Suspicion or Empathy?

 

Terry here with our question of the week: 

How has writing crime fiction changed the way you see ordinary people and everyday life—and has it made you more suspicious, more empathetic, or both? 

 I have been blessed or cursed with a sunny disposition. I once went camping with a woman who was always morose (for many good reasons, but that’s another story). One morning she groused that she hated waking up to my cheerful voice around the morning campfire. So in that sense, I guess it can be a curse. Not that I don’t have my grumpy days. But my “set” disposition is cheerful. 

Writing crime fiction has not changed that. About halfway through every book I write, I say to myself, “Terry, everyone in the book is too nice. You have to have some characters who aren’t so nice.” Then the real writing begins. Because I do know that in real life there are lots of people who lie, cheat, steal, snark, criticize, and murder…sometimes with no conscience. 

I also know that even ordinary people can find themselves in situations where they think their only way out is to lie, cheat, steal…or murder. And it may not even be "their only way out." It may just be for a lark. I once knew a perfectly lovely girl in college. She stole things. All the time. And had no qualms about it. She shrugged it off as stealing from people who could afford the loss. The crazy thing is, she gave away the things she stole. She tried to give me things she’d stolen and I didn’t feel right about it. But did I turn her in? No. 

Have I ever lied? You bet. In fact, in my callow youth I used to find it funny to lie about who I was. People I met and whom I’d never see again, I’d tell all kinds of outlandish things. Have I ever cheated…at cards or whatever? Not that I can remember. But when I was a kid and played monopoly, I’d hide money under the board so other players wouldn’t know how much I had. Someone told me that was cheating, but I didn’t think so. I haven’t murdered anyone, though. At least, not intentionally. 

 My point is that no matter how much I view the world with good cheer, I’m not a fool. I know that people do bad things. Writing crime fiction has not significantly changed my assessment that most people may commit “small” crimes, but most people don’t commit “big” ones. And it’s the big ones we write about as crime writers. 

I frequently run into people who are suspicious of others. They are quick with tales of how something bad happened to someone out of the blue. So I know it can happen. I know people who have been mugged, victims of home invasion, and in one case a woman who was threatened with rape and murder (she talked the guy out of assaulting her, managed to get him to give her his knife, and then ran). I also know people who have been under siege from people with guns. They survived, but people near them did not. I can, and do, imagine their horror, grief, and terror. 

But when I write, I have to dredge up the feelings of victims because I don’t live with that kind of suspicion or fear in daily life. As to whether it has made me more empathetic, not really. Samuel Craddock, protagonist of twelve books, is an empathetic lawman. He understands what drives people to commit crimes. But that doesn’t change his view of justice. No matter how kindly he feels toward someone who has been driven to commit bad crimes, he believes that justice must be done. In fact, he believes that deep down, criminals feel a sense of relief when they are caught. Is it true? I don’t know. Maybe for some; and for others, they justify their behavior and are furious when they are caught. 

There is one brand of criminal that stands out—the lunatic. I once spoke to a guard at San Quentin who said that most men on death row are dangerous because they are absolutely nuts and will do anything with no sense of guilt. Can you be empathetic about someone like that? I guess you can if you think they would have preferred not to be nuts. 

But then, who designates whether someone is crazy? I’d argue that abruptly cancelling USAID, which resulted in thousands of lives lost, was the work of a crazy person. But that person and his helpers are walking around free, and thought by many to have no blame attached to their actions. Am I empathetic toward people like that? People who are cruel to others and feel no remorse? Not really. In fact, I hope one day they get the other end of the stick. But writing crime fiction didn’t change my view about that. I’ve always felt that way.