Perhaps an author is like a body snatcher. He has to move into someone else’s skin. But, contrary to the old movies, that someone is still the one in control. The author is the one at the disadvantage here. He’s along for the ride. He can’t just jump out at the next red light. He’s the one paying the fare, and he can’t exit “until he’s paid the last farthing.”
And what a farthing it is. Normal people, as individuals, experience their due amount of trouble and pain. But the writer has double the grief, double the turmoil, double the silly lists of I-have-to-do-this-today.
Or, is he like an actor? Well, no. An actor plays a part, yes. But an actor doesn’t live the part, doesn’t give birth to the part. But the writer has gone through the gestation, has poured his or her blood and bone into the role, has ‘lost the tooth’ for each child, as the old wives’ tale holds.
Then there are the late nights, the misunderstanding, the rebellion, the infidelities, the ingratitudes. The characters are simply not what you would have them be, not what you expect. And all this effort for what? There is no family history left behind, there is no inheritance to be passed, no reputation to maintain, no legacy to grow. The reader closes the book and, presto, the characters vanish.
Oh, some characters are lucky enough to be remembered—fondly or not—in the readers’ minds, for a time. Some may, astoundingly, go on to become cultural icons of a sort. But even they are nothing but snow-topped statues in the public square. Perhaps they strut their hour upon the stage. Most of them simply slumber between the pages, awaiting their occasional re-awakening.
But it is still worth it. Though the world doesn’t actually need more people, it needs more understanding. And if the author aids in that process, by creating either deep or shallow players, heroic or stereotypical actors, perhaps he has done his race a service. Perhaps in the safety of the written page, love may come. Or at least a quiet compromise. Or at least not hatred and rejection. Or, if hatred must come, then defused hated. Hatred that will not erupt some other place.
—CM
