Now that the summer hiatus is over, it is time to get a head start on winter's melancholy with a discussion of how tragedy dictates the life of a writer.
Before we begin today's discourse, let me begin by thanking readers for helping this blog hit a thousand visits. What might be an insignificant figure to some blogs is pretty significant to me: allow me to express my gratitude by announcing that the summer hiatus is over and weekly posts will be returning. Not every post will be a discussion or seminar (I have a few books that are in dire need of reviewing), but there will be new content every single week. And now, if you'll afford me the opportunity to brag, I am happy to announce that I was named the third best writer in South Carolina by the University of South Carolina Honors College. This success has renewed my efforts to share my passion with the world, so let's get started!
Bad things happen to everyone. They really do. Though the definition of "bad" varies drastically from individual to individual and some people are less affected by tragedy than others, nobody is exempt from the universal scourges of misfortune and despair. No amount of resources or wealth can prevent a car from pin-wheeling off an icy road or a blood clot from finding purchase in the folds of the brain. "Bad" things truly can occur anywhere at anytime and it is up to the victims to find some means of coping that might turn the negative into a positive. And for some, that means seeking a creative outlet.
It is no secret that there is an odd correlation between tragedy and future creative success. To get a better understanding of how this connection works, I'd suggest reading the aforementioned passage out of Malcolm Gladwell's remarkably overrated David and Goliath. In laymen's terms, suffering a major loss as a child often facilitates creative or intellectual brilliance in a person, especially if the child loses a parent. This phenomenon has been attributed to the principle of the fear of fear: these children had the worst possible thing happen to them, which liberated them from the prison of fear and placed them in a position where they were willing to try anything. The worst was over for them. They had nothing else to lose.
While this exact scenario isn't inherently associated with writing, there is some correlation--however murky and poorly documented--between hardship and literary talent. Stephen King's father walked out on him while he was still very young, leaving his mother to raise him and his brother in abject poverty. Sylvia Plath struggled mightily with mental illnesses that were dismissed and ridiculed; she even had to undergo electric shock therapy. Emily Bronte lost her mother when Emily was three, attended an abusive school in her youth, and was one of the few children in the family who survived into adulthood. It appears that facing some sort of difficulty in one's early life can lead to an affinity for the written word and foster a great desire to prove oneself through writing.
But why exactly is this? Well, let's look at a more personal example. When I was in grammar school, I wasn't particularly adroit when it came to socializing. I had odd interests and would have rather been reading than playing with other children--a nerd, some might say. I found comfort in writing, in creating entire worlds that could be shaped to my likeness and developing characters who could be imbued with characteristics I found desirable. I'm not trying to say that being bullied as a kid is anywhere close to the agony of losing a parent, but it is surprisingly easy to immerse oneself in a craft like writing when it seems like the real world is always going to be against you.
Another question that can be paired with this discussion is the notion of happy endings. And happy people. No, not the shiny happy people, but the people whose concept of "bad things" often amount to minor inconveniences, especially in the eyes of those who have suffered tremendously in comparison. Should we discount these experiences? After all, if someone is hurt or otherwise negatively impacted by an event, isn't is a "bad thing"? And do these people have the same licenses to turn their experiences into inspiration for writing?
Well, yes and no. Everybody has a story to tell, regardless of their past, present, or future. The person who lost their home to a fire or their parent to cancer may not want to tell that story: some pain is too devastating to be revisited on such a frequent, intimate basis. But the person who had to put their dog down or had an unpleasant relationship may feel the urge to share their tale--and that's perfectly fine. The degree of sadness associated with an incident does not dictate how well it will translate into writing. Happy people do have stories to tell: they're just different than those told by "sad" people. And, honestly, do we want to be constantly burdened by tales of death and destruction? These stories might have more narrative and emotional depth, but there comes a time where a reader just wants a break from angst and despair. Bad things happen to everyone. Not a lot of people want to be reminded of that with every book they read.
There is nothing wrong with a happy ending. The condescending film critic or snobby English major might roll his eyes at this statement, but what they fail to understand is that, for most people, books and other creative works are an escape. The public is already excruciatingly aware of the lack of justice in the real world, of the trials and hardships that people face daily, and while these topics need to be addressed through accessible media, everyone knows that "dark" endings are the norm. They know that the downer finale is "realistic", that people die, that couples split up, that things change. So when people seek respite in their favorite shows and novels, they're not always looking for the most pessimistic ending. Sometimes, people want things to go right. The child lives. The couple reconciles. Happy endings remind us that there is some good in this world, that not every situation has a grim conclusion, that security and some degree of joy is possible.
The writers who have lost everything only to gain something back through their craft may not want to end every story with "happily ever after", because they know that life is uneven. There is no single point in one's life where everything suddenly becomes candy-colored and blissful: happiness and sadness oscillate. Experiences, both good and bad, can translate into powerful writing and engaging stories, especially if the writer has confronted the experience and is willing to brave criticism for chronicling their feelings. Not everyone will appreciate how difficult it was to write about your personal tragedy, but you will reap the benefits whether they like it or not. Because you have shared your story. And writing down your story is the first step towards fully realizing what happened to you and accepting that it cannot be changed. Happy people don't have stories, you say? Impossible. Everybody has a story. And everyone has the capacity to share it.
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