Empathy and my Writing Process

Let me preface this post with a story.

The company I currently work for is very big on culture and has taken a number of steps to help promote the well-being of employees. I have never worked anywhere with a culture quite like it, and it’s 90% of the reason why I’ve stayed there as long as I have (6 ½ years, for those counting.)

Periodically, they do roundtable discussions around a theme to help promote wellbeing in the workplace. Employees are chosen at random (but we’re expected to attend at least one every year), and the topics change for each session. A couple weeks ago, I was selected for the discussion, and the topic was empathy vs. sympathy.

It was an important discussion. There was a video included in the presentation that helped illustrate the difference between empathy and sympathy. Empathy is feeling, but also listening when someone is seeking a friend. Sympathy is more superficial; the video likened it to trying to paint a silver lining on a situation and using statements like, “At least you’re still here.” There isn’t any true commiseration in sympathy, and sometimes that’s not what a person needs or wants to hear.

For those interested, this is a link to the video: Brené Brown on Empathy vs Sympathy

But throughout the whole session, it made me think about empathy, and in particular, how it plays a role in my writing process.

I can’t speak for every writer; I only know my own process. But for me, having a strong empathetic trait helps me sink into a character’s persona better. There are many times when I feel as if I’m living through each situation as if it was me, rather than a fictional character.

For those who have read some of my books, I’m sure you can imagine what this might do to me at times. Yes, I have cried over writing certain scenes. Yes, I have given myself nightmares. And sometimes, whatever section I happen to be writing sometimes influences my overall mood. (My husband recalls the weekend last fall, while I was writing Cursed Blades, that I was seriously depressed and moping. There was a character death that really hit me hard, and I had a difficult time snapping out of it.)

But I think the emotional pain I inflict on myself makes for better and more relatable stories, more believable characters. I try my best to convey what they feel as they navigate their world, interact with various people, and at times, simply do their best to survive. Empathy—the act of feeling someone else’s emotional state—is the foundation of this aspect of my writing.

I’ve always been the quiet one—in school, at work, at social gatherings. I observe and I listen. I can’t tell you how many times during my life someone I know starts to tell me stories about what’s bothering them, and I think it goes back to empathy for me. It doesn’t come naturally for everyone, and I understand that, but it has always been a part of me.

I think my writing is stronger for it.

(And if this is any indication, I think some of my readers agree.)