Cornelia Wells

So-What

Who, any alter ego a writer can imagine (from an anthropomorphized microbe to a mythical or historical hero, to an abused child locked away in the farthest corner of the universe, to a capitalized drudge stuffing tacos in a chain restaurant, to a health care volunteer in a hostile country, to a debutante, to an accidental killer, to the most power-mad politician), anyone that the writer, with dexterity and wit, can make readers identify with, wants What (a friend, a scholarship, a baby, a better job, a new car, a true love, self-esteem, a new government, a chance to be involved in a planet-altering lab experiment, a kidney transplant, you name it). And Who wants What in the worst—or best—possible way, more than anyone or anything in this world (more than roses or rainbows or Jimmy Dean sausage or daily bread or safety or a Jack Daniels or a winning lottery ticket, more than even most things out of this world, more than distant galaxies of twinkling stars or floating wreckage from abandoned spacecraft).

But So-What wants a story and is willing to play the “bad guy” to get it (even when, anatomically speaking, So-What is a “bad gal”).

When the story opens, Who is unsure of herself. She lights a cigarette and blows smoke around her head to create an aura, or betrays a confidence, or puts on makeup, or buries her face in a book or work or sex, or sits around blaming others for sundry miseries, anything to avoid taking a hard look at herself and what she will have to do or how she will have to change to achieve What, her only reason for being. At this point she is still a bit of a Whom, more object than subject, or she is the wrong kind of subject, the subject that is subject to (a throne, an obsession, an illness, a drug, a dream), not yet a subject that propels a verb or initiates an action toward her ideal subject-object, What. But if she doesn't do something soon, we will lose interest and turn to another story.

Enter So-What, the true protagonist, the unacknowledged hero, defining Who’s path by embodying increasingly challenging conflicts and crises that Who must overcome or maneuver around or through to achieve What, or die trying, either way relinquishing the breathing space that lets the reader, viewer, listener off the hook at last to close the book or exit the theater or turn away from the fire to contemplate So-What, the unsung “villain” or hardship that brought the story to life, our sacrificial lamb, the “foe” who laid down her life, just so, so Who and What would have at least a chance together (whether they dwell happily forever or not), but more importantly … so we would have a story.

THE END

 

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