Often referred to as “the dark night of the soul” in writing circles, lament often leads our characters to a moment of clarity about how the choices they’ve made and the experiences they’ve lived through have brought them to this specific moment in time. This key scene is crucial for the character’s transformation and ultimate victory. Read on to learn more about what lament is and the role it plays in the lives of our characters—and in our lives as well!
A moment of honesty. I’m not the biggest fan of wading through my own emotions. They’re tricky and complicated and, frankly, they get in the way when I simply want to move on. In my mind, emotions are a lot like Slimer from The Ghostbusters. They tend to move in and wipe their nasty, gooey hands all over everything.
However, experience has also taught me that being closed off to my emotions leads to unpleasant side effects that are far more challenging to work through. Apart from mental and physical health issues, my tendency to view emotions as “dangerous” make it difficult for me to risk vulnerability and build deep, authentic relationships with others. (Something that I actually crave.) It’s also hampered my ability to fully heal from the wounds and traumas that led me to this incorrect perception of feelings in the first place.
Unsurprisingly, this stance on feelings often makes depicting emotions in fiction difficult for me as well.
Why am I sharing this publicly? Because I know this viewpoint isn’t unique to me. It’s a struggle that many others face, both in the real world and in the realm of fiction. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t have stacks of books filled with characters who hide their deepest fears and hurts from those they care about. Nor would there be countless books filled with cynical protagonists who claim they’d rather live in solitude than risk putting their hearts on the line.
I’ve recently considered that one of the reasons for this is because—in Western Culture particularly—we’ve been taught to view independence and self-sufficiency as the pinnacle of strength. In addition, we’ve been raised by generations who were told to bury their grief, stifle their laments, and move on when they experience brokenness or loss.
Fortunately, many of these notions are being challenged more regularly with the rise of self-care. However, a recent writing project showed me that we need to take self-care a little further still. Instead of just focusing on mind and body, we need to focus on soul-care as well.
This is where the practice of lament comes in; both personally and in our writing.
What is Lament?
Merriam-Webster defines lament as “to express sorrow, mourning, or [strong] regret.” It’s an action; something that takes place both internally and externally. It’s also a practice that is necessary for our healing and growth.
Regardless of who we are or when we live, at some point in time, we’re going to experience a situation that drives us to the ground. It could be a life-altering medical diagnosis, a dreaded phone call, or an unexpected loss. It might even be yet another blow to our dream of being published before a certain age.
Grief is one of the unavoidable consequences of living in a broken world. Yet too often we respond to it by brushing it aside, rationalizing it away, numbing ourselves to it, projecting it onto others, or worse, drowning it in because we’re afraid (or uncertain of how) to ask for help. Lament recognizes grief—both self-inflicted or caused by external circumstances—and expresses the emotions that well up as a result of the pain.
Some of the clearest examples of lament can be found in Scripture. We see it in the book of Job when he covers himself in ashes and voices his grief and distress after losing all he holds dear and being condemned by his wife and peers.
We see it in the book of 1 Samuel when Hannah is so distressed because of her inability to conceive a child (and because of the lack of compassion she’s found by those around her) that she’s unable to voice her grief—and is accused of being a drunkard by Eli, the high priest.
We see it in the psalms where David and other psalmists ask the heart-wrenching question, “How long, O Lord?” because those who glory in their wicked schemes and unjust behaviors seem to thrive whereas those living righteously are continually oppressed.
We see it in Esther when Mordechai learns that he and his people have been condemned to death through the treachery of a narcissistic and vile man.
And we see it in the garden of Gethsemane when Jesus pours out his own anguish and grief before he is betrayed, falsely accused, tortured, and put to death in one of the most barbaric and humiliating manners invented by humanity.
Lament doesn’t mark an end to our grief. It marks the recognition of it.
True lament recognizes that a wrong has been committed, that healing is necessary, and that the way forward is through repentance and forgiveness. It leads to us choosing to forgive those who’ve wronged us or to our seeking forgiveness from those we’ve wronged. Through lament, we recognize our need for succor, companionship, accountability, healing, and redemption. We realize that we’ve come to the end of ourselves and become open to our need for others to come alongside us.
The Role of Lament in Storytelling
The Shattered Castle by Jennifer A. Nielson offers us a glimpse of lament in storytelling and the change it brings to our characters. Without spoiling the plot for those who’ve not read the book (or series), the protagonist is met by a woman with cause to dislike him and whose influence could impact his future happiness. As the story progresses, he is confronted with unresolved grief from his past and with impossible situations in his present. He has the choice to respond as he always has—as a self-reliant individual who struggles to let anyone else come alongside him—or to finally allow those he cares about into the innermost parts of his life.
One of the things I loved so much about this book is that it shows us how lament can be shown through our characters’ actions. It’s one thing to regret our past. It’s another to do something positive with that regret. This is especially true for writers who weave elements of faith into their storytelling.
In Christian fiction, lament often leads to a “come to Jesus” moment; however, it also plays a role in stories written with the general market in mind (“the dark night of the soul” moment). Without lament—a character’s acknowledgment of their shortcomings and griefs—there can be no true healing or restoration for our protagonists. Without that redemption, there can be no lasting victory.
Without lament, our potential heroes remain victims of their own circumstances and risk becoming the villains (or anti-heroes) of their own stories. They remain controlled by their hurts and goaded on by their suppressed resentments and anger. Ultimately, their fears become self-fulfilling prophecies that lead to their demise, on or off the page. (Note: If you’re writing an anti-hero or villain character, this lack of lament and restoration is exactly what you’re going for!)
The beautiful thing about fiction is that it allows us to explore the emotions we all experience. The highs, the lows, and everything in between. Yes, they are messy. Yes, they are complicated. But more often than not, our fictional character’s problems cause our own struggles to seem a bit more bearable.
For readers (like me) who struggle with embracing the many nuanced emotions they’re faced with each day, fiction reminds us that our feelings don’t have to be scary or burdensome or something to avoid at all costs. Instead, emotionally rich fiction does the opposite: it invites the reader to become a little more introspective and it can embolden them to take the next step in their own journey toward emotional health.
Now it’s your turn!
Action and conflict may be the motor propelling the story forward. But emotion is the fuel that sparks that motor and captivates the reader. Readers will remember the emotional connection they had with your characters long after they forget the plot details. That connection also impacts whether they finish the book or recommend it to others.
If you’re struggling to connect with your characters, chances are your readers will too. Before jumping into the next action scene or revising that first chapter for the hundredth time, try asking yourself the following questions:
- What role does emotion play in the current scene?
- Is there a core wounding that is holding the protagonist(s) hostage back? What is it? What emotions might be connected to that wound?
- How does that wound impact how your protagonist(s) interact with the other characters in your story? How does it prevent them from moving forward in their personal aspirations?
- What role might lament play in your character’s emotional journey, and how might that awareness impact your readers?
Be sure to save your responses somewhere you can easily refer back to them when you’re stuck. Taking a moment to remind yourself of the emotional stakes before you start your next writing sprint may be the key to helping you (and your characters) find the way forward.
You’ve got this, my friend!
—Jen