(Previously posted on Write Minds Authors)
All authors are sadists. It's a fact, we have to be. It's really not our fault. Stories need action, they need conflict, how better to provide that than to hurl our characters into some difficult situation and watch them claw their way back out? Hardly seems sporting, does it?
All authors are sadists. It's a fact, we have to be. It's really not our fault. Stories need action, they need conflict, how better to provide that than to hurl our characters into some difficult situation and watch them claw their way back out? Hardly seems sporting, does it?
I
suppose we could blame our readers, right? I mean, if the book hasn't
got at least one good argument or a brawl, they feel cheated. If they
feel cheated, they won't buy our books. If they don't buy, we don't
make money – so, conflict, drama, hardship, pain, anguish,
suffering – ensue. Yes, blame it on the readers.
It
seems really mean to create these characters only to watch them
suffer. We make them fall in love with the wrong person who breaks
their hearts. We kill off their loved ones and chase off their dogs.
We leave them hanging from cliffs, flip over their cars and have them
attacked by psycho killers, rabid dogs or murderous biker gangs.
That's okay, I blame the readers for this too.
We
are evil! How do we think of that stuff? Most of the authors I know
are certainly not rabid dog chasing, murderous psychotic car
flipping, cliff dangling bikers. So, how do we think of all this
crazy stuff? I've never been in a gun fight or fought rampageous
aliens in a sentient ship, but I can certainly describe it so my
readers can visualize it. Honestly, I don't know. My characters get
tangled in events that have never happened to me or anyone I know,
yet I figure out ways to make them sound reasonable and plausible.
Some
incidents in my stories really happened, but I elaborate on them,
pushing the limits of believability to make a better story. Although
the scene in The Ninja Tattoo where Teague finds himself in
mysterious convoy on Riverside Drive, is based on something that
really happened to me, I wasn't targeted for death. I didn't hide out
at a cottage in the woods or take down my opponents with drug tipped
knives. (Don't know what I'm talking about? Read the book.)
I'm
pretty sure that nothing in Lone Wolf or Indian Summer
is remotely related to my real life, yet I manage to put them through
their literary paces as well. I'm not sure which of the characters
get treated the worst. I'm sure they could argue the point with me
until we were both hoarse. (Yes, my characters argue with me – deal
with it.) Each of them would scream I'm meaner to them than the
others and probably Manuel and Wil would be the most vocal. However,
I contend that they are still alive at the end of the book and the
villains are not, so maybe they should pipe down.
So
readers, the next time you're reading a particularly sadistic book
full of action, broken hearts and trauma, remember – you have only
yourselves and the characters to blame. The author is, of course,
completely innocent.
©
Dellani Oakes
2 comments:
One novel that comes to mind somewhat along this line is John Folwles' The Collector, published around 50 years ago. The main character kidnaps a young woman and imprisons her. He doesn't actually do anything else that you might expect, but what really gets creepy is that a pair of serial killers in California were inspired by the book, and followed the pattern--only much further. Charles Ng was the name of one, I don't recall the other. I seriously doubt Fowles intended that. I might add that as conflict is what makes a novel work, it makes me wonder how that dynamic applies to life.
I'm sure Fowles didn't intend for that to happen. That's one reason I write the stuff I do. I don't want to be the one who puts horrible thoughts in someone's warped brain.
Post a Comment