Most literary works have a
message. It may not be a deliberate one,
it may not be one that hits you over the head, but it’s there. Othello’s
message is how jealousy can destroy us. Hamlet shows us the tragedy of dishonesty
and revenge. The Great Gatsby is
about the emptiness of elitism and decadence. Huckleberry Finn teaches us about honor and living naturally. Of course there are other themes, but those
are a few of the lessons we take away when we read these classics. And you can find hundreds of messages in the
books and movies you know. Power
corrupts. Infidelity destroys
families. Kindness is its own reward. Hard work pays off. And so on.
We watch characters learn hard
lessons, we see villains get their due (or not), we feel inspired by selfless
acts. So I’m not going to tell you to
take the “point” out of your stories. But
it has to distill upon the reader as he genuinely cares about your
characters. It has to be a conclusion
reached without billboards blasting, “Here comes the main point!” Events in your story have to lead us along,
making us wiser without our even realizing it.
Winston Churchill once said, “I am
always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught.” That’s the kind of careful sharing of a
message I want you to strive for. No
heavy-handed preaching, or “and the moral of the story is,” as if you’re Aesop,
writing a fable. Don’t have characters
say, “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” or “I guess I’ll never do that
again!”
And don’t feel you must tidy up every loose end, making sure
the good guys get their reward and the bad guys get punished. Life is rarely so clean, so black and
white. The reader will still learn from
the harm that resulted when a crazy person went on a shooting spree. They don’t have to see the shooter twist in
the wind. Often the most satisfying ending
shows a character’s inner contentment at having done right; he doesn’t have to get
even, or be openly acclaimed or rewarded.
That, in itself, is a good lesson.
Some writers say, “But I don’t have an objective; I just want
to show the seamy side of the circus (or the big city, or mafia life, or
whatever).” You still need a story. The seamy side is a setting. Something has to happen there, something we
care about. And the minute we care, we’re
learning. That’s what gives a story
redeeming value. Even if all your characters are consumed by greed and die in
the end, that’s a tragedy that teaches us something. It’s why we go to movies,
read books, and see plays. Like
Churchill, though we may dislike being taught, we all love to learn.
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