by A.C. Williams @ACW_Author

Authors are deep thinkers. Have you noticed that? Every storyteller I’ve ever met has lived some experience that has taught them to reflect. Maybe it was trauma as a child or even as an adult. Maybe it was a terrifying event that caused them to evaluate life. Maybe it was the loss of a friend or family member. Not every author responds the same way, but most of the ones I know default to the big questions.

Why? Why did this happen? Could it have been avoided? Could I have done something different that might have changed the outcome?

Sometimes I suspect story is born from trauma. It’s the storyteller’s innate response to processing sorrow and loss. As we work through the emotions of our grief, we create a story along the way.

Ask a writer where they got their story and see what you find. I hear about childhood fears or the loss of loved ones in the past. I hear about moments of insecurity or uncertainty that motivated them to teach others how to cope. In some cases, I hear writers explain that the origin of their story came from a desire to understand other people.

Story is processing. Story is striving to comprehend a broken world. Story is a reflection on grief and loss and the enduring hope that someday things will get better, that someone will save us, that someone will make the world right again.

I don’t want to say that writing is therapy, but more and more I’m beginning to wonder if that’s part of where the need for story begins.

I think that’s beautiful. I love that God has wired His storytellers to process pain through written words. One of the most challenging and meaningful books I’ve ever read was A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. It’s basically his personal journal entries after the death of his wife. He is wrestling with God and his grief, and he invites readers on the journey with him.

But we have something to consider before we start writing our next manuscript, the one where we let our characters struggle and grieve and fail and lose. It’s the most important question you can ever ask about your stories: Who is this for?

[tweet_box design=”default” float=”none” inject=”#Writing #BRMCWC #Writinglife”]Stories May Come From Grief But They Don’t Have To Be About Grief by @ACW_Author on @BRMCWC[/tweet_box]

Audience is the foundation for excellent storytelling. Yes, you need craft and creativity. But more than anything, you need to know who you’re talking to.

If you’re talking to believers, they need specific messages. If you’re talking to non-believers, they shouldn’t get the same message as a believer. If you’re talking to an adult, you should have different words than if you’re talking to a child.

Are you writing to those who are mourning? Don’t demand that they celebrate and rejoice. Are you writing to those who are celebrating? Don’t require that they calm down. Otherwise you might come off like Job’s “friends” rather than an author they want to read again.

When a manuscript leaves your hands, it ceases to be about you. Successful stories are never about the author. The stories that make a difference to others are designed, edited, and positioned to resonate with other people. Not you. And that’s the way it should be.

If you share your personal testimony about everything God has done for you and you never once bring it around to personal application for others, it won’t be anything else but your story. And that’s okay. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with that. But isn’t it better to make our stories about showing others who God is and who He can be to them? Isn’t it better to share your testimony in a way that leads others to want what God can do for them?

Life is a constant struggle. We all face challenges and sadness that we need to process, so it’s vital that we make space to do that in our writing. But when you sit down to write a story that is focused on your personal suffering, you are writing for yourself. That’s beautiful. That’s precious. It’s a sacred time between you and God where together you walk through those moments together.

But that is for you and Him. You can’t invite another person on that journey because it’s too personal to you. Unless you adapt it, unless you add practical applications that other people can understand, it won’t resonate.

Therapeutic writing is a thing. Getting your emotions and your traumas out on a page is important. But don’t think that a trauma-dump, no matter how well written, will connect with another person simply because it’s your story.

Grief is part of life, and it’s part of the creative experience. But don’t get so focused on sharing your grief that you forget about the hope we have in Christ. Don’t get so caught up in the catharsis of emotional release that you create a barrier between your audience and redemption.

You may be living a story with Jesus right now, and that’s wonderful and miraculous and even noteworthy. But if you want that story to make a difference in the life of a reader, it can’t be your story. It has to be a story about what Jesus has done for you and what He can do for others.

A.C. Williams is a coffee-drinking, sushi-eating, story-telling nerd who loves cats, country living, and all things Japanese. Author of more than 20 books, she keeps her fiction readers laughing with wildly imaginative adventures about samurai superheroes, clumsy church secretaries, and goofy malfunctioning androids; her non-fiction readers just laugh at her and the hysterical life experiences she’s survived. If that’s your cup of tea (or coffee), join the fun at www.amycwilliams.com.