The Story We Tell Ourselves
A friend of mine and I were talking a couple of weeks ago about how the stories we tell ourselves shift our worldviews, and it's continued to come up in conversations lately, so I figured I ought to write about it. I heard not too long ago about a therapist who prescribes watching certain types of TV shows or movies to his patients for just this reason. Example: a patient only dates bad boys and keeps getting hurt in relationships. She likes mobster movies. He prescribes watching romantic comedies, where the nice guy often finishes first. There are most likely other elements going on, but eventually, the patient starts seeing nice guys as a positive and stops going after relationships that will eventually turn destructive. Changing the story becomes part of the therapy.

Kameron Hurley wrote about this in "We Have Always Fought," an essay about changing the stories we tell ourselves about the role of women, over on Aidan Moher's A Dribble of Ink. (And also llamas. The cannibalistic llama metaphor is brilliant.) And Neil Gaiman talked about the idea of fiction making us see other possibilities for the way the world works at a Book Expo America talk, summed up by Chris Lough at Tor.com. (Gaiman also contended that this is why fiction is dangerous -- because it makes us think new things and question our assumptions.)
This makes me conscious of the stories I'm telling, not only as a writer, but as a mom. I caught myself the other day, playing puppets, having the princess puppet be grossed out by a frog. I realized this error quickly -- why should girls be grossed out by frogs? -- and had the queen compensate for the princess's initial reaction by talking about the awesomeness of being an amphibian. In my writing, I know I tend to think of my characters first as individuals, and then as a product of their genders or races. This may mean that my characters end up being less accurate to their cultural backgrounds -- something I'm always working to correct -- but it does reflect my worldview. Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of thinking of other people first as people, and then as their modifiers. I know I fall into thinking with stereotypes (as I think everyone does now and again). But that story -- of unique individuals -- shapes my thinking and the stories I tell others.
What stories do you tell yourself? What stories do you wish you could change?

Kameron Hurley wrote about this in "We Have Always Fought," an essay about changing the stories we tell ourselves about the role of women, over on Aidan Moher's A Dribble of Ink. (And also llamas. The cannibalistic llama metaphor is brilliant.) And Neil Gaiman talked about the idea of fiction making us see other possibilities for the way the world works at a Book Expo America talk, summed up by Chris Lough at Tor.com. (Gaiman also contended that this is why fiction is dangerous -- because it makes us think new things and question our assumptions.)
This makes me conscious of the stories I'm telling, not only as a writer, but as a mom. I caught myself the other day, playing puppets, having the princess puppet be grossed out by a frog. I realized this error quickly -- why should girls be grossed out by frogs? -- and had the queen compensate for the princess's initial reaction by talking about the awesomeness of being an amphibian. In my writing, I know I tend to think of my characters first as individuals, and then as a product of their genders or races. This may mean that my characters end up being less accurate to their cultural backgrounds -- something I'm always working to correct -- but it does reflect my worldview. Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of thinking of other people first as people, and then as their modifiers. I know I fall into thinking with stereotypes (as I think everyone does now and again). But that story -- of unique individuals -- shapes my thinking and the stories I tell others.
What stories do you tell yourself? What stories do you wish you could change?
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I don't know about stories I tell myself, but I'd say I've relied on stories as guides and supports in life, much the way people rely on actual living advisers. The fairy-tale notion that help will come to the protagonist in his time of need was a big comfort to me. I know that sounds like a bad thing to rely on! That it might encourage passive behavior... but in fact, it didn't encourage me to be passive, but rather to quell the voice of needless anxiety in my head. In terms of not being passive or overwhelmed, I tended to rely more on my observations (and news stories) about ordinary people figuring out ways out of their bad situations. "If they can do it, I can do it too," I'd tell myself. Not always true, but it got me to at least not be too paralyzed to *try*.
These days, the fantasy short stories I've been reading, and discussions and the atmosphere in the corners of cyberspace I visit, have made me much more aware of issues of gender and cultural assumptions about gender, and these days, I catch myself when I start assigning roles to characters according to timeworn patterns--I catch myself and then try to shake it up a little.
Thanks for such a thought-provoking post!
no subject
In the best fairy tales, help usually comes to people who have been proactive enough to deserve it, too: helping the old lady who's actually a fairy, releasing the trapped animal who promises to help in return some day, etc. etc. Which, actually, would make another interesting post, since the trait being rewarded isn't strength or intelligence, but kindness. (Unless you're talking about stories involving huli jing, where they'll exploit your kindness or punish your meanness and reward your intelligence, but that's maybe a cultural difference from the European and Slavic kindness-rewarding tales.)
But I digress. I'm glad you liked both this post and the one from Hurley -- that was one of the coolest posts on the subject I'd read!
no subject
The cannibalistic lama keeps on coming up in conversation at home!