When I wrote Eriana in
The Chronicles, I wasn't writing as the queen of an ancient kingdom, fending off evil forces. I was writing as an inexperienced, twelve-year-old ENTJ, learning how to deal with the natural leadership capabilities I realized I had been given. I was struggling to leave my childhood behind, to act with the dignity and diplomacy of a queen, to live in the interest of those who were influenced by my words and deeds.
When I wrote Mariel in
The Tragedy, I wasn't writing as the moonlight girl with memory loss and a ghostly suitor. I was writing, terrified, because I felt so fragile and useless too. The bullying that Mariel endured was the bullying that I endured: being dragged powerless by both hands through a church and, even younger, feeling my fingers thrust into a flame. When I wrote, I was trying to reconcile my own experiences. I was scared, and I was begging for my own Toshiro to always protect me, to always stay by my side, no matter what happened.
When I wrote Kayzen in
The Rebellion, I wasn't writing a rational-minded assassin set out to train her young student to control his wild, uncontrollable Rager abilities. I was teaching
myself patience and restraint, remembering when, in Korea, he threw me down against the floor again and again until I controlled myself. I was making a written choice to always have self-control, even if I tore myself apart in the process. At thirteen, I wouldn't let anything master me.
When I wrote Jewel in
The Immortals, I wasn't writing an emotionless antihero who was trying to reconcile what was morally right in her world. I was
me, learning why I shouldn't stifle or cage my heart. I was
me, retraining myself to view emotions as mandatory for interdependence. I was
me, scared to open up my heart to another human and show vulnerability and show weakness.
Now, I'm writing Skain in my DWBSN rework, and I'm not writing an emotionally-exploited male who is threatened with his sister's death. I'm writing me and the past year and a half of war. I'm writing about the depression that I went through, the cutting, the empty pain that broke me, screaming until I lost my voice and crying until my chest hurt. I'm writing about the emotional abuse in December: bowing my head in the empty nursery room and subjugating my will to save peace with those in authority over me. I'm exactly piecing together the details of my quiet dream: to run away from this old, too-familiar town and to make myself better with time and distance and to come back with only a desperate hope of being forgiven for what I never apologized for earlier. I'm not writing Skain. I'm writing
myself. The only difference is: I know he gets a happy ending; how I end is up to Fate and my own skill.
~ ~ ~
So, what's the point?
Guys, look. You can edit peoples' stories: grammar, plot, flow. But don't you
dare critique the motivation behind an author's writing. Because there's more. There are nightmares that you've never seen; there's crap that haunts me still that I've never publicized; there's a whole load of denial and expression and fear involved in writing.
It's not just a hero and a villain.
There's
always more than just a character.
Write on!
Clove