The Great Power—and Responsibility—of Fiction Writers

“Every time readers see a glimpse of themselves in a character on the page, they are receiving a message: You belong. You matter. Your story matters. ”

Not long ago, I showed up for my weekly Taekwondo lesson and was able to watch the last few minutes of the class ahead of mine. Most of the students were seated in a circle, watching a couple of others perform a movement pattern in the center. The room was silent as everyone focused on the deft movements of those in the middle. A friend of mine was standing next to me, and I mentioned to her how intimidating I found this exercise to be—performing your pattern in front of everyone else, literally the center of attention as you work through your movements. I wondered aloud why we care so much what others think. Why should it matter if we mess up a pattern in front of our classmates?

She replied almost instantly: “We want to belong.”

Her insight rocked me. It was true. My fear of performing a pattern in front of my classmates went deeper than worrying that I would mess up and look foolish. It was the fear of feeling like I didn’t fit with those in the circle, that I didn’t really belong there.

I think everyone is looking for belonging, on some level, pretty much all the time.

When we go to work, we are attempting to contribute to the world around us in a way that makes sense to us.

When we listen to music, we are looking for the right chords and lyrics that will allow us to better understand our own experiences.

When we read books or watch television, we are scanning—whether we realize it or not—for characters who are similar to us, even in little ways. When we find these characters, we follow them with interest. We root for them. We empathize. Deep down, we think: Hey, their story matters! Maybe mine does too.

I love the giddy rush that comes from feeling like I “fit” with the world around me. Just the other day, I was on a run in my community and passed a construction site. As I jogged along, I looked over at a giant digger in a big patch of dirt. To my utter delight, the worker inside the vehicle lifted the claw into the air and flapped it up and down in a robotic wave. It was a small gesture on his part, but I felt like bursting out: “HELLO, FELLOW HUMAN! I SEE YOU! YOU SEE ME! IT’S A MIRACLE, ISN’T IT?”

Fiction writers have the immense privilege of telling people that they are seen. Every time readers see a glimpse of themselves in a character on the page, they are receiving a message: You belong. You matter. Your story matters.

There are many facets of characterization that will afford you an opportunity to connect with your readers. Here are a few that come to mind:

• Background/past

• Beliefs/values

• Dreams/aspirations

• Employment

• Environment

• Fears

• Habits

• Inner dialogue

• Interests

• Knee-jerk reactions

• Pet peeves

• Physicality

• Relationships

• Scenarios outside of our control

• Sense of humor

• Style/sense of self

• Words

Through the stories we tell, we have the opportunity to jump through space and time to touch people’s hearts, tell them they matter, ascribe them value. Thing is, this privilege also comes with an enormous responsibility.

Let’s say you’ve done the thing: you have written some characters that genuinely resonate with your readers. Now, you need to step back and honestly ask yourself what it is that you want readers to take away from the story you’re telling them. What are you going to do with that precious connection they have formed with your characters? What is the message you’re sending?

Recently, I found myself getting caught up in the nitty-gritty plot points of my latest WIP. I was so focused on making the story make sense that I was becoming dangerously close to losing the heart of why I chose to write the book in the first place. I had to remind myself of the message of hope that I so desperately wanted to share.  Perhaps you aren’t setting out to share a “message of hope.” That’s fine, but you still need to make a decision about what exactly your message is going to be.

Maybe now you’re thinking: Why does my book even need a message? Why can’t it just be a good story for the sake of a good story? I hear you, but here’s the thing: your readers are going to pull a message out of your work, whether you want them to or not. We humans are meaning-making machines. We might not consciously analyze every book or TV show we consume, but make no mistake: our brains are working things out in the background, deciding what to do with the information we’ve taken in.

Sometimes, our takeaway is simple: If you hear a strange sound in a dark alley at night, don’t go towards it unless you want to get eaten by zombies. Other times, our takeaways manifest as more of a feeling: a sense of courage, a renewed determination, a newfound acceptance of ourselves, that sort of thing. And still other times, our takeaway may be specific: I won’t give up. I will spend more time with loved ones. I will be kinder to people who are different from myself.

So, ask yourself: What do you want your readers to take away from the connection they have with these fictional people you’ve created? What do you want them to learn? What do you want them to be inspired to think or feel or do?

Your characters don’t need to be perfect. In fact, they really shouldn’t be. They don’t need to have all the answers. They don’t necessarily even need a happy ending.

What they need is meaning. And once you’ve given it to them, you can give it to others. I see you. You see me. It’s a miracle, isn’t it?