Why Am I Reading This?

What is your story about? And no, I’m not asking what happens to who. I’m asking why am I reading this? Why, dear writer, is this worth my time? It’s not a trick question; you don’t have to come up with a clever or profound reply. (Often the simplest answers are the most profound.)

Why did you take so much trouble to write this? Were you trying to tell me something? Than say it. Did you want me to escape with you to a beautiful new world? Then show me, show me why that world is worth going to. Show me what makes it new and different. Show me beauty. Use the right words, the lovely words. You can ramble all you want as long as you use the right words. Give every word a purpose.

Or perhaps it was because of the characters. Do you, dear writer, love your characters?

Why?

What makes you love them so much? Is it the fact that they had a PBJ for lunch or that they had a history lesson? I doubt it. Millions of people have had PBJs. Billions have had history lessons. What makes your character any different? Why are they any more special to you than a stranger you pass in the parking lot?

I know that character feels pain. Deep pain. I know they feel inexpressible joy and strange discomfort and guilt and envy and suspicion. Make me feel that way too. People don’t care if ten humans in Latvia die. (Some of them pretend to care. Fewer still try to care. But they seldom succeed.) But you know what people do care about? If their best friend dies. If their soulmate is lost forever. If they’re separated from their child for life.

Why is that? What makes that best friend any more meaningful to a person than twenty lovely people far away? Can you make me care about your character as much as I care for my child? Or will they be just another human to me?

Look, I know your characters are valuable. They have more depth and worth than even you know. But unless you can express that worth to me, I’ll never see it. Your words, every one you utter, must be gems, or I’ll never grasp how good your characters are. They exist in a terrible, precious world and the only thing between them and me is your brain, your fingers, and your pen.

"Then get to it."