Many people subscribe to the theory that we all have a set point for our weights. You can lose a great deal on a drastic diet, but your body will naturally find its way back to the “set weight” that’s pre-determined by your DNA, metabolism, and the rest. It might be smart to accept your weight set-point if the alternative is a roller coaster of dieting and rebounding. But that’s not the set-point of interest to me right now. There is another kind of set-point which intrigues me as a storyteller and creator of characters, and that’s the character’s personality set-point.
Some psychologists talk about a natural mood level. We all respond to big horrific life events—a death in the family, a home destroyed by a hurricane or fire, the sudden end of a romance—but some people seem to heal faster and revert to their inherent, positive set-point while others battle hard to recover from their loss. It’s not that one group is stronger than the other, or even that the positive set-point folks don’t feel as deeply wounded as their melancholy friends, it’s just that the set-point, sets the experience in a different context—one where the mood lifts faster. This is not about clinical depression, this is reactive—the responses to life events and, in fiction, to the events of the story.
My set-point is relatively optimistic. Lately—while I’ve complained about the trials of renovations and real estate in the midst of a pandemic—I don’t seem like an optimist. But it’s there. I’m constantly stirring the pot of my anxiety and after the stink of anxious sweat rises, a wave of sweeter ‘this is going to be a funny story’ perfume starts to clear the air. My natural optimism enables me to continue to write in the absence of obvious success. It also enables me to hope for romance, travel and adventures in my future when I’m no longer young. Yes, once you’ve passed a certain age, you’re not the romantic heroine you’re her mom, grandmother, mentor, spirit guide, hairdresser or fairy godmother.
I’m fine with that. Or, at the very least, I’m on board with it because I’m an optimist at heart and must continue to believe that my story will be a good one. This does not diminish the struggles and low points and tears, but it does inform the way I construct a character in fiction. With or without a conscious intention, I’ve always noted the mood of my character creations. Is he always sad or is this a temporary gloom? Is she papering over a natural optimism with a show of world-weary skepticism? It’s a frame that helps to create a coherent character with depth and nuance—just like all my favorite people in real life and in fiction.
If it’s any consolation, I can tell you that the older people I know star in their own romantic dramas every bit as exciting as those of younger friends. Perhaps we all have set-points for romance too. (And having lost weight over this covid year, I’m hoping that you are wrong about that particular set-point.)
I like the idea that I’ll star in my own romantic story even as I grow older and older… My set point always looks towards good adventures in the future!
It’s funny how characters in fiction are sometimes too set in their set points. Too happy all the time or too gloomy. I think that the general mood set point is where the person (or fictional character) lands AFTER the adventure. The test of a good story is how the characters grow and change by the end, while continuing as themselves throughout.
I’d never heard of ‘set points’ before, but they make a lot of sense. We often describe people as being glass half full or glass half empty, and those descriptions have always resonated with me.
Like you, Candy, I think my set point is glass half full, but I’ve definitely woven glass half empty characters into my stories. I wonder if there is such a thing as an optimism gene?
I think the set point concept is helpful in character creation AND in understanding people in real life. I have one dear friend whom I’ll always describe as looking at half a glass and seeing it nearly empty, while I would see the same glass and think, “eh… just needs a drop to top it off.” In a funny way, we were always a good team because of the difference in POV. Half empty characters can be very compelling—especially if they are driven to make changes or explore risks. I’m optimistic, but I’m not a big risk taker in the sense that I’m not jumping out of airplanes for fun or going to race car driving “camp.” I remember when two of my nearest and dearest went to learn how to race cars. Both are half empty guys and they were filling up on the excitement. Those “half empty” characters are often great in fiction. Keep up the good work!
As for an optimism gene… um… Likely some inherent inclination that gets killed or nurtured by what life throws at us.
I’m just republishing ‘The White Rajah’ (mybook.to/WhiteRajah) based on the life of James Brooke of Sarawak. He is known to have had ‘black dog’ days of intense depression and some of his enthusiastic days hint at mania. His mood fluctuated anyway, which makes him a fascinating person to write. I did try to write him in a fairly conventional way and ended up seeing him entirely through the eyes of a fairly phlegmatic character who narrates the story. Reading your piece I wonder if trying to deal with the mood swings was the reason my initial attempt (yes, all 90,000+words of it) didn’t work.
Characters with clinical diagnoses are another can of worms. I think you’re use of the point of view of a “fairly phlegmatic” character, as the way the story unfolds, is a brilliant idea. The narrator’s mood——or mood set point—— controls the narrative! Very cool!!! He can be more objective, even as he responds to the ups and downs.