interested in causality are looking for shortcuts. i.e. the ability to provide a black and white response to a stimulus rather than ask questions, develop empathy, and craft a nuanced approach. To a certain degree, I envy them because life is simpler and faster. Let’s face it, sometimes rapid action is helpful. But in the end, we need your type of thinker, Jo, whether it’s in the classroom or hospital bedside or at the computer, composing fiction. Keep on keeping on.
Thanks, Jan. I hear you completely on the vague sense of envy for people who live a simple mental life, breaking things into black and white responses. There are many times I’ve felt exactly that way. Happy writing!
Such a wonderful explanation. I, like you, need to know “why” something happens or the circumstances that led a person to believe or act the way they do. Your post gave me a sense of relief, because I have also been told ask too many questions. I have this need in me to know the people I am around, and it is inerrantly linked to my need to feel safe.
Peace and love,
Paula R.
I can’t count the times I’ve been accused of being too curious or asking too many questions. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut – sometimes, anyway – but I still wonder. Maybe that’s why I enjoy writing. I know why the plot unfurled as it did, although not always immediately. Maybe that’s why we become writers.
Maybe I really am a writer! I’ve always said that I’m addicted to understanding. It isn’t enough for me to know that someone behaves badly. I guess I feel like I can give them a pass if I know the why, or at least that there is a why. I sometimes feel and am often told that it is a waste of time to wonder why, but I just can’t let go of my desire to know. Like a previous poster, at work, I can’t just do a task without understanding why. Back in the 90’s when I started at my current job, we used to have meetings and classes about team building and diversity and ergonomics among other things. Maybe that culture spoiled me, because it’s now more of a “shut up and get to work” environment and that kills me inside. Where we were once proactive, we now foolishly not just react, but over-react.
There’s so much that I want to understand, for example:
Why not email the entire team instead of a select few. The more people aware of what is going on, the more likely we are to solve problems.
If my coworker mistreats everyone, at least I understand that it’s not only me, it’s just the way that she is.
If we tell the new employees where to find material and supplies, they won’t come and take ours.
If we spend downtime focusing on cross-training maybe we won’t be in a rut when employees want to take vacations.
If we treat employees well on a regular day, maybe it won’t be so hard to get volunteers for overtime.
These are the things that I want to write about, but the workplace is so overwhelming and all-consuming, I can barely focus on being creative at all.
There are so many aspects to understanding, but no one seems to have time to understand anymore. The world has adapted Nike’s motto… Just do it.
Thank God there’s still a faithful few who just want to understand.