We’re Messy. Our Characters Should Be Too.
By Sarah Callender | November 7, 2024 |
Two weeks ago, I gathered my courage (it was stuffed in a storage bin under my bed) and volunteered to make calls to Undecideds in Pennsylvania. My even-keeled, deeply-uncomfortable-with-confrontation husband was worried. Rightfully so. I am unevenly-keeled. One of my keels is a sectional sofa. The other, a ping pong ball.
“You might have a hard time,” he said, “not getting into it with people. People can be rude. And sometimes you get into it with people who are rude.”
He was wrong about this. I don’t sometimes “get into it” when people are rude. I almost always and always immediately “get into it” when people are rude.
“There’s a script,” I explained, full of bravado. “And I’m not trying to sway people. I’m only checking to make sure they have a voting plan. Also, these people reside in Pennsylvania, the state that contains the City of Brotherly Love. It’ll be fine.”
I did have a snazzy script to follow. Depending on how the Undecideds responded to my first question, I’d click a button, and instantly be taken to a specific script meant for someone who had responded in that particular way. Like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, except that Undecided strangers were my adventure-choosers.
“I’ll stick to the script,” I promised my husband. “I will.”
Alas, nearly 100% of people on the Undecided Brotherly Love list either hung up on me immediately, or, right after I introduced myself, warned that I should, “STOP CALLING!” Or that I, “WASN’T GOING TO CHANGE THEIR MIND!” Or, as one fellow not-lovingly suggested, “GO TO HELL!”
But instead of “getting into it” with these Pennsylvanians, I felt only empathy. These folks have been barraged by politics–TV ads, calls, texts, emails–for months. They weren’t rude. They were weary.
Weary too, I invented a new goal: connect with the weary. NOT to change their minds, but, perhaps to feel less alone in my own weariness.
My selfish, rebellious script went a little something like this:
My name is Sarah, and I don’t know about you, but I cannot WAIT to be on the other side of November 5th. How are you holding up?
Dozens of people still hung up on me. But some did not.
Not-Tanya, for example.
“I am NOT Tanya,” she said, after I asked to please speak to Tanya. “I have never BEEN Tanya,” she continued. “And I will never BE Tanya!”
It seemed that voting registries had mislinked Not-Tanya (the person) with Real-Tanya’s phone number.
“Oh, gosh,” I said. “I have been getting phone calls for ‘Deborah’ and texts for ‘Anna.’ And my husband, Jeff, keeps getting texts for ‘Mark.’ And we are none of those people.”
Not-Tanya and I then proceeded to have a lovely chat, not about politics, but about how NO ONE SAID PARENTING ADULT CHILDREN WOULD BE SO TRICKY. At the end of the call I said, “Well, thanks for the chat, Not-Tanya. Just two weeks until we’ll only be called by our real names!”
And I felt better. Parenting adult children really was tricky. Where, Not-Tanya and I had lamented, were the hundreds of “How To” parenting books that had helped us navigate every stage prior?
Then there was John. John who had moved to IL but apparently had gotten about 300 calls and texts from political volunteers who believe he still lives in PA.
“Gah!” I said. “How annoying! I’m sorry the list hasn’t been updated. I’ll mark that here … there’s a button for that. As part of my script–”
“I left Pennsylvania,” John continued, “and moved to Chicago to live with my brother. I needed a place to crash after my girlfriend and I broke up.” He exhaled. “We were together ten years.”
“Oh dear,” I breathed, then proceeded to share with John that I, too, had been heartbroken while living in Chicago. “Actually,” I said, “I was broken up with TWICE when I lived in Chicago. By the SAME GUY!”
John and I laughed over that because finally, thirty years later, I’m only so-so embarrassed by that. “I’m sorry about your breakup,” I said. “Heartbreak is the worst.”
“Ah, well,” John said, then paused as a firetruck passed his apartment, sirens blaring. “It’s actually been over a year. I still cry sometimes, but mostly happy tears.”
Sweet, happy-tears John. I have thought about him dozens times since that phone call. And I have no idea how he voted. I am a very so-so phone bank volunteer.
“I didn’t get into it with anyone!” I announced to my husband after my shift. “Not once! And really, I feel better about the state of our country. I’m reminded that we’re all just doing the best we can.”
I believe this. I will always believe this: that we are all just doing the best we can, even on days when “our best” looks utterly crummy.
John’s doing the best he can.
Same with the guy who requested I go to hell.
Even my colleague who, at a faculty meeting in October 2023, gave the entire faculty the most condescending, self-righteous, unsolicited feedback-filled lecture, based on second-hand teenage gossip. Gossip that wasn’t even true! And then a week later, when I shared with her, one-on-one, that her words had been hurtful, she (who is two decades younger than I) doubled down on her self-righteousness.
Yes. This colleague, too, is doing the best she can. I’m sure of it. So-so sure.
Talking to Undecideds reminded me that I’d rather feel empathy for others, even when it’s easier to feel anger, disbelief, or disdain.
That reminded me that novels are the weight room of my emotional gym, the best place to strengthen my empathy muscles. When I read stories about characters living lives different from my own, but struggling in the same ways I struggle, I remember we’re not as different as we appear on paper. That Undecided go-to-hell guy? He has dreams, worries, fears, and moments of joy just like I do.
But fiction can only inspire empathy when we writers breathe real life into characters, rendering them as messy, vulnerable, beautiful, idiotic, and multi-faceted as real humans.
We humans really are a hot mess. A stew of contradictions. We desperately want something, yet we do the opposite of what’s necessary to get that something. We pursue desires, even when they will not serve us well. We struggle to forgive self-righteous colleagues, self-centered friends, and frustrating relatives.
Also: humans are never just one thing.
In early drafts of my first novel, I failed to see how an important character, the narrator’s mother, had infected the whole story, not because she was unkind and negligent but because she was only unkind and negligent.
A reader won’t trust a writer who takes shortcuts by building flat characters.
A reader won’t develop their empathy muscle when a character doesn’t feel the least bit familiar.
A writer will strengthen readers’ empathy muscles when the story shines light on the characters’ slivers of humanity. Why? Because revealing a character’s humanity can soften a reader’s heart, maybe even crack it wide open. Or simply–and this is the worst-case scenario–presenting the reader with a cast of knuckleheaded-saints and big-hearted hooligans, can remind the reader that most people, most everywhere are just doing the best they can.
Your turn! Where are your characters’ surprising slivers of humanity? In what way is your protagonist messy and broken and your antagonist beautiful? What traits, desires, fears, or secrets make these pretend people feel totally human?
Thanks, friends, for reading, for sharing, and for being your empathetic selves.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
[coffee]
Well, Sarah, you’ve cemented it. I’ve picked the wrong occupation. Unlike you, and apparently most other good writers, my empathy has hit a wall. Not just any wall, one of those really thick cinder-block ones. For me, the self-righteousness is just the beginning. I have utterly run out of patience for the normalization of hate, the shrugging acceptance of mean-spiritedness, the laughter that incites and solidifies othering, the lazy willingness to join the slow march to authoritarianism, scrolling as we go.
Guess I’d better get back to work. Even if I’m faking having any grasp of human nature. Even if readers will see right through me. It’s still the only thing that makes me feel remotely like a human being. Bless you for your service, and for being your empathetic self.
Dear Vaughn,
Thank you. I have also run out of patience for all of the hatred, meanness, anger, cruelty, lying, fear-mongering, misogyny … it’s ugly and it’s terrifying. It sickens me.
But I’ll just say this (and I have literally been trying to craft this little comment for 70+ minutes, trying to be myself but not get too political):
I grew up in San Francisco, went to college in Chicago, and have lived the rest of my life in Seattle. Three big blue bubbles. And when I feel that no one is listening to what I am feeling, saying, or needing, I get angry. If someone suggests I am deplorable, racist, or dumb, I get angry. If someone who knows nothing about me or my life, who lives a thousand miles from my life, tells me my attitudes and beliefs and perspectives are wrong and that preferred pronouns are as (or more) important than the cost of groceries, I get angry. And when I am angry, I become unfamliar to myself. I do things I wouldn’t do if I were feeling seen, heard, valued, and respected.
Then, if somone happens to come along at the moment my helplessness and anger are boiling over, and this guy promises that he’ll have my back, that he’ll listen, that he’ll take me seriously, that he’ll respect me, I might just be angry enough to choose to believe him. After all, I’ve been feeling anger for decades, even generations. This guy, with his promises? He might be a big orange liar, but at least he’s not telling me that I’m deplorable. At least, not to my face. And in spite of everything, I might just vote for the guy.
I hate to say that, but it’s possible.
Of course, our country has people who support racism, misogyny, hate and other ugliness. But I refuse to believe they make up 50% of our country.
We need to figure out how we got here, what caused this in the first place, rather than trying to stomp out what already IS here. We keep trying that, and it’s clearly not working.
Thank goodness for you, Vaughn. You have a PhD in Human Nature … you just forgot it in this week of frustration, fear, and sadness. xoxo!
(Excuse typos; have to go teach.)
What Vaughn said.
And PS — I did the calls too. I also conquered anxiety to do so. I also found them uplifting. I also traveled five hours to knock on doors in Pennsylvania. Now I will write feverishly to finish my YA novel about young climate activists. And I have a new, better conclusion. We must not give up.
Yes, Lisa! That’s amazing … your calling and traveling and knocking. And now your writing? And the not giving up. Let’s keep going no matter what!
What Vaughn said, too.
Thank you!! I loved your story and the way you didn’t point at anyone or reveal which side of the aisle you’re on. We’re all flawed and human (including the candidates).
You’re making me look hard at a couple of my characters that hopefully aren’t flat.
Hi Dawn,
Thanks so much for the note! Each of these blog posts are reminders to myself … I feel I have no great wisdom to share, but I need plenty of reminders. My brain is a rusty sieve.
xo!
Sarah
Sarah, brava!!! I never in a million years pick up the phone voluntarily…but it’s heartening to know that if you called me, we’d have a lovely chat. What I see here is a genuine desire to connect. Even though I’m an introvert, I enjoy talking to strangers, whether on the bus, or in the grocery aisle, esp. if it goes beyond small talk. I’ve made some good friends through these random encounters. My husband says I attract people who have burdens and stories they want to share and I am glad for it.
I agree with you about not letting our characters be caricatures, but fully human in all their complexity and contradictions. I’m happy to say that my story people have taken up residence in other people’s heads :) One of my critique partners is always chiding me for being distracted with shiny new ideas instead of focusing on my historical. But I am struggling with exactly what you are talking about here–a couple of flat secondary characters. They aren’t fully developed. Thanks Sarah, for showing me that I need to let my MC see them in other situations.
Just another reason I adore you, Vijaya … you and I attract those who are looking for a willing audience. My husband laughs each time I return home with a stranger’s story. I, too, am an introvert, but it’s really an honor to receive the impromptu stories of others. Have fun inflating those secondary characters. They will be lovely!
I’m tempted to say me three. Part of me says it. Another part of me retains this stubborn belief that people are intrinsically good (that belief has been shaken but not entirely stirred…yet). But I have a big problem with willful ignorance. And I’m realizing that America showed its true face in recent days because it has been given permission to do so. Therefore, I’m going back to work today to challenge that permission and spend time unraveling the complexities of being human. That should keep me busy. Thank you, Sarah, for phone-banking, for listening, for engaging. It’s important and I love you for it. And thank you for calling out your colleague. My characters spend a lot of time doing the right thing for the wrong reason when they aren’t doing the opposite. They argue, break up, make up, isolate, and play with fire (read; dragons). Sending you a giant hug.
I love this, Susan, and I’m sending love right back. I love this so much: “My characters spend a lot of time doing the right thing for the wrong reason when they aren’t doing the opposite.”
Thanks for taking the time to write AND for just being such a lovely, big-hearted part of WU.
Thank you for this, Sarah. It’s just what I needed to hear this morning as I sit at my writing desk searching for a way forward. It is tempting to sink into resentment, bitterness, hatred. Even resistance. But how does that saying go? What you resist persists. And this dynamic has.
I am not going to stand by and watch the slow roll into authoritarianism. But I do believe that love, compassion, forgiveness (and no, forgiveness does not mean giving people a pass for their wrongs despite what many people think), empathy, and kindness are the only way to overcome division without descending (or escalating) into violence. Yes, it is hard to find those virtues when we are in a place of hurt and anger. Or when we are grieving what we feel we have lost (freedoms, safety, hope, power, our voices, and on and on). But making the others the butt of our jokes, our scorn, our derision has only gotten us deeper into a hole.
Perhaps I was primed for your message having just finished reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead, which exemplifies what you wrote here: “…novels are the weight room of my emotional gym, the best place to strengthen my empathy muscles. When I read stories about characters living lives different from my own, but struggling in the same ways I struggle, I remember we’re not as different as we appear on paper. That Undecided go-to-hell guy? He has dreams, worries, fears, and moments of joy just like I do.”
I had to start the book 3 times to find a way into the main character’s unfamiliar world, but once I did, I could not put it down. And now, I cannot unsee what I read — how she made me feel and the empathy I came away with for people who live in very different circumstances from me.
So yes, I can — and will — start by creating characters who mirror the flawed, broken humans we are. Shine a light not on what divides us but on our shared humanity. Thank you again for this reminder.
Valerie, yes! Demon Copperhead changed my heart in all the right ways. Was he not the most brilliant, heartbreaking, human character?!? There were so many times during that story where I didn’t think I could handle any more of Demon’s pain, but the payoff was invaluable (both the conclusion of the story AND the impact it has had on me).
After that one, I read Leonard and Hungry Paul by Ronan Hession. I loved it. It was the perfect chaser. https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/mar/29/leonard-and-hungry-paul-ronan-hession-review
Thank you for your beautiful words here. The empathy you share in your comment is a soul-balm. Let’s keep going!
Thank you for all of your lovely comments; I will respond when I have a break in between classes, but for now, I want to say that when I wrote this post, I assumed we’d still be awaiting the election results. Obviously I assumed wrongly, and I apologize if my message feels flippant or callous. I know this is a hard, hard week for many of us!
More ASAP. xoxo!
This is so lovely and timely and wise, Sarah. I tried phone banking too, but didn’t get to the wonderfully human approach you took.
I’m also reminding myself that most people are decent–and we’re all flawed and dealing with our own issues that may push us away from our better angels. For starters, I don’t want to live in the kind of world where I don’t feel that way, or let myself become consumed with hatred or fear or resentment.
But I also genuinely believe that if we want to heal everything that’s wrong in the world, the only way to do it is through empathy and connection. I’m not quite at empathy 100% of the time, but I do try to remember everyone’s common humanity. And that no one was ever hated or shamed or pushed into changing their mindset. The only way to do that is by trying to connect.
If we say we believe in acceptance and equality and tolerance, then how can we not embody those values? If we are swayed into abandoning them, then those dark influences really win. I’m not going to give them the power of deciding who I am and the kind of world I will live in.
I wrote about this today in my blog as well. I’ll be sharing yours. When our worldview is tested and challenged and threatened is when it’s most important to hold on to it and champion it, both for ourselves and for others who are going to need our help. Thanks for this glimmer of light.
Tiffany, I really appreciate your rational and uplifting response when so many are freaking out. I could be wrong, but I don’t think we’re immediately devolving into the Dark Ages, part II. Life is always change, and the pendulum always swings.
Yes! I have a relative who is always saying that things have never been this bad. I don’t believe that. Or at least, I don’t want to accept that. Thank you for your words here!
If you haven’t read Brad Stulberg’s Master of Change, I recommend it. It’s oriented around this very idea you mention–change is normal. We may not always like it, but it helps me to remember that even events like this aren’t anomalies in the world, and people have lived through worse.
Community helps. Thanks for the kind comment, and hang in there.
Thanks for the rec! Will check it out.
Tiffany. Thank you. Will you post the link to your blog, please? Pleeeease? I love what you share here, and I’d like more, please. xoxo!
Thanks, Sarah–the feeling is mutual.
The post is here: https://foxprinteditorial.com/2024/11/07/world-building-for-yourself-and-your-characters-or-the-reality-you-can-choose-to-create/
This is a hard hard week, Sarah, but I always enjoy seeing your lovely face and reading your words that are often coated with joy and eagerness to look at the sun as it rises. I am down today, but I will continue to believe in the good things we have in our country, and will extend love to those I meet. My husband ALWAYS says, “Everyone has their story.” Yes, he is right. I just wish their story might align more with the needs of everyone. Big hug, Beth
Yes, Beth. It is a hard and heavy week. Here’s a big hug!
Thank you Sarah, for your gifts of empathy and humor, reminding us to take a breath! :-) We can’t keep going–or writing–if we can’t keep breathing, and connecting with others. Even when it’s hard.
As it happens, I just spent a few moments this morning thinking about my antagonists. I’ve grown quite fond of one; another is still fairly two-dimensional, although I wasn’t trying to change that today. I think eventually I will flesh him out more, but what strikes me this week is that the story itself is even more timely than I thought now. And I’m not glad for that, exactly, but I’m going to run with that spark of inspiration and energy anyway. Really, it’s the messiness of this little college town (my setting) and its many personalities, that keeps me invested in it.
Yes! Run with it, dear Alisha! And if it’s interesting to you, then it’s going to be interesting to other readers. And what fun to realize just how timely our WIPs can be. You’re clearly onto something wonderful!
Sarah, I was just reading the meditation teacher Tara Brach’s thoughts on the Thich Nhat Hanh quote of “no mud, no lotus.” How might anger, hatred and delusion—the mud of these times—give rise to a growing compassion and wisdom in our world?
We are messy with mud, but can we make pies? We do need to understand why more than half the country voted for a toxic egotist rapist, we really do. But there I am, name-calling again. Name-calling from one side (no matter how much it feels justifiable) hasn’t worked. It isn’t smart to write anyone off—but I’m writing Elon and R.F.K. jr. off fully. But the whole “sides” thing doesn’t quite carry the day either.
Messy, messy. Loved your phone bank work—you made the right kind of deposits. Made me think of that story from The Moth about an addicted woman who’d been given the number of a church-group counselor long back and she desperately called him in the middle of the night, and he talked with her for 2 hours and gave her hope. And then it turned out he was just some sleeping guy who answered her wrong dial, and out of kindness, he helped. That turned her life around.
Kindness, it’s a sweet cookie. But sometimes you need those bitter veggies too.
Should have noted: the “How might anger …” is Brach’s question. My mud oozes in the paragraph below.
Oh, Tom. I love the mud and the lotus imagery. Mud pies for all! And just so we’re clear, I have said some pretty unkind things about Elon and others of his ilk. They are in a special category for me.
Most of all, I loved your retelling of the Moth story. I’m going to go look for that so I can listen. It’ll be my bedtime story.
I hope you are well!
Thank you for reminding me. I have a narcissist-bad guy in my MS who is not quite flat, but should at least save the cat before I call this submittable. Thank you also for ‘lazy’, ’cause that’s how I let him get that way. Maybe I don’t have to make him a better person, just provide something that could generate a little sympathy for him. Great reminder, thanks.
Thanks also for your political commitment.
Yes, Bob! Because a bad-guy narcissist with a minute, momentary glimmer of fear, compassion, or selflessness? Ah, that’s the kind of surprise that sends the reader into a delicious tizzy.
Thanks, Bob, for being here!
I’ve had a people comment that they especially like my villain.
So do I!
She’s as much a part of me as the others – a place where I poured some very specific frustration. She just can’t be allowed the final win – because it affects too many other people, some of them innocent.
I’m not as sanguine as you are. I have heard real hate, and however much empathy I have for the hater, that stuff can’t be allowed to become ‘normal.’
Alicia, you are absolutely right. We can never normalize hate. Never. I am with you there, absolutely.
On a happier note I cannot WAIT to hear more about your villain. She sounds like such fun!
xox!
P.S Sarah, you went to school in Chicago! Born and raised there, living there now and most of my life, except for years in Des Moines, Iowa and California…would love to know where you went to school in Chicago. Take care, Always, Beth
Hi Beth, I was at Northwestern from ’90-94, then lived and taught in Skokie at Niles North before moving to Seattle in ’98. I miss that city like crazy. I went back in June 2023 for a teacher conference, and I was so happy that I spent four days practically racing around, imitating MTM in the last scene of her show’s intro: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNKOt2k7Pm4
xo!
Sarah, I appreciate your ability to be wise and kind in times of crisis. Although I very much feel like Vaughn at the moment, it is so nice to have your positive energy. There is more I’d like to say right now, but little of it is wise or kind or uplifting, so I will just close with a heart-felt thank you.
Liz, thank you. And I want to be clear, the feelings I have for the leadership are really quite ugly. Trust me. The things that have come out of my mouth about the liars, assaulters, racists, and hate-spewers at the top? I have NO tolerance or empathy for them. About them, I feel nothing but ugly, angry, outraged feelings. Sigh.
xoxo!
A wonderful piece, Sarah.