Radical power
Stories change the world. So get writing.
THE INSPIRATION: What Stories Do
“I would argue that if great books have an agenda, it is not a liberal agenda or a gay agenda or a Christian agenda, it is a humanizing agenda, a mission to recognize and acknowledge human value within ourselves and others… I think efforts to restrict stories often are efforts to restrict empathy.”
—John Green
I’ve been engaging with the work of both John and Hank Green for years, and I like them both quite a bit. But when I saw this video by John, I decided it was time to read one of his books, Turtles All The Way Down (as it wasn’t chosen by the book group, you’ll see some of my thoughts about it in today’s The Practical.)
Stories are incredibly powerful. If they weren’t, people interested in maintaining current power structures wouldn’t be banning them all the time. So when you write, remember that you are engaging in an act of radical empathy, and you wield a power so great that the most powerful people in the world are now afraid of you, afraid that you might humanize the people they want you to see as less than human.
So keep writing.
THE FAT ORANGE CAT: Fire
Set something on fire in your text.
It could be small fire, something a child is doing to see how far they can push it before it gets out of control. It could be a burned dinner that sets off a fire alarm and empties out an apartment building, a twist of fate that allows your story’s love interests to meet. It could be a pile of books, but one person saves one book from the conflagration and reads it, and that opens up a whole world of adventure.
Light it up, writer.
THE TROPE: The dark side of empathy
We usually see empathy as a good thing and don’t get me wrong; it is. But like most virtues taken to excess, too much empathy, to the point where someone feels the pain of others so much that they cannot exist in the world, is a trope for a reason.
From the Buffy episode “Earshot” to the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Tin Man” to Mantis from Guardians of the Galaxy, we see empaths everywhere, and often it isn’t long until we start examining the dark side of feeling what others feel. It makes for an interesting philosophical question; at what point do we become too empathetic, and lose our ability to be helpful to anyone?
Therapists have been dealing with empathy fatigue forever, but it’s been a bigger problem for the general populace during the pandemic, when so many people are suffering and grieving and dying. What have we learned in the last few years that could make this trope useful in a story? How might you subvert the “we must cure empathy or run away from society” part of this trope?
If you were writing an empathy story, what would you do?
THE QUESTION: Are we there yet?
“how do you know when you're done with a story? sometimes it's so easy to just edit, and edit, and edit... and edit... and edit... and edit... how can I draw a line under a story and know that it's done?”
—the crone
Dear TC,
Wow, this is a really great question. It would be awesome if there was something like a meat thermometer for stories, that you can just know when they’re done and move on. Sadly, there is not. For those writers who have publishers and deadlines, the answer is, “When it’s published.” That helps in those circumstances, but for a lot of us, we don’t have anything that concrete to force our hand.
So here is my answer: When you find yourself making truly small changes—a word here, a word there, take one sentence out, then put it back—you’re probably done. If you don’t feel the need to revamp something major, you’re probably done.
But if you’re still not sure, here’s my advice; put it away. Write something else. Come back to this and read it again after you’ve been away from it for a while. If it holds together well enough, then it’s probably done enough. The fact is that we’d all keep endlessly writing and editing if we could, but even if the book doesn’t end up published, you’ve probably learned what you needed to learn from that book, and it’s time to move on to the next thing.
Hope that helps!
THE PRACTICAL: Turtles All The Way Down
As I mentioned earlier in this week’s letter, I’m reading John Green’s Turtles All The Way Down and finding so many interesting things about it. Some minor spoilers to follow.
Before I start, I will tell you… I’m almost done with the book, but I haven’t finished yet, so these are not fully cooked opinions, but rather just some thoughts I’m having as I read.
Overall, I’m really enjoying the book. I find Green’s prose engaging, thoughtful and warm. I feel invited in by the text, which is a feeling I quite like. The story is about Aza Holmes, a young girl with mental illness presenting in intense anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and some self-harm. While that can be challenging subject matter, it’s wrapped up in a story that is so deeply empathetic, so eternally humanizing, that it didn’t throw me at all. Aza struggles, and (so far, at least) she hasn’t experienced a miracle cure and held up as inspiration porn. Instead, we start to accept and understand what it is to live with a chronic condition, and how it does not compromise Ava’s humanity.
I kinda love that.
But another thing I found really interesting, which I immediately brought to my therapist because I think my response is more about me than the book, is that there is a scene in which Aza shares her very personal experience with a guy she knew as a kid, but hasn’t seen for years.
A guy she has a crush on.
She shares the details of her mental illness with a guy she likes who she hasn’t spoken to in years, without moderating her language or questioning her own right to share these thoughts or worrying about all the ways that he might user her vulnerability to hurt her. She just… talks about it. As though that’s a thing you do. It was no big deal. She just told him.
I brought it to my therapist and said, “I don’t know if this is because I have lived as a woman in a world that hates women for so long, or if it’s because I grew up in an abusive household where every vulnerability was used to hurt me, or if it’s some kind of combination of the two, but this is the only point during this story where I didn’t believe this kid as female.”
We talked about that a bit, and honestly… I’m still not sure where I land on this. Things are definitely different for a 16-year-old now than they were for me when I was 16. And honestly, I don’t know if it’s a man thing to just think it’s okay to share what you’re thinking like that… if it’s entitlement or a sense of innate safety, maybe? There are vulnerable territories where men fear to tread as well; I know that. But something felt so off to me, and I still can’t quite figure it out.
Overall, though, I think it’s a good book. Have you read it? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
I have a friend who works in in-patient mental health for juveniles, and part of the discharge process is giving the kids advice on how to talk about their stay with other people. He says that often these days, when he tells them, “You can just tell kids at school you were sick, you don’t have to share how,” they respond, “Wait, why can’t I just tell them the truth?” I think (hope) that things have changed a lot.
I love what you wrote in reaction to/conjunction with the quote from John Green. I hope you don't mind, but I plan to quote you (fully attributed, of course!)
Regarding the oversharing--I haven't read Turtles All the Way Down yet, but while reading your description of the scene, it was making me a bit uncomfortable too--I was expecting a negative outcome and thinking she should wait until she knows this guy better first. So I don't think you are alone in your response, even if you have past experiences that might heighten your reaction.