The Difficulty With Being Challenging
By Vaughn Roycroft | February 26, 2024 |
My wife and I were watching the new limited series Masters of the Air together when we ran smack into difficulty. Before I tell you what happened, I think it’s best to get our usual set of definitions out of the way early. The title of this essay may have some of you wondering about the two terms difficult and challenging. I mean, they’re pretty darn similar in meaning, aren’t they? Seems like they’re often used interchangeably.
Both words have multiple definitions, so here are the two I’ll be using in this piece:
difficulty—the quality or state of being hard to deal with, manage, or overcome.
challenging—arousing competitive thought or action; stirring argument or resistance.
So back to what happened. Masters of the Air is the third limited series set during World War II from the producers of Band of Brothers, along with The Pacific. This time we follow the 100th Bomb Group of the American Army Air Corps as they fly missions to bomb military targets in German-occupied Europe. Like its predecessors, Masters of the Air dramatizes real veterans’ accounts in an ultrarealistic and sometimes brutal portrayal of warfare.
Our run-in came while watching episode 3, during a scene depicting a bombing mission in which one of the group’s “forts”—or B-17 Flying Fortress—is badly hit and in a nose-dive, heading for disaster. The scene is as intense as any battle depiction I’ve seen, and I’ve watched a ton of war-related footage and portrayals. Mid-scene, my wife leapt to her feet and whisked from the room. “Sorry, I’m out,” she said, and I knew she meant she was done with the series—that I’d be watching the remaining episodes without her.
It’s not that she’s squeamish—well, not unusually so. The scene isn’t even gory, as so many of the scenes from these three shows are. She is very empathetic, however, and the scene portrays a wrenching life-or-death situation—an unfathomable choice. She’s someone who very naturally and easily puts herself in the shoes of others, particularly via story, and this incident just became too difficult for her. In her defense, she works very hard all day and considers the time we spend in the evening watching television to be an escape from tension and stress. This brutal scene offered no escape.
The show is well-written, well-acted, brilliantly shot, and—as I said—very realistic. I’d even venture to call all three shows important. I’m glad they’ve been made and I hope they’re broadly viewed, in order to give people insight into such a sweeping and historically significant event, as well as an enhanced appreciation for the horror of war. But none of the three shows can be considered escapism. On the contrary, they exemplify the quality of being hard to deal with.
Which got me thinking about difficulty in story. Which in turn made me consider the elements of stories that are challenging. As the definitions show, the two are not the same, although I suppose they can overlap. More often, though, those who find a story daunting will consider it to be one or the other. Response is in the eye—and mind—of the beholder.
As I often say here on WU, I suspect that exploring these ideas will prove illuminating for me, and hopefully for you, too.
The Challenge of SFF
If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to start the discussion in a meta sort of way, using my entire genre as an example. I guess I’d better lead off with an acknowledgement that different types of stories are naturally more prone to stir difficulty and/or various levels of challenge than others (think horror, for example). Outside of that sort of natural proclivity, science fiction and fantasy have enjoyed quite a long, slow climb towards broader public appeal. And yet an attitude remains among a segment of readers in regard to SFF that I would describe as dismissive at best and belittling at worst. I don’t mean to whine, as I’ve covered the sentiment in this space before. However, I do think that sort of dismissiveness can be enlightening to our topic.
The disdain comes in various guises, but I just saw a tweet the other day that’s typical. The tweet’s author suggested that the genre is childish, adding that anything with dragons and wizards is fundamentally unserious, making it unworthy of consideration for serious adult readers. I understand that from a certain segment of the reading public this sort of dismissal extends to other genres—indeed, to all “genre fiction” for some. The case I’m making may be applicable to other genres, but for today’s discussion, I’m sticking to SFF.
Since publishing my own epic fantasy books, I’ve noted a few aspects of the genre that can be points of grievance for non-fantasy readers. I can sum them up with one word: challenge. I often hear things like: “The books are so long,” and, “There are so many weird names to keep track of,” and, “Do we really need to learn an entire made-up religion/geopolitical situation/system of magic just to get to the story?” It’s all true, of course. Sounds challenging, doesn’t it?
And then there’s the old chestnut that fantasy is only for nerds. Of course the term itself is disparaging, but even Websters defines nerd as: “a person devoted to intellectual, academic, or technical pursuits or interests.” Hence, nerds might be obsessive and bookish, and are maybe lacking in athleticism or social skills, but no one is calling nerds dumb. Again, sounds like reading books that are best suited to nerds might be considered challenging.
Look, I’m not saying that readers—likely including some of you—can’t merely dislike fantasy stories. I’m not a fan of mysteries, but I never feel inclined to belittle an entire genre over it. Tangentially, I’ve also noted over the last year how often people voice their surprise over having enjoyed a fantasy story.
Whether SFF is being dismissed as childish, nerdy, or too much trouble, all of it makes me wonder…
What If It’s Fear?
My wife and I are about to leave to travel abroad. Tomorrow, in fact. When it comes to travel, I’m a bit of a grouch. Especially when traveling somewhere new. Until I get there and get acclimated, that is. My wife is the opposite. It’s not just that she loves to travel, she relishes every aspect of it, including planning it. Which makes her a stellar travel companion. Yep, you heard it here—the grouch has someone who yanks him from his hidey-hole, handles all of the planning in advance, and takes care of all of the pesky details along the way. (Not to mention that she’s a blast to hang around with. Being with her is my favorite thing. See? Stellar.)
You’ve all heard the old saying that some writers like having written better than writing. I’m not quite that bad when it comes to travel. Once I’m in it, I’m able to live in the moment. I enjoy seeing new sights and experiencing new places. But beforehand, I’d rather not dwell on it. I’m not afraid of flying, or even particularly fearful that we might end up in danger. Still, the way I feel up until I’m situated in a destination resembles dread more than anticipation.
The big confession in all of this? It’s fear. I simply can’t deny that my reluctance is rooted in fear. Thanks to my wife’s zeal, I’ve been to scores of foreign destinations. Without her, I doubt I would’ve ventured to take anywhere near half of the remarkable trips I’ve experienced. My trepidation and its resulting inertia would’ve kept me from it. Without her, I can easily imagine myself growing dismissive of traveling broadly for pleasure.
I’ve seen so much and have so many enduring and cherished memories because I have been nudged (cajoled?) out of my comfort-zone. I honestly believe that travel, particularly travel abroad, has made me a better person—better informed, more empathetic, and more adventurous. My instinct to avoid such challenges would’ve kept me from growing as a human and precluded some of the most memorable experiences of my life.
I can say most of those same things about reading broadly. The lesson is pretty darn adaptable.
Who, Me?
I didn’t set out with the goal of challenging readers. Not consciously. And yet, it’s come to my attention that some readers have found some aspects of my work either difficult or challenging. Those who feel the former might, like my wife with Masters of the Air, simply walk away, never to return. Which makes me hope that more of those who’ve wrestled with elements of my stories are feeling the latter instead. But it’s out of my hands, of course. The story now belongs to each reader.
I recently saw a public exchange between two reviews (so I hope neither of them will mind if I quote them here). The first was decidedly less enthused with my recent release than the second. Reviewer #1: “Seeing characters I had rooted for so wholeheartedly [in book one] go through some discomfiting changes and conflicts was hard, but with some further remove from the read I can really appreciate the depth and complexity of that reading experience even if it wasn’t as immediately satisfying for me to digest.”
Reviewer #2: “Sometimes a read that makes us uncomfortable is ultimately more memorable, and even satisfying, than one that conforms to our wishes.”
I have to say that the response rings true for me. The experiences, including the books and screen stories, that have challenged me are often the most memorable ones. And I’d have to say that memorable stories are often ultimately satisfying. I’m not claiming there’s an exclusive correlation, of course. Some satisfying experiences are anything but challenging, just as some memorable ones leave us less than satisfied. But I think the overlap is a worthy consideration.
The Difficulty With Being Challenging
I swear, the older I get, the more watchful I get for what might become too difficult to bother pursuing. It’s true that life is too short to endure some things. But a keener awareness of the distinction I’m making here presents a challenge of its own. Have I avoided things that are merely challenging due to the resistance I encounter? Is my resistance rooted in fear? Am I robbing myself of challenges that I would ultimately consider worthy once met? Would a change of attitude lead to a greater number of satisfying and memorable experiences?
As a reader, the challenge includes continuing to read broadly. I need to know myself and to know my limits, as I still believe it’s wise to discard that which is difficult with little or no hope of redemption. But I must also continue to recognize and accept the challenges that expand my horizons and keep me growing. That obviously requires me to look beyond fear-based presumption, no matter how trivial the fear might seem to be (which can only aid dismissiveness). It’s an outlook that demands ongoing vigilance.
As a writer, the equation isn’t so simple, either. Experience has shown that I can only muster the passion required for a long-form fiction undertaking if I feel challenged by it. Thus far the formula has produced storytelling that challenges a significant segment of my readership. Perhaps a different sort of challenge will arise. Heck, maybe the challenge will be to tackle something that’s unchallenging to a known audience. (Cozy fantasy, perhaps?)
As an author who has discovered that a segment of his audience finds his stories challenging or difficult, I feel like acceptance is the order of the day. Whether I sought to or not, I seem to gravitate to creating challenging scenarios. Making it inevitable that some readers will find my stories difficult.
This may not be the means to maximizing sales, but at the moment I simply can’t imagine proceeding in any other way. So I may as well continue to strive to challenge the readers who naturally find their way to my stories, however many or few there are. Who knows? The challenge might be the very thing that draws those readers to my books.
Because after all, there are those who believe that challenges in stories provide worthy and memorable experiences.
How about you, WU? Are you a travel curmudgeon? Do you consciously seek to challenge readers? Have I provided a challenge here today? Or are you just feeling difficult?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
I joke with a certain someone that he’ll read anything by Stephen King but put a romance novel in front of him and he’s scared to open the cover.
Really though, reading is such an intimate experience. Readers gonna read what they want, when they want.
As a writer, I’m only interested in writing something no one else can write and I haven’t written before. That’s a challenge, yes, and that’s why I do it.
Hey Ada — Yeah, I do realize I’ll never change anyone who’s resistant to SFF, for whatever reason. So funny about the King vs. Romance thing, though. And so true!
I’m with you, only interested in what’s challenging, which very much includes things that I feel only I can write. Great way to put it. Thank you! Onward!
My husband is a travel curmudgeon so I have to do all the planning and cajoling, which I don’t love. Plus, I would prefer to go vagabond but he likes comfort!! Like you, though, he loves ‘having arrived.’ I haven’t read your second book yet, but it’s next up on the pile. I’m excited because my sister-in-law devoured it in four days and loved what you put your characters through (she loved the first book, too). She used the word ‘heartbreaking’, which may not be everyone’s cup of tea. But as Ada said, readers read what they want. I laughed when you described that dismissive attitude toward certain genres because I’ve caught myself being dismissive of the dismissiveness (is that even a word?) Anyway, one man’s meat is another’s poison, to offer a nice fat cliche. But it’s a useful one for me to remember. Wonderful post as always, and safe travels!
Hey Susan — I’m not so finicky about the level of luxury while traveling, but “comfort” describes a general feeling that I prefer. When you say vagabond, I do have to say that “camping” is where my wife draws the line. She loves to travel, but that does not extend to any circumstance resembling “roughing it,” lol. But when it comes to, say, figuring out the rail system in a foreign destination, and utilizing it to go far beyond the normal “tourist zones,” she’s your gal. This trip should be a blast, as there won’t be any crowds this time of year. I’m actually feeling less than my usual dread!
I’m so grateful to your sister! Also, I’m glad to hear she hasn’t scared you off. Hope you enjoy the next (fairly long) leg of Vahldan and Elan’s journey. Thanks for your support and well-wishes!
Suffering is hard to watch, on screen or page or in life. I wonder if that is the trigger?
As to genre resistance, it can be selective. LOTR. Star Wars. There are those who’ve experienced those but no other SFF. That tells me that resistance can be overcome. SFF, like any genre, when strong is not about wizards or swooning or monsters, but really is about us. We all can relate.
Love this post, Vaughn. Travel safe.
Hey Don — You’re right about the suffering, I guess. The incident at the top of the piece was about making a choice that was bound to lead to a lifetime of regret, which certainly has an element of suffering baked in. But, yes, in regard to my own book, what I’m often hearing is how much readers are disliking seeing a favorite character (of yours as well) suffering.
I think you’re right, that the resistance can be overcome, especially once readers (and viewers) come to realize that these stories really are about us. Thanks for your support and your well-wishes!
I, too, have issues with traveling alone. I’m sure it’s anxiety and I’m from the school of ‘feel the fear and do it anyway.’ I’m not blessed with a companion that rolls out the red carpet for me lol. Anyway, I love immersing myself in sff books. I spoke with a fake Scottish accent for years while reading Outlander. Years. Ultimately, though, regardless of genre, what compels the reader to go on are emotions that appeal to our own humanity. Sometimes relatability isn’t only found in non-fiction, but tucked carefully in a romance or science fiction and fantasy, or even horror.
Hi Thea! I love “feel the fear and do it anyway”! What a great mantra. I feel you on the fake Scottish accent, too. Outlander always reminds me of my mom, as she always read each edition before passing it along to me, always with a measure of warning for what’s to come along with the joy of the shared tale.
Here’s to shared human emotions and to relatability! Miss you, lady. Thanks much for weighing in!
I’m not sure if my books are challenging for readers to read (because of length, complexity, etc.) but I do think they challenge readers to think through difficult and challenging aspects of life. I have heard from many people that the stories really stick with them. I think that’s a direct result of getting the reader to participate by not giving them easy stories about easy answers to non-issues.
As for travel, I am the one who initiates most of it in my life. I am the planner. I yearn for more of it. Most of it doesn’t get me anxious. My husband covers the anxiety portion, thinking of all the things that could go wrong along the way, even when I am traveling with someone else (like hiking with my sister) or alone. It can definitely put a damper on things for the excited traveler in the pair.
Hey Erin — Oh, I’m with your husband on the fretting while my wife is traveling alone, and even with others. I want constant updates. The worst was when she and my niece were in London on the evening of a terrorist attack (the one with the vans and knifings on and around the London Bridge). I heard about it while they were in a theater watching a show, so didn’t call or text back for what seemed forever. The incident didn’t dampen her enthusiasm in the least, of course.
Yeah, asking readers to participate in scenarios that are anything but easy is the very best sort of challenge, in my opinion. We can do that in any genre. Great addition to the conversation! Thanks for the enhanced perspective. Hope you’re getting the sunshine and warmth that we’re getting down here on the west coast of the Mitten.
Vaughn, your post obliges me to take a look at my own attitudes, and that makes it both challenging and a bit difficult. I don’t dismiss or belittle SFF. I am well aware of how demanding these works can be to write well, something that could be said of almost any written work. The first thing I ever published appeared in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. As a teen, I devoured SF, and later I taught SF novels to undergraduates. But at some point I came to be skeptical of work that violated the known laws of physics (don’t tell me that ALL fictions do that, I know). I decided that the mechanisms these works depend on should be seen in psychological terms. That young people in particular embraced fantasy and science fiction seemed to fit with themselves: physically grown, but still economically and politically powerless. What could be more satisfying than reading about ruling the cosmos, or zapping Really Bad People and Alien Beings with a blink?
But I lost sight of how the best such stories go beyond power fantasies. Like all good stories do, they invite us into a world. They bring us close enough to see issues and relationships, and how they apply to ourselves in our world. Isn’t that what all or most good novels do?
Thanks for a post that challenges me. And thanks for rescuing the word from its current hostage status as a euphemism to replace other words that are now thought to send the wrong signals.
Hey Barry — Thanks for being real and honest here. Having felt challenged myself (learning of several instances of readers finding my own work difficult), hearing of your acceptance of challenge is gratifying. It’s not that I don’t grasp the criticisms of my genre. I have a few of my own so thanks, too, for sharing that you don’t dismiss or belittle it, in spite of your criticisms.
Here’s to inviting others into a world, no matter how big or small, where we gain perspective we otherwise would not achieve. I always look forward to your perspective here, and as usual, you delivered today and enhanced my examination of the issues at hand.
I appreciate the distinctions you make between difficult and challenging. It’s interesting how much I enjoyed SFF as a teenager but don’t want to invest the time in a new world (esp. fantasy). I still enjoy standalone SFFs but my tastes have moved on to much more domestic tales reflecting my own interests in children and family. The Christian worldview is often challenged now but I write from that perspective and hope that my stories will encourage the reader to take a deeper dive into moral questions and the dilemmas they create.
I feel like your wife does about watching something horrific. Some things you cannot unsee. It’s not the same as reading because we can only take our imaginations so far and it’s a good thing. I’ve read a lot about the Jewish Holocaust, but I doubt I could watch anything that was hyper-realistic. It’s the same reason I refuse to watch anything with too much violence. The most violent film I’ve watched (and continue to watch every Good Friday) was Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. I learned later that he based the details on Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich’s visions.
As for travelling, I’m grateful my husband makes all the arrangements. I no longer travel well and have hobbit-like tendencies, esp. for comfort. I hope you and your wife have a happy, safe and comfortable trip overseas!
Hi Vijaya — I understand having drifted away from SFF and not being in a good position to try it again. I also agree about not being able to “unsee” certain things. As I say in the piece, life’s too short to endure some things, and the better knowing ourselves in that regard is life enhancing, for sure.
Ah, another spouse that handles the hobbit-like writer in the family. Thank goodness for our better halves, right? Thanks for your support and well-wishes!
I’ve had comments from friends saying they like my books even though they didn’t ordinarily read fantasy. That just proves my great genius, of course, but I would like to point out to beginning writers that the first book was originally intended to be about a poor schlub who accidentally found himself with a box of gangster money. The conversion of the money into an ancient statue (offering a direct connection to the god Mithra) happened when I was not looking. The MC and the plot remained much the same. Story is story.
Ha! That’s so cool that you–the writer–passed through a portal that led you to be an SFF storyteller. How perfect is that! Very cool. Thanks for sharing, Michael!
Vaughn, cozy fantasy. YES! I write fantasy romance (now being called romantasy, much to my dismay.) I’ve read dozens of fantasies but got tired of the challenge of slogging through complex world-building, referring to maps and character lists and lineages to make sense of it all. Deep, dark fantasy made me uncomfortable for some of the reasons you give. When I thought about writing my own magical story, I wanted to try something more light-hearted, yet still filled with interesting characters, conflict, danger, and emotion. Not exactly cozy, but now I have another story in mind. Hmmm…
Hi Barb — Well, I love fantasy romance (although I disagree with you about the new name). I like it so much, I’ve made it a central pillar to my work. Indeed, the romance element is part of what a few readers are finding challenging. I think I messed up, though. I didn’t follow the romance tropes for my romance portion and I didn’t follow the fantasy tropes for my fantasy portion. Hence, I’ve pissed everyone off, lol.
I really am interested in cozy fantasy. Must do my research. Be sure to keep me posted on what you come up with. Thanks a million for weighing in! Wishing you the best!
I am not at all a genre fan. But this post today exactly my spot, which is writing about homelessness and appreciating my planning spouse. Thank you.
Thanks, Charlie! I’m so glad we got to the sweet spot for you. Here’s to those wonderful better halves. Where would we be without them? Probably lost–figuratively and literally. Wishing you safe travels!
Thaks for another thoughtful post, Vaughn. As readers and writers, we need to challenge ourselves if we hope to grow. I even made it through the first four Dune books. I thought the first two were brilliant, and I slogged through the next two, but never made it to the end of the series. Still, I’m glad I did it. I read all kinds of genres, and I’ve even challenged myself as a writer by writing outside my genre. It’s very liberating. Challenge brings difficulty, but creative types in all artistic endeavors can become stale by not challenging themselves. Safe travels, my friend. Like you, I like the destination better than the journey.
Hey Chris — I think I petered out on Dune about the same place as you did. You’re so right–the first two are genius. I read them in college, and they remain formative for me. That’s so cool that you’ve written outside of the genre! You’re braver than I’ve been thus far. Here’s to stepping up to the challenge! Thanks a million for your support, my friend!
Ray:
Fear and anxiety are my particular bugaboos. Fear of rejection, criticism, not being good enough — poison to a writer. Your post was just the boost I needed today. Thanks.
Hey Christine — On the days that the bugaboos haunt me, I almost always stumble across something that signals to me that I’m still on the right course. I’m delighted to have been that something for you today. Here’s to the journey and to staying on course, even in the face of the bugaboos. Thanks for letting me know.
Thanks for this honest and thoughtful post, Vaughn. You’ve helped me think about how to reframe some of discussions in one of my book clubs (where I am the only writer). Fairly often we’ll have a book that some members are unhappy about because it’s too hard to read/understand (there’s another term!), while others welcome putting in the extra effort. I have a foot in both camps, of course: there are times when I want to sink into an easy read and others when I want my synapses to fire like crazy. In the future, I hope our book club conversation can concentrate on identifying what we found challenging in the book.