Tag Archive | reading

Writing the Wrongs

Jun30

  

Benjamin Franklin once said;  Nothing is certain in this life, except for death and taxes. As accurate (and witty) as that claim may be, it is in my view a partial, incomplete statement that paints only a piece of the picture, allowing for blank space that could be filled in with a  broader, more expanded complete definition to include other missing certainties we should expect to encounter in this life. Embellishing on Mr. Franklin’s wise assessment, I would reclaim the certainties in this life to include: death, taxes and wrongs in general. Whether thrust upon us by fate and no fault of our own, or forged by our own hands and creation, these hardships, adversities and wrongs  are as certain as the rising sun, same as the regrets, guilt or pain that will tag along with them.  

Although wrongs in life are unavoidable, and even necessary for growth and strengthening,  they do not need to undermine our story outline, or derail us from our purpose or quest to achieve publication, or fulfillment and happiness.  Sure, it might take effort, energy and courage to overcome each one that we encounter- for some even too difficult to attempt, often triggering individuals to complain, whine, cry victim or give up altogether.  But, alternatively, when resignation of or escape from the wrongs  is not feasible, possible or advisable, and that is almost always the case, we might instead dig in to proactively rewrite the wrongs  into something right, something  useful for a future more positive chapter, like turning lemons to lemonade as American Writer and Philosopher Elbert Hubbard would say, or like adjusting our sails when the storm that hits is out of our control.

To Write the Wrongs is about more than simply revising the flawed scenes of our story to add interest, thrill, thought- provoking material or excitement;  it is also about taking an extra step to  transform the wrongs into something right, something better, something that WILL work- whether in fiction or in real life.  Writing the Wrongs means to reevaluate, repurpose and recast the unfair, unexpected,  wrong things that happen TO us, as well as to reshape and correct the wrongs we create for ourselves.

In J.D. Mathes’s Writers Digest Writing through the Troubles ,  Mathes describes the process as being “about coming to terms and making sense of your life.”  He says “it allows us to tell our story and make the suffering transcendent.”  For him, writing through his troubles sprouted from an experience he had when he was younger after he had been arrested- a wrong which not only negatively impacted his  life, but also  his mother’s life and the life of other collateral’s who had gotten swept up in his troubles.  Published in the Massachusetts Review, his essay was titled Mamma Tried,  told from the point of view of  the person he cared about most who was devastated the most. Through this writing process, he worked to transform his experience into a “healing narrative”.   In other words, he worked to write the wrongs in a way that could potentially heal, inspire and help others in their troubles.

Similarly, Writers Digest contributor, Sally McQuillen wrote in her May 2025 article, Why I wrote and published my Memoir, about losing a child.  Without doubt,that had to be deeply painful to craft, and yet McQuillen stuck with it for seven years, writing through her grief and pain while parenting and working full-time.  Determined to write (right) her wrongs, she turned her pain into something healing and useful; “… writing it has given me strength in my vulnerability in hopes that the tears in my words might help anyone hurting feel less alone.”  Explaining that her reason for writing about the tragedy was her son, and in that love for and memory of him she needed to craft meaning of her “seismic loss and survive it”- while simultaneously sharing it with others who might feel lost and alone in their own painful troubles. It was her way of Writing the Wrongs.

In the 10-8-25 Writers Digest article The Power of Hopeful Fiction in Difficult Times, author Shanna Hatfield describes stories as lifelines.  Her idea of turning lemons to lemonade, or to write the wrongs is to craft “hopeful fiction to remind us of better possibilities, of courage tucked away, waiting to blossom.” She says it “offers the assurance that beauty can emerge from hardship.  Fiction infused with hope doesn’t blithely skip around reality. It faces it head on, and then provides the steps for readers to climb above it. For writers, finding the balance between authenticity and optimism can be challenging, but getting it right feels like a cherished gift.”

To more clearly unpack this idea, Hatfield points to the letters she received from her grateful readers that highlight the purpose of writing hopeful fiction, in which they discuss their own hardships. These wrongs that happen to them  or are a result of their own creation, often include wrongs like job loss, unexpected medical diagnoses, financial struggles, relationship loss, death, PSTD, depression, thoughts of suicide  and other difficulties, injustices and unfairness to which we can all relate.  In response to the readers’ heartfelt admissions, she advises, when writing your story,  to “give your characters trying situations and problems to overcome, but thread that needle with hope.  Add hope one small layer at a time, through simple gestures or acts of kindness we often overlook or miss”. These could include a neighbor who provides a meal, a friend who offers a ride to a doctor appointment, a stranger’s warm smile, a service worker who sympathizes, or a loved one who does his or her best to ease your fear, worries, pain or dismay.

I know for me personally, this year threw more wrongs at me than I had experienced in years,  since my divorce and my father’s death.  They came at me so hard and so unexpectedly that I had no time  or preparation to avoid or escape them. Some came through no fault of my own, and others came as a consequence of bad decisions I made in the past, but all of them caused me to stumble, freeze, or shut down for at least a moment.  

For me, writing the wrongs was about turning more steadfastly to the word of God, increased worship and prayer, deepening my faith, changing habits, and making or encouraging positive changes for me, my family and my life.  I was lucky to have those neighbors, friends, service workers and family in my life to help me “write the wrongs” that happened TO me and BY me.  My story transformed from one of lost hope, despair, anger, confusion and fear, to one of new found hope and a renewed enthusiasm to make things better in my life and in the lives of those who had become caught up in my “lemon” storm with me. 

Writing hopeful fiction, or converting lemons or writing the wrongs, provides a safe place for readers to experience a broad scope of emotions, to work through confusing thoughts and to develop a sound sense of hope and optimism for the future. Shanna Hatfield suggests to “create a foundation of hope in truth, to add vulnerability (moments of weakness or anguish), craft possibility (for healing, forgiveness or newfound strength) and remember the reader (gift her with encouragement, laughter and reassurance).  She ends her advice with this;  “Fiction can’t erase or cure the world’s (or your own) struggles, but it can encourage us to face them with hearts full of love, faith and hope.”

In the January 2025 Finding Strength in Rejection: Turning Setbacks into Success as a Writer, Deanna Martinez-Bey provides another way to see it and write it;  “Rejection can sting, but it doesn’t have to stop you.”  While her article focuses on the writing process practiced by writers, her suggestions apply to any of life’s setbacks.  She says “Rejection doesn’t mean your work isn’t good- it often means it wasn’t the right fit at the right time.”  Isn’t that true of some of the hardships we all face as human beings living in our own life story, while we are here on this temporary pit-stop called life.  “Rejection”, Martinez-Bey says “ is part of the process … we must allow the negative to propel us into positivity”.   In other words, write with determination, clarity, courage and purpose, -make lemonade from lemons to quench thirsts and  “write the wrongs” that will turn them right. 

When I think back to this year’s events that derailed me and my family from the story outline I had envisioned for us,  I recall how difficult it was for me to allow the negative to push me forward into the positive at that time.  It was not easy to do but it ended up being possible and doable.  I could have let those wrongs define my present, threaten my future, and betray my cherished past ,  by accepting the wrongs at face value,resigning myself to their negative impact on my story, and just letting them be.   But, instead I picked them up off the ground where they fell after they had toppled me over, and I began rewriting them. 

 I am still writing and re-writing them.

In the January 2026 Writers Digest article, Character Arcs: Turning Inner Struggles Into Story Power, Sarah Branson says “Even the wildest plot falls flat if the main character stands still, untouched by the storm swirling around her.” The plot we write, or that we live, is going to come with its unexpected twists and turns, some for the best and many for the worst, but it is how we face them and move forward that makes our stories meaningful and impactful -for our audience, for ourselves and for others.

“At the heart of every story, “ Branson adds, “ a character struggles with what they believe about themselves and the world. The plot draws us in, but the character arc (how the character responds and changes)  is what sustains our interest as readers.  When you build from the inside out, letting the character’s misbelief about herself or her circumstance (and the wrongs)  shape every beat, the story does more than move.  It lingers in the quiet after the last page.  You create a story that matters.”  

Writing the Wrongs means  to find the right in the wrong; the positive will be there if you look hard enough.

It means to reshape the wrongs into rights; regardless of how difficult the task seems it will always be possible if you try hard enough. 

It is about writing the fictional story that will matter to our readers, but it is also about reevaluating, repurposing, recasting and writing and rewriting the wrong things that will inevitably happen TO us and BY us, in our own real life stories.

Joshua 1:9:  Have not I commanded you, Be Strong, Of good courage.  Be not frightened, neither be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.

Literary Fiction adds Depth and Interest to what we create, what we read and how we live.

Jun29

Although some say Literary Fiction might at times be dark or depressing, even too difficult to define, that it is not a genre on its own, it IS at the very least an impactful writing style that lends itself to other genres- to explore the many different facets of the human condition. Blending within other literary genres like added flavors combining to create a more superb recipe, fragments of literary fiction can melt inside historical fiction, fantasy, mystery, and other genres like butter in a cake batter that is at first bland or possibly even tasteless until the finishing ingredients are added.

Jessica Dukes says in her Celedon Books article the following; Character-driven stories, social and political themes, irreverence for storytelling norms- these elements set Literary Fiction apart. She adds that it is generally considered more “serious” than genre fiction. But, she continues, if one universal theme could be applied, it’s this: No-one has figured out the meaning of life, other than to acknowledge that there’s more than one way to live it.

Is not that what is so poignant and powerful about inspecting the humanness of life and adding that depth to the stories we create and devour, to understand our human strengths and our inevitable flaws as best as possible, to help us live our best lives?

In addition to standing majestically on its own, a sliver of literary fiction can ripple through literary genres like a skipped stone impacting a still water pond. The water, at first is calm and solid, predictable and steady, but when the stone is introduced, that same surface transforms into a more moving, metaphoric, and  magnificent kind of beauty -full of interest, exhilaration and life.  The ripples we set in motion extend in size, trajectory and depth just as the narrative we create can be greatly reshaped by the measures of literary fiction we inject.

Guest writer Sanjida O’Connell in Jane Friedman’s February 18, 2025 Publishing Reporting blog describes Literary Fiction this way:

First, for me, is that it should be Intellectual. A literary novel is about ideas

I think literary works have Depth

And last but not least is Style. I think we all expect a classic novel to be written in such beautiful prose it makes you want to weep, pause and stare at the sky or feel the words rolling through your mind like pebbles smoothed by the sea.

Some write and read to entertain, to memorialize an experience, to describe and learn about a current event, to explain or understand a piece of history, or to address or be introduced to a prominent individual. Others write and read ALSO to share or expand on an idea, to provoke, inspire or extract thought or emotion, to bring meaning to something about life or to better understand our purpose in it, to make sense of the big questions that have eluded us like seashells shoved further out to sea by the endless and powerful undercurrent, perpetually outside our grasp…yet always there.

Similarly, within our stories of fiction, whether historical, mystery, suspense, science fiction, romance, dystopian YA, or anything else, regardless of the reason we write or read, there is always an undercurrent of thematic importance present.  It may be as simple as rain or as complicated as the Riemann hypothesis, but every worthwhile story in my opinion is derived from a work of literary genius that inspects, depicts, magnifies or questions the human condition at some level. Whether the story evolves from a basic plot line or a serious question, it mirrors who we were, who we are and who we might become. And therefore, even if fleeting and although not always clearly evident, there could be to some degree, a bit of literary fiction in every narrative.

Editor, MICHAEL WOODSON In his March 2023 Writer’s Digest article; What is Literary Fiction?, provides this definition of Literary Fiction;

In my experience, contemporary literary fiction is a creative and unique writing style coming from a truly diverse range of writers where all the rules get to be broken. Literary fiction can be any genre and should be for the masses, because at the heart of every work of literary fiction is the human experience.

….Literary fiction is often slower in its pacing and welcomes readers to take their time in the process; to dawdle in the details. It’s often observational, conflicts arising from the internal, with some aspects of the story still left open in the final pages.

The human condition is the foundation upon which all thoughts and actions are forged. The music we listen to, the artwork we admire, the movies we watch, and the books we read all parallel, depict, tell about, question or come from some feature of the human condition. The plot-line holding up the story within commercial fiction is only as sturdy as the internal humanness tagging along beside it, like a supportive fan feeding momentum to the scaffolding design.  Essentially, literary fiction acts as a story’s synergist, ensemble and champion, adding universal connection, contemplation and clarity to emotionally heighten or elevate ANY story.

The following snippets of Literary Fiction reflect how its ripples of human interconnectedness can add to ANY of our narratives and subsequently to our minds, our hearts, our souls and ultimately to our lives:

In Sean Dietrich’s Kinfolk:   But then, life was full of overlooked miracles. And miracles never happen the way you expect them to. They are softer than a baby’s breath. They are, at times, as noticeable as a ladybug. A miracle is not a big thing. A miracle is millions and millions of small things working together. But then, this didn’t matter. Not really. Because Minnie had come to believe that life was not about finding miracles, or happiness, or success, or purpose, nor was it about avoiding disappointment. It was about finding people. People are what makes life worth it. People are the buried treasure. People who understand you. People who will bleed with you. People who make your life richer. Your people. Your kinfolk.

In Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano:

 William turned toward her and found himself looking directly into Sylvie’s eyes. He had the strange sense she was looking inside him, to the truth of him. He hadn’t known this was possible. When Julia gazed at William, she was trying to see the man she wanted him to be. She couldn’t see, or didn’t want to see, who he actually was.

” ( And on page 101) William didn’t understand what had happened to him and his sister-in-law on the bench that night but it felt dangerous, like a shining dagger that could cut through his life as if it were made of paper.

Also in Hello Beautiful:

We’re part of the sky, and the rocks in your mother’s garden, and that old man who sleeps by the train station. We’re all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is. Your mother and sisters don’t have that awareness. Not yet, anyway. They believe they’re contained in their bodies, in the biographical facts of their lives

From The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell by Robert Dugoni:

 Our skin, our hair, and our eyes are simply the shell that surrounds our soul, and our soul is who we are. What counts is on the inside.

From The Girl with the Louding Voice by Abi Dare:

My mama say education will give me a voice. I want more than just a voice, Ms. Tia. I want a louding voice,” I say. “I want to enter a room and people will hear me even before I open my mouth to be speaking. I want to live in this life and help many people so that when I grow old and die, I will still be living through the people I am helping.

 Also from The Girl with the Louding Voice:

 I want to tell her that God is not a cement building of stones and sand. That God is not for all that putting inside a house and locking Him there. I want her to know that the only way to know if a person finds God and keeps Him in their heart is to check how the person is treating other people, if he treats people like Jesus says–with love, patience, kindness, and forgiveness.

From Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

It is so easy to be hopeful in the daytime when you can see the things you wish on. But it was night, it stayed night. Night was striding across nothingness with the whole round world in his hands . . . They sat in company with the others in other shanties, their eyes straining against cruel walls and their souls asking if He meant to measure their puny might against His. They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.

From The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.

From John Boyne’s, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

What exactly was the difference? He wondered to himself. And who decided which people wore the striped pajamas and which people wore the uniforms?

From Kristin Hannah’s, Winter Garden

 They would always be a family, but if she’d learned anything in the past few weeks it was that a family wasn’t a static thing. There were always changes going on. Like with continents, sometimes the changes were invisible and underground, and sometimes they were explosive and deadly. The trick was to keep your balance. You couldn’t control the direction of your family any more than you could stop the continental shelf from breaking apart. All you could do was hold on for the ride.

From Kelly Rimmer’s , The Things We Cannot Say

Life has a way of shattering our expectations, of leaving our hopes in pieces without explanation. But when there’s love in a family, the fragments left behind from our shattered dreams can always be pulled together again, even if the end result is a mosaic.

And finally in Susan Meissner’s older 2005 novel; A Window to the World, a story built around a simple plotline that would not necessarily be considered “Literary Fiction”, there is a passage that provides an example of how some degree of literary fiction exists in any good story, regardless whether the tale is character or plot driven; David was quiet as Megan slowly began to grasp how Jen’s disappearance had shaped her, how something twisted and wrong had nevertheless been used by God for better purposes, how the people she had met after abduction had influenced her, how there had been beauty after and within the misery.  She suddenly thought of the canyon, which like so many things was nothing but a memory. She remembered how wild and scary it was and yet how stunning and majestic….. “ You think your past is something to be buried and forgotten but it isn’t, David said gently “ Your past, all of it- the good and the bad- is what God used to make you, you.”

Although some of these passages are taken from clearly identifiable literary fiction,  others share living space within the seemingly confined walls of historical fiction or other genres, where  the lines of separation between plot- driven and character- driven genres can blur, become more forgiving and less restrictive.  Each genre’s gate can be opened to allow fragments of literary fiction to run rampant though-out any composition, not to cause destruction or harm to the story’s carefully constructed foundation, but to enhance and strengthen it.

Julia Alvarez, in her post script at the end of In the Time of Butterflies”,  considered to be historical fiction, says A novel is not, after all, a historical document, but a way to travel through the human heart.  She later added to this in her 2019 updated Author’s Note: Stories operate in such indirect and invisible ways that often we come out of a story or poem that has moved us as a different person than before we started reading. Novels are not polemical arguments, mobilizing people with ideology and propaganda. Instead they work one imagination at a time, rooting conviction in the heart, stirring us deeply and thereby bringing about a more profound and lasting transformation. The muscles of compassion we exercise as readers are, after all, the same ones that motivate us to change the world.

And so, Literary Fiction to me is not too dark or depressing or difficult to define. It does not need to be an island all by itself; isolated and alone, restricted to its own solitary lane within literature. Rather, Literary Fiction and its corresponding introspective examination of our humanness have earned a place within all genres wherever and whenever there is a profound or transformative message or idea to convey, share or question. Like each musical score in a grand classical composition, performed by 50 separate instruments, each one majestic by itself but spectacular when blended together to culminate in one elaborate and powerful symphonic masterpiece that stirs, lifts or transforms us, the literary fiction experience is about so much more than it is  by itself.

Literary Fiction is about more than the score paper upon which the notes are written, or the recipe card we set up and follow, or the temporary ripples in a pond. It is about the way its contemplative and omniscient message becomes the catalyst to awaken, impact and incentivize us, and how that experience continues to stir and transform us- that adds real depth and interest to what we create….. what we write, what we read and ultimately how we live.\

To note: This was completely created artistically by the author without any AI help