Holier-than-Thou: Waxing Philosophical
I like to write about hubris a lot- often times I inject some of it into my characters and take what the people around me are saying with a grain of salt because of it. When we think about what’s wrong with life at our darkest times, we always swallow the little lumps of truth that don’t provide us with any consolation that the human character is infallible, incapable of failure. And I think that’s where hubris lives; impossibly crucial to the human character and an extreme in life that we seem to accept no matter what. Often times, I forget what it means; then, of course, I pick up the latest bestseller at Barnes and Noble and I’m reminded quite clearly. What’s fascinating about the idea of being a writer is that most of us, save the real greats, assume this holier-than-thou hubris with our words and stories. Because making writing a full-time job somehow makes us the gatekeepers of the English language.
A good story is a start, but that’s all it is; consider, for a second, the billions of stories that exist in the mind of each individual on the planet. All different, all valid in their own ways, and any could be the story of the century; but what really determines any story is, as always, the writing. And any way we want to put it, the truth is glaringly clear- your writing is definitive of you, making your story essentially you. On a platter.
So if you’re going to tell us about your observations on life, and who you are, through your knowledge and mastery of nonverbal communication, it’s certainly right and proper to put us in a good state of mind in reading your own thoughts. Here’s why we distinguish between fiction and non-fiction, emphasize the made-up-ness of our fantasies and revel in the undeniable support we get from the facts. But in an effort to preach some message about saving the world, or solving everyone’s problems or recycling more often, we as authors make the biggest mistakes when we don’t see in ourselves and in everyone else the marvelous and unmitigated capacity to be 100% incorrect and driven by our own ignorance. And anyone with an opinion may agree- it’s hard to ever open ourselves up to those other views, the idea that our readers may be better versed, more correct than we are at expressing the same view and quick and correct to judge our seemingly infallible and immortal characters. And when I say they’re correct, I mean that they can see quite easily our own need as writers for our characters to reflect what we enjoy about life, the goodness in mankind and the reality of kindness; not to say that we’re wrong in imagining such characters. The idea behind writing with a purpose is that we want our characters to be as flawed as we are; the goal should be to create kindness out of the most ugly and evil blueprints, to prove the goodness in the bad character and not the other way around. One way affects our characters alone, the other affects us as the authors. The balance, and the beauty, is in realizing that we are so flawed, and then in exploiting that embroidered fallacy of the mindset in our own writing.
For those of you who think writing is hard, I don’t disagree and recommend you go on thinking that. It is mind-bendingly hard to successfully write with a developed tone- it’s almost impossible, really, and most of the time it’s forgivable to the general public who just wants a good read. If you seek to become a great writer, however- as we wish to from the moment we start crossing our t’s- it’s a matter of understanding yourself, and your audience, on equal terms. Without acknowledging that we are overly arrogant and self-righteous, we are exactly that; 100% hubris, just like our characters should be- who are only a bit more lovable in the midst of all their faults.
