Why I won’t ever write a novel

Like every person who took literature classes in college, I have entertained the feeble dream of writing a novel someday. I didn’t want to be a novelist, but I liked the idea of that mundane achievement: completing a novel. I’d tell myself that I would at some point in my life set some time aside, pick a subject and start writing.

But I don’t think I’ll ever do it. And it’s not that I lack the dedication or discipline that such a project would require — though it would clearly be a challenge. It’s just that I can’t for the life of me create fictional characters; the only character living in my head is me.

There have been a few signs I should have noticed earlier. Here’s one: when I read a novel, I tend to stop mid-dialogue and start writing my own lines; I substitute my inner character for the one in the book, sometimes for several minutes.

Of course I could indulge in autofiction; but, setting the moral stigma aside, I think I don’t care much for that. Short form notes such as this one are a better match for my autobiographical tendencies.

Many great writers were astute observers of their fellow humans. I could try that; observe, take mental notes. And while I do have some observation skills, I don’t think I’m cut for that. Mostly because I am not, in any conceivable way, a good judge of character.

Here’s what I am: a good listener, who knows a few things about human nature. I tend to get psychology and how people think, if I put in some effort. I’m empathic. I’m great at understanding people, but it only works when people talk to me or reach to me in some way. I’m bad at guessing people’s intentions; so I listen to them instead.

And I don’t judge people. In some ways it’s a kind of moral discipline, but frankly most of the time it just doesn’t come to me. For instance, I don’t get “first impressions” (won’t do it, can’t do it). When I do form opinions on people I’ve met or heard of, they’re open-ended opinions. They come with mental notes that say a) you might be wrong and b) it’s ok to change your mind about this.

Finally, I’m bad at guessing what people are going to do next — a skill I don’t particularly care for. Call me naive or clueless, but I’d rather ask than guess, and I’m ok with not knowing stuff beforehand. I know a few people who have this skill, they’re pretty good at it, and I guess they find it helpful — but when it gets to the really important things in life they get bitten in the ass as much as any of us.

So how does all of this relate to writing a novel?
Let me recap:

1. I don’t have characters living in my head (besides myself). I could probably work on this, nurture creativity etc., but in any case it’s not a strong point of mine.
2. I’m a good listener, not a good observer. I can’t create a Gatsby out of observation. Could work with Gatsby as a friend of mine, but then I wouldn’t want to use him as a fiction character (it just wouldn’t excite me).
3. Even if I had convincing characters, I could understand them to some extent, but I’d be unable to imagine how they might feel or react to situations. Sure I could work on it, but it’s not something I’m drawn to.

To summarize it even further: I’m good at understanding people, but I have little intuition for psychology. So I wouldn’t be able to write the kind of novel that I care for — or I might, but I would find very little pleasure in the process.

On the other hand, there are a few things that I have some talent for or at least a will to pursue: photography; documenting stuff; music; testimonials; portraits; voices; ideas that people can relate to. See? There’s plenty of opportunity for me to do meaningless artsy stuff that won’t benefit our fledgling economy.