Over the next seven months, my columns are going to have a theme! Yes, that’s right: I’m getting myself organized. My columns are going to be focused on the seven deadly sins—Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride—as they relate to writing, either with regard to subject matter and content, or the act of writing itself. Wondering what the heck I’m talking about? Well, today I’m going to show you what’s in store by focusing on the eighth sin: Sorrow/Despair. (Which, for those who don’t know (or care!), was originally included as one of the sins until it was later combined with Sloth). So …
“When were you going to tell me?” Lina hugs her arms around her sides, self-comforting. “Were you going to give me any warning at all? Or were you just going to disappear into the night without a word?”
“I thought a long goodbye would be worse.”
“Nothing could be worse than this.” Lina’s shoulders heave, her breathing labored, choking on her own sadness. “There’s no torture on Earth worse than saying goodbye to you, and doing so knowing that you have a warrant out for your life—knowing that you might not even make it back into the city—is more than I can bear.”
(Excerpt from: The Magistrate, book one in The Prisonworld Trilogy, coming June 2013)
At some moment or another, we all despair. Last week, I felt pretty miserable after the specialty store I shop at ran out of my favorite imported, canned spaghetti. (Don’t judge). Today, I’m languishing in self-pity because my mother-in-law is visiting for a week. It’s been three days so far, and I’ve developed a permanent twitch in my left eye.
The point is: sorrow is a powerful emotion, and an intrinsic part of life. The effects can be mental and/or physiological, and its impact on our lives can be far-reaching. As such, we mustn’t forget that it can be a key element in our characters’ lives, too. In fact, in many ways, I think a book absolutely hinges on it.
sorrow is a powerful emotion, and an intrinsic part of life. wp.me/p26xCM-6G2
— The Indie Exchange (@IndieExchange) May 23, 2013
Sure, we all long for the happy endings where two characters kiss and cuddle and live happily ever after (I certainly do!), but—although it might make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside—it would make for one heck of a boring book if that’s all there was to it. In practice, the happy ending is possibly the only facet of a story that’s neither a requirement, or a foregone conclusion. Especially if I’m the one writing it.
As a writer, I make a habit of laying the foundations for a perfect relationship … then systematically destroying it. I’m not in the business of making my characters happy. I show them a glimpse of what real, pure happiness is, then I rip it away from them and watch them suffer.
As a writer, I make a habit of laying the foundations for a perfect relationship … then systematically destroying it. wp.me/p26xCM-6G2
— The Indie Exchange (@IndieExchange) May 23, 2013
Suffering is important. Sorrow and despair can be great motivators. If a character is miserably unhappy, they’ll be motivated to change their circumstances, and that’s what it’s all about: the search for happiness. As soon as they attain it, the story’s over.
My verdict: Sorrow as a deadly sin? More like a necessary evil. And my characters agree with me …
“As much as I detested Rube for taking you away from me, and as much as I was a heartbroken wreck after, I think he was right to do it. When you showed up at my door, it was the first time I’d looked at you and not seen a fourteen-year-old girl. I saw a grown woman—my equal. I saw a woman who filled me with the deepest, strongest desire I’d ever felt. And you got to experience a world outside my bedroom. You got to feel what it was like to be in a normal adult relationship.” Lina cups Carmen’s face, looking fondly into her sparkling green eyes. “We’re both better off for the pain we endured in our years apart.”
(Another excerpt from: The Magistrate. A lesbian romance set in dystopian, neo-Victorian London, in a time when homosexuality is strictly outlawed.)
Next month’s column continues the ‘Virtue or Vice?’ series with Lust: Where should an author draw the line with sexual content? Is there such a thing as too much sex? Are certain kinds of sex more acceptable than others? Should authors hold back for fear of shocking readers? Or should they let it all hang out? (Perhaps literally!).
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