Josi Kilpack reviewed my manuscript for me recently. When I received back the edits, I had to sit on them for a while and figure out how to make the suggested changes. She wanted more depth.
“You love your characters too much,” she said. “You’re afraid to let them get hurt.”
I can’t argue with her. I *do* love my characters. They are funny, and charming. I would go to movies with them and invite them on vacations if they were real.
“You have to let them get hurt!” she continues later in the manuscript. “Burn them, Julie! Burn them!”
Let me clarify a few things about this particular manuscript: Anyone who knows me knows I like writing good conflict, but I wrote this book to be a candy bar book–empty calories that are fun to consume but have no real value. It’s a romantic comedy. In the need to write a whimsical book after several books that were emotionally draining, I ended up with this one–a light breezy romance in the same vein as Notting Hill with Hugh Grant. What kind of silly woman wants to burn a miraculous man find who looks like this:

But after much contemplation, I have dug a little deeper and found that there are some other ways I could strengthen the conflict without losing the whimsy of romantic comedy.
And as I’ve continued, I’ve realized that the characters have to be burned at some point. How will I ever know what they are capable of if I never give them the chance to damage themselves?
My daughter’s moving in less than a month. 28 days and I will no longer be there to keep her from getting hurt. And yet, how could she ever know how strong she is if she doesn’t ever get to flex her muscles? How will she know what she’s capable of if she never takes chances, fails, succeeds, lives?
I wonder if God shakes his head at us silly mortals as we shake our fists at him. As we curse him for our trials, does he say, “It’s for your own good! I promise you’ll thank me later! If you don’t hurt, how will you ever know what you’re capable of?” He has to let us get hurt for our own good, our own learning, our own expansion into a greater universe.
I feel suddenly more grateful for my challenges.
Just as I have to let Rae go, for her own good so she can know that she is strong–not because I told her she was strong, but because she stood on her own two feet and proved it.



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