On Being “Original”

“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”

C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

I’ve held this quote near and dear to my heart for quite some time. C.S. Lewis’s words have become a bit of a mantra for me throughout my writing process at every stage from ideation to editing to querying.

As a writer, it’s easy to feel the pressure to be “new,” to do something that’s never been done before, something that will set your story apart from the crowd. Something that will make it FRESH and marketable, a that story agents and publishers will all want to snap up before anyone else does.

But as a reader, I find that I don’t often search for something that is purely “new.” I search for what C.S. Lewis might call truth. Does a story feel real? Do the emotions feel honest? Do I close the book after the last page with a sense that I’ve gone on a journey with the characters, that I’ve dug with them to uncover some sort of revelation or catharsis?

I think that last bit is key: reality, honesty, emotional “truth” is like a grappling hook that anchors us as we take risks in a story, letting us go to someplace new.

The stories I love best have original elements, but they’re mingled always with something familiar, something I know at least a little bit about that I can grasp onto. Inej Ghafa’s quiet faith, Hermione Granger’s studiousness, Addie LaRue’s desire for companionship. These characters all exist in stories that I consider to have that elusive “originality” (and I think their bestseller statuses go to show it).