I’ve been writing pretty actively for the past two years, and I think what it’s really become is a close study of human emotion.
My conclusion thus far is that humans rarely, if ever, make sense. We are contradictory by nature. We love and destroy, fear and desire, cling and run all at once. Logic usually comes after emotion, not before it. And yet… there’s still some strange sense to the madness.
Rumi once said something along the lines of: clarity does not come before action. Maybe that’s part of why we write and read stories in the first place. Fiction allows us to emotionally experience lives, choices, desires, griefs, and transformations almost the same way dreams do or lived experiences do.
So then the best stories aren’t about perfect people making rational choices. They’re about emotional truth… about trying to attain clarity and self-actualization (dare I call that love?) through confronting emotional chaos and our own beautiful, messy existence.