At its base, art is about the complexity of life.
Sometimes, we as people are just not enough. We miss the mark of someone’s expectations. Always. At some point.
It’s the way it goes.
And when we’re not enough for someone.
They may ignore us.
They may turn on us.
(They may do both.)
Oh, people. So human. So flawed. So completely uugh sometimes.
(All of us.)
A few may extend grace. But that’s rare.
(unfortunately. so unfortunately. rare.)
Writers, in your story, your hero has to get to the place where he or she is not enough. He doesn’t meet expectations. He gives up.
In other words.
(A moment of death.)
It’s the hero’s decisions at that point that make your story run its fingertip along the sand of humanity.
Story is complicated.
(So is life.)
Artists draw or paint it.
Photographers capture it.
Dancers express it.
Writers write it.
Perhaps that’s the way we, as a people, can deal.
As in understanding.
As in catharsis.
As in simply being human.
Through art. Creativity. Expression.