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We get to delve into Annie a bit deeper here, even though we start off with Andrew. Andrew’s paternal instincts are in full flower, which is part of why I grew so fond of him.
Just a note here: Yes, I do talk as if Andrew is a real person, rather than just a writer’s puppet who says and does exactly what I want him to do. I suspect other writer’s encounter this phenomenon. After enough of a character has been established, they seem to take on a life of their own. Yes, they face the circumstances that I throw at them, and initially they react in precisely the way that I want in order to advance the story. But chapter by chapter, sometimes even paragraph by paragraph, something in my subconscious begins to emerge. I write them, in some subtle ways, not strictly in accordance with my plans. It is not an overt rebellion, and often not a conscious decision (like when I tweaked Lewee’s intelligence upward.) It just… well… happens.
Now, if I were psychotic I might claim the characters are rising up and taking control of their own lives and destinies. But interestingly, it is almost like that. When I am writing about Andrew, I automatically “slip into his skin”. I compose his thoughts, words, and actions the way I would if I were him—as if I had that particular combination of life events and framework of personality I have declared for him. OK, I’ll concede—sometimes it is just a little bit eerie. But knowing who Andrew is, and what he has been through, it just seems normal that he would be paternal toward Annie (and later Lewee). That’s just the kind of guy he is. Which is to say, just the kind of guy I’d like to be in that situation.
That does leave the question of how I explain the thoughts, words, and actions of some of the disreputable, even evil, characters we will come to in later chapters. How do I slip into their skins? All I can say is, I seem to be able to do it with ease. Maybe disturbing ease.
A thought occurs to me, just as I wrote that. Maybe it is a capacity for empathy. Bear with me here, as I explore things that make me sound like I have a grandiose sense of myself. But hey, I’m a writer? What were you expecting? Humility?
So. Maybe a writer without a heightened sense of empathy, without the ability to imagine another’s perspective, even see their point of view, can’t effectively write about certain other characters. Take for example Figure X (I will identify him when the story reaches him.) I can understand his aberrations, while being revolted by them. I can imagine why certain things would be acceptable to him.
I think a writer without this ability can write very good stories—just (probably) not ones that delve into certain unsavory characters.
Well. Captain Empathos to the rescue! Anywho, that’s what I think. If it is an egotistical assessment of myself, I’ll have to plead guilty to that one. I said this chapter was about Annie. Maybe it really does delve into Andrew more than her. We do learn things about Annie here, but I guess those are pretty straightforward and not calling for the sort of analysis that Andrew seems to demand at the moment. More about Annie, next chapter.