"Getting" #Wrecked at School: Bias

Here’s my drumbeat line when I talk writing to students: Plot follows character.

They ask me where I get my ideas and I say, “Plot follows character.”

I finish reading, they ask what happens next, and I tell them, “Plot follows character.”

And when we pick apart the story I urge them to look at the details about the characters. I assure them they are no accident; writers spend a lot of time deciding what to tell you about a character. Because when you know those details, you’ll absolutely know what that character will do. And when you develop those details in your writing, you don’t need to worry about the plot. It simply happens. Those characters jump off the page and starting running in their own direction.

So it was super interesting the other day when I was presenting Wrecked to a high school group and we were talking about the character, Jenny, who is the young woman who accuses a fellow student of rape. I read them part of an early chapter and urged them, “Tell me what you know about Jenny so far. What details jump out at you?”

“Well, we believe her,” one boy said.  “Why?” I pressed. “Because she’s a good student,” he said, and everyone nodded. “She’s shy and she doesn’t go to parties. She’s the type of girl who would tell the truth.”

Now, this was fascinating to me. Because yes, those details were all there intentionally … but dang, as I was writing the book (and asking myself the usual what-does-my-character-want questions) I had seen those details about Jenny’s long hours in the lab, her massive backpack stuffed with books, her indirect shy manner of speaking, her seeming lack of social life, as an indicator that this was an inexperienced possibly lonely girl. Tossed into the maelstrom of a wildly social freshmen dorm, she was vulnerable to the allure of “popular girl” attention. When the chance to borrow a hot dress, down some vodka-laced Gatorade and waltz off with the rest of the hall to a party hosted by older students presents itself, Jenny can’t resist. She’s not out looking to hookup: she simply wants friends. She wants to fit in.

It hadn’t occurred to me that those details indicated her truthfulness. But for whatever reason … and I’m not judging here … to this young man, honesty and truth-telling comes in a “Good Student” package. The kids with the good grades are less likely to lie. The kids who don’t break the rules or get in trouble always tell the truth.

I couldn’t help myself.

“So … if Jenny was a girl who had had a string of boyfriends, struggled with her schoolwork, and wore micro-minis and ripped mesh hose to school, we’d be less likely to believe her when she says she was sexually assaulted?”

“To what extent do we make assumptions based on how someone presents? What they wear? How accurate are those assumptions?”

And that’s when the conversation got interesting.

"Getting" #Wrecked at School: Bias

Here’s my drumbeat line when I talk writing to students: Plot follows character.

They ask me where I get my ideas and I say, “Plot follows character.”

I finish reading, they ask what happens next, and I tell them, “Plot follows character.”

And when we pick apart the story I urge them to look at the details about the characters. I assure them they are no accident; writers spend a lot of time deciding what to tell you about a character. Because when you know those details, you’ll absolutely know what that character will do. And when you develop those details in your writing, you don’t need to worry about the plot. It simply happens. Those characters jump off the page and starting running in their own direction.

So it was super interesting the other day when I was presenting Wrecked to a high school group and we were talking about the character, Jenny, who is the young woman who accuses a fellow student of rape. I read them part of an early chapter and urged them, “Tell me what you know about Jenny so far. What details jump out at you?”

“Well, we believe her,” one boy said.  “Why?” I pressed. “Because she’s a good student,” he said, and everyone nodded. “She’s shy and she doesn’t go to parties. She’s the type of girl who would tell the truth.”

Now, this was fascinating to me. Because yes, those details were all there intentionally … but dang, as I was writing the book (and asking myself the usual what-does-my-character-want questions) I had seen those details about Jenny’s long hours in the lab, her massive backpack stuffed with books, her indirect shy manner of speaking, her seeming lack of social life, as an indicator that this was an inexperienced possibly lonely girl. Tossed into the maelstrom of a wildly social freshmen dorm, she was vulnerable to the allure of “popular girl” attention. When the chance to borrow a hot dress, down some vodka-laced Gatorade and waltz off with the rest of the hall to a party hosted by older students presents itself, Jenny can’t resist. She’s not out looking to hookup: she simply wants friends. She wants to fit in.

It hadn’t occurred to me that those details indicated her truthfulness. But for whatever reason … and I’m not judging here … to this young man, honesty and truth-telling comes in a “Good Student” package. The kids with the good grades are less likely to lie. The kids who don’t break the rules or get in trouble always tell the truth.

I couldn’t help myself.

“So … if Jenny was a girl who had had a string of boyfriends, struggled with her schoolwork, and wore micro-minis and ripped mesh hose to school, we’d be less likely to believe her when she says she was sexually assaulted?”

“To what extent do we make assumptions based on how someone presents? What they wear? How accurate are those assumptions?”

And that’s when the conversation got interesting.

"Getting" #Wrecked at School

My new novel, Wrecked, has been out in world for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve been visiting schools and book stores for signings, readings, discussions, that sort of thing. It’s been a busy but fairly low-key, New England-based “tour.” It’s also my fourth book, and I’m used to speaking in public/signing/reading, so while I was excited to finally share Wrecked, I was fairly nonchalant about the whole thing.

Nevertheless, I was unprepared for the emotional impact of presenting Wrecked to young readers.

I wasn’t prepared for the tears. The stricken expressions and extra beat of silence preceding the requisite claps at readings. I should have expected it. Kids lead with their hearts, so they were never going to read Wrecked with a pencil in hand, underlining salient passages that gave them hints about the characters’ motivations, or how the plot might develop. And the early, online responses should have warned me, because it’s been so emotional: the young bloggers don’t analyze and review the book as much as they emote over the characters. Like they’re real people, and this has really happened.

It’s a storyteller’s greatest wish, to connect with another person and transport him or her temporarily into a different world. But when you take that story on the road and witness the emotion … hell, share the emotion (when those college students in the front row started crying, so did I) … you realize you’re in a new place, a different “stage of development” with your baby, and it brings a whole new set of responsibilities.

Anyway, the tears and stricken expressions was the college visit. Then, there was the high school visit, and wow, we were off to the races. I presented Wrecked to groups of juniors and seniors, roughly half of whom had “consent training” by a group of professionals shortly before my visit.

Where do I even begin to describe this experience? First of all, can I just say I love teenagers and every time I visit a school I’m reminded why I write YA fiction. Second: don’t worry about the state of the world. Spend some time with young people and you’ll feel confident that they are very capable of fixing all the things we’ve messed up. Eventually.

Because these kids were courageous. They were serious. They were honest, engaged and intense. And they were a case study in the difference education about sexual assault and consent can make. After my presentations, I spoke to the teacher and librarian who had attended. We marveled at how easily the students who had had the training understood the difference between “no means no” and affirmative consent, how they recognized and called out slut-shaming, how they “got” the different standard of proof between a criminal trial and a college hearing. The kids without training were just as earnest and honest but way, way less sophisticated and informed. And, ironically: the untrained kids were the seniors. Which means younger, less experienced kids were more savvy than their older peers simply as a result of workshopping these issues.

So here’s the thing: I’m no counselor and I’m no expert on sexual assault. I’m a novelist, and I’ve written a book which is, first and foremost, a story. One of my editors for Wrecked warned me, early in this process, “I’m allergic to bibliotherapy,” and so am I. Our primary goal for Wrecked was to create authentic characters and weave together a compelling story. It’s not meant to be a counseling tool.

But if a story can transport us to a new place, and inspire us, and create empathy then I’m all for it. And here’s what I saw happen with Wrecked: it cracked open important conversations. Edgy, values-laden, honest conversations between girls and boys. And that’s how we’re going to make real change: from the bottom up, one awkward conversation at a time.

All this week I’m going to blog about Getting #Wrecked at School, because it’s going to take me that long to process all that happened and all I learned. Chime in, I’d love to hear what you think, what you know, and what you might suggest as I continue to take this book on the road and share it with young people.