Break Your Own Heart

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Today’s Topic: Break Your Own Heart

There’s a genre trope that I often think about whenever I face a dilemma. It’s the idea of the sacrifice. In so many science fiction and fantasy stories, the hero or heroine can’t move forward until someone, possibly the heroine herself gives up something they really—and I mean really—care about.

Today’s post is about all the parts of ourselves that are too tender to touch, our arrogance, fear of change, and the anxiety-producing potential for shame, all of which is poisonous to the writerly spirit, if not fatal. Today’s post is also about the spirit of faithful risk-taking that leads to our best work. Stick with me here. I’m going somewhere. I promise.

I’ll give you a few examples of stories most of us know. There will be spoilers, so bail now if you’re worried about major plot points from before the internet age.

Of course, we have Obi-Wan, the venerable Jedi Knight from the original Star Wars trilogy who has one job: find the next Jedi kid who will help defeat the Empire and hopefully restore balance to the galaxy. At the end of Obi-Wan’s story, he’s faced with a choice: run with his loved ones (including Luke Skywalker, the young Jedi he located), which may get them all caught, or buy time for them to escape by standing and fighting a battle against Darth Vader, a fight Obi-Wan knows he can’t win. Obi-Wan is swiftly killed, but his sacrifice is what allows Luke Skywalker and the rest to regroup and ultimately defeat Vader and the others.

Moving closer to the present…I’ll just list some of the many movies where the main character must sacrifice his life in a way that recalls the Bible: Iron Man in The Avengers (2012), Theo in Children of Men (2006), Spock in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), T-800 in Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), Jack(!) in Titanic (1999), Bing Bong! in Inside Out (2015). Actually, there are some big sacrifices by women like Annie in both versions of Imitation of Life, Angela Bassett’s character in Strange Days, Ridley in every Alien franchise film. I could go on, but you get the drift.

Sacrifice is at the core of most things worth having, including the stories and memoirs you write. Heartbreak is that which makes the reader sit up and read into the night because everyone knows heartbreak. We read about heartbreak because we want to know that we’re not alone. And we want to know how our fellow humans deal (or not deal) with it.

One of the problems I faced early on was not wanting to write scenes where anyone did anything to hurt anyone. I didn’t want anyone to fight, physically or mentally. I remember my MFA professor Barb Johnson asking why I didn’t let my characters argue in a scene when it was clear they were both frustrated and had plenty to get off their chest.

I didn’t really have any answer. Now, with the clarity of a decade of calendar days behind me, I know it’s because I think I’m a good, nice, person who doesn't want to be mean even on the page.

Dear Reader, that makes for an awfully boring writer. Of course, those early stories didn’t get published because my characters were too busy being inwardly philosophical and staring at their own shoes.

It took me a long time to understand you must sometime let characters go at each other, claws out, spittle flying.

I remember the thrill of when I finally allowed this to happen:

It was in a scene I was writing for my first novel, We Cast a Shadow. No spoilers for the uninitiated, but those who have read will recall a scene between the Narrator and his wife, Penny. The scene takes place at the precise midpoint of the book. In earlier drafts, they had a pretty chill and reasonable discussion. I wrote the whole second half after the book after that. And let me tell you that version of the book sucked. It was flat, awkward, ugly, boring. I’m looking at a thesaurus for more insulting words to use here. Never mind, I’ll move on.

The book wasn’t working. Several friends read that draft. I sought counsel from mentors. I prayed. I wracked my brain. It wasn’t until one friend basically suggested that I let them be bad that everything changed.

I went home, drew a pentagram on the floor, lit some black candles…I’m kidding and being dramatic here for effect. Still, I knew that I was about to say goodbye to the nice, safe version of those characters.

I re-entered the draft and mentally turned safety mode [on/off]. This was no longer a drill. Everything that was bothering this married couple was now up for grabs. Live rounds were being fired.

Let me tell you, they let each other have it. The accusations and low blows flowed like brown liquor at a distiller’s convention. It was delicious.

I would have felt bad for my characters if I wasn’t so busy eating popcorn and enjoying the reality TV-ness of it all. I kept wondering where all these stingers came from, but it was obvious: the harsh words came from the people I had created. By suppressing their worst words, I had done them a disservice. Like all living things, they desired freedom and when I granted freedom, they sang better than I ever imagined. The flourished when I let them break their own hearts.

That one argument scene changed the nature of the entire novel and had ramifications for every major character in the book. Indeed, it changed my life because it became one of the things readers appreciated most about it. The success of that book changed my life in innumerable ways.

I’m still a good, nice person who doesn't want to be mean even on the page (I guess). But I’m a much better writer once I stopped treating all my characters like saints and allowed them to be sinners, when warranted. There’s something cathartic about hearing someone say what they really believe. It’s one of the reasons we read, and one of the reasons we can’t be afraid to break our own hearts.