I have to admit I love my story, Ray's Honey Pots. Mostly because I identify in some way with all three of the main female characters. Rowan is the tough mother bear in me, willing to do whatever it takes to protect her children while still being committed to liberating women. Rebecca is the selfish, violent, sex-centered woman in me, solely interested in herself and how to get what and who she wants. And Lucy is the pansexual submissive I kind of wish I had been in my twenties, eager to please, to be used, and gaining pleasure from it. Of course, I'm none of these characters and I'm rather grateful that my life is not as exciting as theirs.
Even in the stories that I've written to other people's specifications, I can identify with at least one main character. Usually it's not some sort of wish fulfillment but a chance to explore an aspect of myself and the question of what I would be like if that aspect were to dominate my personality above everything else. In that sense, I'm investigating myself every time I write, even if the finished product is far removed from reality and from anything I'd ever actually do.
In "King of Ramona" I identify most with the brother, partly because, for me, one of the effects of perimenopause has been a geared up sex drive, and experiencing that has given me a lot more sympathy towards teen boys and young adults. I felt I could get into his head and understand why he made the decisions he made, even though they were obviously wrong (and the fact that it's obviously wrong is part of what makes the story so hot). But I also sympathize with Ramona, herself, as she's sidetracked from her life by overwhelming and inexplicable urges and feels stupid as a result. As both of them succumb to the raging hormones and stupidity of a teen male I find myself seeing a lot of similarities between their feelings and my own. The biggest difference (aside from age and religion) between them and me is that I have a strong relationship with an appropriate person, saving me from making inappropriate decisions.
Harold is my alter ego in "Chicago Flood of 2015." I'm not sure why except that he's there for Wendy and I try to be there for my family and friends. He listens, he's gentle and kind. He likes words and stories and enjoys the depths and multiple translations he finds in his work. He wants people to be happy, but he doesn't take responsibility for their happiness.
I first started this blog with the idea of expanding on a story I've mostly plotted, but haven't written, about a woman my age whose life trajectory is far different than mine (it has to be, in order to include all the different venues and opportunities for sex) but whose mentality is similar in that we both think it's important to pursue what we love, or think we might love, because life is too short to be content to accept what it gives us and because, chances are, there aren't any other lives awaiting us. I'm having difficulty writing about her because I don't really identify with her. Either she's not a real-enough character to me yet or I've managed to frame her in an unsympathetic way, which would be weird but not unheard of.
Anyway, when I first set down to write this, I was mostly thinking of Rebecca, how surprised I was to identify with her when we are so unalike. Her aggressive behavior, general mistrust of people, and willingness to murder are so unlike me, and yet I managed to find something in her that reflects something in me and, in the process, create a character most readers seem to like.
Characters aren't real people, even when an author manages to make them realistic. They are aspects taken to extremes, allowing them to do extreme, unrealistic things—whether that's leaping tall buildings in a single bound, riding a dragon, or falling down a rabbit hole—in a compressed amount of time.
Sometimes, reading about and falling in love with a character makes it really difficult to re-enter real life, where time slows down and amazing events are few and far between and rarely ever the result of our own efforts. But, sometimes, reading about and falling in love with a character makes it easier to see ourselves, as though their peculiar, oversized elements form a full-length mirror. If we're willing to look, sometimes we might find something we like about ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment