The world is not a safe place. Our leaders cannot protect us. Our society is not fair. The ones who are supposed to take care of us are slaves to profit, or drugged with power. Repression is the norm and corruption goes unpunished. We speak of injustice but are dismissed. We are keenly aware but nothing changes.
We know that feelings of futility already mean defeat, so we resolve to do our part. We listen. We march. We donate. We change what we can. We vote. Our voices are hoarse but still our eyes sting with images of tear gas. Leaders full of hate have locked in their power and keep their knees on the necks of our fellow citizens. Meanwhile, our untended planet withers. Our oceans choke on plastic. Pandemic scythes down the elderly and disadvantaged. Ever more guns are in the hands of those who would kill us. We no longer laugh at those who foretell our doom.
It doesn’t get better. Our efforts to help feel pathetically small. The echo chamber reaches only our own ears. Our “mindfulness” has no force, and we “woke” in ourselves only an empty righteousness that cancels us out. Our individual hearts may reach out in compassion, but how far does that go? What can we do to protect others? Put on masks? How ironic!
Has there ever been a time in which we felt more powerless? Has there ever been an era less kind? Wartime was better! Even the brainwashed masses living in dictatorships have leaders in whom to believe! The existential despair of the Atomic Era at least threw humans back on their own courage!
And now? We have freedom but no agency. We have megaphones that broadcast truth into an uncaring void. The police are not our friends, and our friends police us. Democracy isn’t dying, it’s worse than that. It’s been sold to the highest bidder. Our future is full of despair. Our anger has hardened into granite resentment. Our whole society is sick and stuck. Our courage has nowhere to go.
Or does it?
The Threat That We Need
In these times, many writers have found it hard to write. That’s understandable. The horrors in the news are worse than any horrors we can imagine. By comparison, our stories feel small and their effect smaller still. Writing seems self-indulgent, even trivial, no matter how much we tell ourselves that it is otherwise.
But think. The worst of times have produced the best of stories. You cannot top the news, but that’s not the point. The point of a story—one of the points anyway—is to invoke a feeling of threat beyond all bearing and then to bear down on a helpless and powerless individual, one isolated and incapable and utterly alone.
Why do stories do that? Because that is how we feel. If there is a challenge in horrific times, it is to capture in one’s stories the despair of characters living in their own horrific times. Powerlessness is our current condition. It’s also our story premise. And premise is only a beginning. It’s where we start. A story doesn’t stop there.
If you feel helpless in our troubled times, remember this: times change. Our world does not stay the same. It never does. If powerlessness is our premise, then change is our story’s promise. That is the message spoken by our voices. That is our strength. That is where our courage goes. It’s where our wisdom gains force and our despair transforms into action.
To not write stories in times like these is to wave a white flag. Are you ready to surrender? I’m not, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t either. The lethal weapon we have in our fight is despair itself. Portraying powerlessness is how we grip readers and get them on board for the journey of change. We first capture how we all feel and then, cleverly and convincingly, show readers what a lone individual is capable of doing.
The Power of Unsafe
Each of us make a difference. Maturity is not in avoiding horror but in how we deal with it. How will we know what kindness is without first knowing cruelty? How will we know how grace feels without first knowing torment? How will we find courage unless we squarely face death?
Terror is nourishing. Fear is story food. Helplessness is a banquet. Times like these are good for storytellers. They bring us back to the basis and challenge us to be brave. Here are a couple of challenges to help you, in your current story, rise to meet our times:
- What is the most personally threatening problem that your protagonist can face? What is not just a disaster in your protagonist’s circumstances, but a danger to his or her foundational sense of self? What would not only make your protagonist’s life and world worse, but make both unlivable? Escalate your plot problem to that level.
- What is the cruelest thing that can happen? Who is so callous as not to care? What makes your protagonist unable to stop the worst from happening? How does that send your protagonist backward into blame, retreat, numbness, meaninglessness? How is it not just a personal defeat but an existential absolute? How does it render your protagonist powerless, small and worthless? Kick your protagonist to the basement.
- With nothing left, not even a worthwhile self, what does your protagonist nevertheless still have? What is the green shoot in the gray wasteland? Who still cares? What still matters? Why get up and keep trying? What responsibility remains? What makes trying worthwhile even when defeat is certain? When the world can’t be saved, why nevertheless save oneself?
- What change can your hero’s adversaries not prevent? What change does time bring about that humans cannot? Who, like your protagonist, has not given up? How is defeat for the adversaries a product of their own weakness and hubris? What advantage does your protagonist have because he or she has been dismissed or disregarded? What good value cannot be extinguished? What false value proves to be worthless?
As humans, we want to be safe. As storytellers, we want to be unsafe. That is where power is. That is where story starts and hope begins. If we weren’t unsafe in the world right now, we would have little to write about. So, thank goodness for our horrible times. It’s okay. We know that things won’t stay the same.
Stories don’t stay the same, and what are our times if not a story that we are telling ourselves? So, go on. Write it.
How are you being unsafe in your WIP today?
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About Donald Maass
Donald Maass (he/him) is president of the Donald Maass Literary Agency. He has written several highly acclaimed craft books for novelists including The Breakout Novelist, The Fire in Fiction, Writing the Breakout Novel and The Career Novelist.
I don’t wish to wear out the patience of this fine community by mentioning (once again!) that my WIP is research-based nonfiction, but there it is. No escape from that. Reading this post, I see even more ways I can highlight my MC’s struggles without doing violence to events as they really happened–in a world that was unsafe on many levels. The responses to a good chunk of those questions are already waiting for me in the documents. If I relax my vigilance, I may miss a few, perhaps even some that are critical. I’ll keep looking for them. Thanks, Don.
You’re welcome!
We are unsafe. Yes, I agree. The fear and anxiety we feel can be a healthy dose of emotional “baggage” for any of our characters. Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Don. I’d not thought of it before.
Not only that, but the anxiety of powerlessness can make that old baggage feel insignificant. Devastating events have a way of doing that.
Don —
If I could give an award, this would be my pick for Best WU Column Ever.
You hooked me with the first line and I was particularly struck by “We have freedom, but no agency.” That is truth.
This lesson is well-timed as I’m revising the low points of my WIP (including an actual locked basement). Things are utterly terrible and about to get much worse for my protagonist.
With this column like the wind at my back, I feel more courage to write the darkness ahead and let it get even darker, internally and externally, for my protagonist.
I’ll be working with the exercises and sharing this column with my SUAW groups today.
With thanks,
Marcie
Thank you! That’s high praise, and thanks for sharing this.
Your article was pretty bleak until the “Or does it?” Yay for hope. Each of us holds power, and as authors, we have a voice that can carry beyond the megaphone.
I’ve been in revision mode but started two very different stories during the pandemic. One is near future and will take a bit of research. And the other? Inspired by a reread of your book, Writing the Breakout Novel. In light of MORE depressing news that swine flu may raise its ugly head, I chose a remote lake house for the setting to serve as a virtual vacation from Colorado. Writing is a great escape!
Thanks, Don for another insightful post. I’ll be sure to toss my protagonist into the musty basement.
Have you been escaping with creative writing?
Are we truly any safer in a remote lake house? Not from our inner enemies, never mind the outer ones.
As to my own escaping, am I creative writing? Yes.
Exactly! The more remote, the better. I keep getting flashes of The Secret Window with Johnny Depp.
Good luck with your project!
Powerful, Don. Reminds me of Boris Pasternak’s DOCTOR ZHIVAGO, written under Soviet suppression by a man who survived the Russian Revolution and WWII. Even within the book, Yuri writes his poetry no matter what hell is going on around him.
I am writing, reading, studying, and like Yuri have done most of my writing through poetry. The novel gets time as well, but the poetry goes deeper for me at the moment.
This also reminds me of your final talk in 2016. The only thing I’d argue is that we do have some agency – we can vote.
Thanks, and take care.
Thanks for the mention of DOCTOR ZHIVAGO. Time for a reread, I think.
Don, what moves me to the next level of appreciating you is beholding (‘seeing’ isn’t a dramatic enough word) your personal evolution over the years, as demonstrated in your posts.
They have always been related to story and conflict, encouraging the human spirit of our protagonists (not to mention us, the authors). It is the view you begin posts with nowadays that shows–sorry, there’s no other word for it–spiritual depth. And that may be what we reach for in our writing, what our protagonists long for by rising to the challenges they face, and what our readers seek by reading.
You are burnishing our understanding of story to what story-telling cultures designed stories for. After practical and ethical lessons… they reveal wisdom.
Hats off to you and thanks.
Zhivago is an all-time favorite, and thanks for remembering that workshop in November 2016.
I’ve been reading Joan Acocella’s Twenty Artists and Two Saints and am finding it both sobering and comforting. Primo Levi, Joseph Roth, Fitzgerald. There have, and always will be, dark times. But out of them, because of writers, artists, and visionaries, understanding evolves. What struck me most in your post today is the power of story to point us toward our own humanity. Thank you.
As I said in a different post recently, the greatest quest is the quest for oneself…and there is no better time than these for that.
Thank you for a column that captures the thoughts and emotions darting about inside my soul.
This is honestly the most touching and true thing I have read on writing, 2020 societal issues. or healing. I am sitting on my porch, watching my ex husband play with my daughter across the street, wiping my tears with my shirt sleeve. Blinking to see, I am adding this article to my bookmarks along with the many other Donald Maass ones.
Watching children is therapy, isn’t it?
Thank you for putting into words the emotions that dart about inside my soul. Your column is the one I didn’t know I was waiting for.
We’re all distressed and despairing these days, but it will change. It always does.
A big YES to what others have already said in their comments.
What I especially appreciate are those four actionable bullets at the end. I’ve copied, printed, and posted them above my laptop …
I need to go right there, just as you describe, in my current WIP.
Nothing less will do now.
Wonderful, Barbara, down to the basement we go!
Ah, Don, thanks for underlining the world that I rage against, but sometimes am afraid to share on these pages. Does everyone feel as I do? Will readers turn away from me because every day there is something else that strikes to my core, making me worry and long for other days? And of course, my feelings can go onto the pages I am writing. But will anyone ever read them? I have decided it is what I need to do–to say how I feel, to sometimes rant about our current situation. But it is best to sit here and write. Emotion can transfer and readers want emotion. And because it’s my world, I can find peace at the end, a peace of learning and decision. If only I could do that in the real world. Thanks for letting all of us here know that we CAN and SHOULD write from that place where we are. We will be better for it and so will our future readers. Beth
Oh, emotions definitely transfer from story to reader. We wouldn’t read otherwise.
Don, what moves me to the next level of appreciating you is beholding (‘seeing’ isn’t a dramatic enough word) your personal evolution over the years, as demonstrated in your posts.
They have always been related to story and conflict, encouraging the human spirit of our protagonists (not to mention us, the authors). It is the view you begin posts with nowadays that shows–sorry, there are no other words for it–a deepening of spiritual insight. And that may be what we reach for in our writing, what our protagonists long for when rising to the challenges they face, and what our readers seek by reading.
You are burnishing our understanding of story to what story-telling cultures designed stories for. After practical and ethical lessons… they reveal wisdom.
Hats off to you and thanks.
That means a lot to me, Tom, thank you.
I think this might be your finest post on WU, Don. Thank you for it.
My WIP is looking at the divide between two morality systems. The strict father model and the nurturant parent model. While the strict father model excludes other worldviews as immoral, the nurturant model includes them.
“Morality as empathy and nurturance requires that one empathize with and be nurturant toward people with different values than one’s own, including different moral values. This means that one cannot maintain a strict good-evil dichotomy. To be able to see the world through other people’s values and truly empathize with them means that you cannot see all people who have different moral values than yours as enemies to be demonized.” – George Lakoff
I see a shift in our popular culture away from the strict father model to the nurturant parent one, but the story question I’m looking at is if there is any common ground between these two worldviews. It’s an issue I see in long-standing franchises like Star Wars, Star Trek, and even James Bond. Can there be a place for the master Jedi, the starship Captain, or the invincible Spy? What would be the moral choice between changing the story, canceling the story, or accepting the story without change? In that sense, is inclusion impossible and demonizing inevitable?
In the greatest stories there’s a feeling both that things could have been different, and yet things could not possibly have been any other way, ask me.
Don,
Wow. You’re column has expressed every emotion, thought, fear, concern, and worry I have been crippled with since mid February. The sheer struggle is real. I wake every morning with hope, and my creativity overflowing with ideas, but as the day progresses, both die a slow, painful death. I try to remain positive. I search for silver linings everywhere, even when life throws a shitstorm in my direction. (Like: well my day went to crap, at least I have a hot shower and clean clothes. See how I did that? :-) ) This morning, I read your column over coffee, and it kicked me into high gear. As a writer, your message brings forth enlightenment, awareness, and hope. But as a human, it stirs a sense of dutiful motivation and tremendous courage. Thank you so much for this. It’s exactly what I needed to hear at this very moment. I am printing it out and framing it on my desk. May you and your own work soar during these troubled times.
Warm regards and much gratitude, Candi (aka Cat Clayton)
Candi, yeah, some days merely having a shower is a towering accomplishment. Been there. And it’s funny how those showers wash away more than just dirt on our skin.
Dear Mr. Maass,
Your articles often include these pesky questions which we are obliged to ask our protagonists–or to ask of our scenes. All have been cut & pasted into one of my Evernote pages entitled “Maass Appeal.” Immediately, I do think of the protagonist in my HF WIP (Ancient Rome), & it is admittedly uncomfortable, as the work involved to go through & supplicate her response to each & every query is formidable. Fortunately, this work is my play.
For the record, near & dear friends & family on both sides of the political spectrum echo your words, & the truth is there for us all if we are willing to examine beyond the surface. It is the nature of the thoughtful to arrive at truth through a variety of avenues.
That said, I’m headed to purchase your books. ‘Likely all of them. ‘No sense in not getting the whole enchilada.
‘Cheers.
Dear Mr. Maass,
Your articles often include these pesky questions which we are obliged to ask our protagonists–or to ask of our scenes. All have been cut & pasted into one of my Evernote pages entitled “Maass Appeal.” Immediately, I do think of the protagonist in my HF WIP (Ancient Rome), & it is admittedly uncomfortable, as the work involved to go through & supplicate her response to each & every query is formidable. Fortunately, this work is my play.
For the record, near & dear friends & family on both sides of the political spectrum echo your words, & the truth is there for us all if we are willing to examine beyond the surface. It is the nature of the thoughtful to arrive at truth through a variety of avenues.
That said, I’m headed to purchase your books. ‘Likely all of them. ‘No sense in not getting the whole enchilada.
‘Cheers.
Maass Appeal…well, that’s a compliment if ever I heard one! Thanks!
How are you being unsafe in your WIP today?
This is going onto the list of the daily questions.
My character is at a low point – and abandoning the field of battle to lick her wounds, with the possibility of settling for something lovely – and far from perfect for her – about to be dangled in front of her as a consolation prize.
All the bad things are starting to happen with vengeance to another of the characters.
And the villain, though temporarily stymied, has her plans right on track – and about to get kicked into high gear.
No wonder I’m scared to write. It has nothing to do with the external terrifying circumstances we live under right now. It’s because the hard things take so much work to get precisely right, and require the writer’s best efforts.
I am scared – but that won’t stop me from writing.
(Please forgive the cliches – this is a comment.)
I like what you say about the “hard things”…yes! They do take work, otherwise they wouldn’t feel genuinely hard on the page.
Dear Mr. Maas,
“When the student is ready, the teacher appears.”
Thank you for showing me why my story is flat and what it needs if it’s going to have any life.
I’ll probably have to settle for pixels or paper and ink, but I’d like to install in neon over my desk the questions you posted in italics.
Back to work.
Well, neon may be a bit too much but you can print out those prompts and stick ’em on the wall, yes?
Wonderful reflection, Don. “Our world does not stay the same. It never does. If powerlessness is our premise, then change is our story’s promise.”
I’m reading Canticle for Leibowitz and how beautifully it points to this theme of change. But it also points to the eternal things that do not change. I loved how monasteries are places where both knowledge and truth are preserved. Reminded me of another lovely book: How the Irish Saved Civilization.
In my own WIP, when all is lost, my teenaged character discovers the true meaning of freedom, not doing whatever you want, but having the freedom to do the right thing.
Canticle for Leibowitz is one of the great SF stories. Heck, it’s great by any measure. Thanks for mentioning it.
Ah, the perfect and timely tough-love antidote to my fretting about how to write a story that matters in times like these. Thank you, Don, for reminding me that I am indeed NOT ready to wave the white flag of surrender (as either writer or citizen), and providing us all with insights about how to seize hold of despair and use it to push our stories forward.