There’s a much-used axiom that starts with “There are two
kinds of people. The first… .”
One can replace the “two” with any number. The point?
Classifying humankind into simplistic categories.
It sounds like a version of folk wisdom. In a way, it is. Of
course, all simplifications miss the gray zone most inhabit.
I’m about to reflect on one such and give it credence because I noticed that in life and also in literature there are two sorts of
people. Those who talk about their feelings, sometimes ad nauseam, and those
who never talk about feelings (theirs or others’) and view feelings as
indulgent and ultimately pointless.
In between lies the vast majority of humanity. But I was
thinking about one of the extremes today after reading a full bestselling novel
from a writer who has written many like it (a popular one that shall remain unnamed
here) where feelings or reflections on such were utterly missing. Not the sort
where the reader/listener (audio version is also selling well) can surmise the
emotional landscape from the actions, but where the main characters neither
reveal nor discuss how anything makes them feel, and their audience is going on
a wild action ride with nary any emotion beside excitement generated by action.
Some writers of commercial fiction write this way. Some
people live this way. From life experience I also know that those who dismiss
feelings as “messy” don’t stop with their own. Regardless of whether the underlying
reason is early trauma or sociopathy, they will make no room for your feelings either.
If you write, think about the emotional landscape. For the rest who just “live,” consider how barren your lay of the land is and how much more alive you could be if you notice and acknowledge feelings as you go about busily doing this, that, and the other.
Emotions accompany everything we do, so how could a character in a book not experience them? Something is obviously missing for that writer.
ReplyDeletePerhaps you can recommend this author Don Maass' Emotional Craft of Fiction.
ReplyDeleteThe author of which I speak is a multi-millionaire from writing (and movie rights of his writing) alone. He would hardly heed my recommendations, and would point out that he is doing just fine, thank you. This sort of fiction is baffling to me, and I am perplexed at its commercial appeal, which exceeds the sort of writing I gravitate to.
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