The Stories That Shape Us

In a perfect world…

I write stories based in worlds that spring forth from the depths of my imagination, fraught with high-stakes (often life-threatening) adventures, and embedded with characters that inspire, enliven, and infuriate me all at once.

I’m very ashamed to admit that throughout my late teens and early twenties, I was an avid self-help junkie. In retrospect, this cloying, self-absorbed desperation to “fix myself” could probably have been remedied by simply sitting down and reading Harry Potter (for the fifteenth time, I’m proud to admit).

I realize, the more that I write fictional stories woven with characters that embody that which I most admire, and that which I most despise, that better than any lecture, any debate, any rah-rah reminiscent text insisting that your decision to purchase their book has somehow instilled you with the self-discipline to suddenly lose the extra thirty pounds you’ve been carrying around for six years, is this: our authentic connection to characters, their feelings, beliefs, strengths and weaknesses, and our ability to see ourselves in them, in their successes, and, perhaps more importantly, in their failures.

When the main character of the story fails, generally speaking, it is not at the end of the novel. Quite often, their failure is presented as a climax, or sometimes, even more satisfyingly, as a repeated theme.

What can this teach us about ourselves? Many things, but most especially that it is not only the fully-perfected, self-actualized, enlightened being that gets the privilege of being the main character in their story. It’s also the bespectacled shrimpy kid that’s got a bad habit of self-deprecation, or the angry, jaded chick whose great with a bow, but severely lacking in social skills.

I write characters that are deeply flawed, not because I’m a pessimist that thinks human beings, in general, suck, but because I relate to those characters the most, and I get the sense that a lot of other people will, too.

These characters also challenge us. If we can see the humanity in an anti-hero who has made some truly heinous choices throughout their lifetime—who is also deeply pained from a childhood of trauma and abuse—perhaps we can teach ourselves compassion for the people in our lives that challenge us most forcefully.

Even in a perfect world, though...I could not simply spend every day weaving tale after tale of daring damsels, nor could I wallow away hours at a time slurping down Period Pieces like ramen noodles. The most remarkable thing about these stories, when we absorb them the way they were meant to be absorbed, is that they inspire us to go out and live our lives. Hermione Granger helped me to embrace and find comfort in being a “nerd”, and Tris Prior showed me that a person can be strong and vulnerable, and more often than not, must be both.

I create characters that challenge the low-bar that we’ve learned to set for ourselves, that challenge our idea of what actually constitutes a “limit”. I create characters that are confident, and insecure, unhesitatingly courageous, and debilitatingly afraid. I explore the duality that defines the human experience. We need these stories. They show us the commonality in our existence, and the truth in the old adage, that we really are more alike than we are different.

In a perfect world, I pen the story—of fear, of love, hope, danger, and sacrifice. The story tells itself—when we’re absorbed in these tales of good and evil, and the grey that exists between them, our values, beliefs and dreams become more clear to us. And then, when the story concludes, I put down the pen, walk out the door, and pursue the adventure of life which I have poured out on paper.

With the hopes that I’ve inspired someone else, somewhere, to do the same.