How Not to Be Insufferable in Life or Books

Guest Post by Mystery Author GP Gottlieb

Do you know someone who, after you explain that you’re coughing because of asthma, says, “Have you been to the doctor about that?” As if after being up all night struggling to breathe and thinking you might expire, it never occurred to you to consult a doctor.

Have you ever mentioned that you’re not getting much done one day because you have a headache, and the response is, “Why don’t you take some ibuprofen?” As if you’re unfamiliar with ingesting medicine to alleviate pain. 

And do you know anyone who, when you complain about your knee, says, “You have to use Dr. McDougal”? She then raves about successful new replacements he’s done and describes the less efficacious outcomes of those who didn’t see her specific doctor.

I wanted to base one of my characters on such a person.

The one who, after hearing that a mutual friend is lonely and hasn’t been able to find a nice man since her divorce, says, “She’d have better luck if she lost some weight and saw a new hair stylist.” This character is decidedly not the person who says, “Let’s organize a dinner party with a bunch of single friends, and maybe something magical will come out of it.”

No, instead, she’s the person who, after hearing that someone is in discomfort or has a medical problem, asks a silly question to which the answer is, “Yes, I’ve tried napping when I’m fatigued, and, yes, I’ve thought about wearing a scarf when I have a sore throat.”

Research shows (Don’t ask for details. I won’t look it up, as I’m too busy ranting) that 85% of those who complain do so seeking kindness and compassion, not a recommendation or a cure. The other 15%, according to data that I refuse to look up, enjoy complaining, and don’t need your five cents. 

Even if the character in one of my books isn’t a murderous felon, they (you’ll have to guess who it is) doesn’t know that the proper response to news of a friend’s sick dog is, “That’s so sad, can I help you in some way?” 

The character I’m describing lacks empathy. It’s not only medical complaining that’s at issue here, and it’s not just in my books. When I tell someone that I’m only half done with my current work-in-progress and it’s going slowly, I don’t want to hear about their writer’s retreat in Paris or how someone managed to write 50,000 words in two months. 

The correct answer to me complaining about writing is, “You’ve got this!” Or say, “I’ll be happy to read it whenever you’re ready!” 

It would be a nice bonus if you added, “Would you like me to send a copy to my cousin Steven (Spielberg) when you’re finished?”

The un-empathetic character in real life and literature never understands that, as a listener, their job isn’t to solve problems (unless they’re being paid to give advice). Their job is to respond in a way that says, “I hear you, my friend.” 

When Alene Baron, my protagonist and the owner of the Whipped & Sipped Cafe, or Ruthie Rosin, her best friend and pastry chef, wants to help someone, they offer a meal or a cookie. If other characters are stressed and suffering, their response is to drop off a freshly baked peach crisp. A crisp of any kind would make anyone feel the weight of the world slipping off their shoulders.

Even Frank Shaw, Alene’s fiancé, a homicide detective, knows that listening and responding empathetically means saying, “I’m so sorry that happened.” He’s learned that no matter how fraught with tension the situation is, he can get more information by being kind. He’s even sympathetic, at least in the beginning, to potential perpetrators. 

 We all try to teach empathy to our children, and some of us are more successful than others, but I’ve learned that we cannot control them once they grow up. In literature, I happily control how my characters behave and give them the ability to change for the better.

Sometimes I use this helpful chart in building characters. I’d share it with all humanity, but I’ve already told you how I feel about unsolicited advice:

1. Questioning my choice of doctors/editors/writing retreats/etc. Because yours are better, not helpful. Emailing me the names and contact information of reputable professionals—helpful.
2. Suggesting wheatgrass to flush my system is not helpful. Offering to drop off a healthy, homemade meal—helpful. (You want to put wheatgrass in it? Go for it.)
3. Asking if I’ve tried chiropractic manipulation is not helpful. Texting the number of the massage therapist who eases your pain—helpful.
4. Stories about people who didn’t survive breast cancer is not helpful. Taking me out for pie (or a drink) to celebrate 10 years of being cancer-free (my final chemotherapy was September of 2015)—helpful.

And yes, I’d love for you to show my manuscript to your cousin Steven.

GP Gottlieb is the author of the Whipped and Sipped Mystery Series. She’s a member of the Blackbird Writers, a member of the Sisters in Crime Chicagoland Board, and active in SinC Colorado. She likes posting on Facebook, reads voraciously, and has interviewed over 250 authors for New Books in Literature, a podcast channel on the New Books Network. Her stories have been published in Pure Slush, Another Chicago Magazine, Grande Dame Literary, and other journals and anthologies. Over 250 of her essays on travel, music, culture, writing, and things that annoy her are available in various publications on Medium.