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“I Really Couldn’t Relate to That Psychopathic Main Character”
On writing unlikeable, unrelatable flawed humans.
Don’t read your Goodreads reviews, a writer told me once. Or reviews in general, for that matter. You don’t need to put yourself through that kind of torture unless you’re a masochist. And then, of course, I revert to being the defiant child who sneaks sips of beer, rummages through her parent’s drawers and uncovers their secrets. My curiosity and desire for minor rebellions run that deep.
After I wade through two hours of tepid reviews of my first book, The Sky Isn’t Visible From Here, I emerge hung over, bearing the weight of uncomfortable truths. I wish I hadn’t finished the six-pack; I wish I could unsee the dirty pictures buried beneath the clean socks. Strangers’ words leave indelible marks.
Felicia’s selfish. Felicia’s heartless. Who wouldn’t forgive their mother? Who grows up with an addict and decides to become one? If I were Felicia, I would have done ______ and ______. To be honest, I really didn’t like Felicia. I couldn’t relate to her, but I’m giving a half star because the writing is pretty good.
When I read a handful of reviews aloud, my friend sighed and said, “Didn’t I tell you not to read the reviews?” No good comes from reading the words written by people who…
