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Recently I gained new perspective on an element of my past that has caused me to rethink some things I thought I understood.

(Storytelling violation warning: I’m committing an infraction here that I frequently advise against: coyly hinting at some mystery or secret that comes across as cryptic, confusing, and frustrating and leads readers to disengage. I’m not attempting to manipulate you into a false sense of suspense or engagement with my own coy little mention, but I hope you’ll refrain from disengaging for just a bit. The specifics aren’t what this post is about; my reactions to it are.)

This new perspective has been taking up a great deal of real estate in my brain lately, and I find myself reflecting back on the past through this new lens and trying to reframe my view of myself and my life in the light of it.

Until this weekend, when I suddenly realized how much time I’m spending cogitating over something that is no longer part of my current reality. This factoid is fairly irrelevant to my present, and it has nothing to do with my future.

Which of course got me thinking about living in the now, as so many philosophies and self-help books advise us to do. Which got me talking to my husband about what exactly “now” is.

Most of my “nows,” I ventured, are often a product of my future. If I have a presentation or article due by a certain date, then my “now” is directed toward achieving that. If I want the house or yard to look nice, my “now” is oriented toward that eventual goal. How can “now” exist if I don’t also think about the future, and what is “now” exactly if there is no future in our minds, just the dull present-moment reality of a goldfish?

Then we got to talking about the past and its impact on our “now.” Much of our reactions in the now are colored by our experiences in the past and how they have shaped us. They’re also colored by our perspective on those events, so if I have gained new perspective on some past event or experience in my life, how can it not impact my “now” in some regard?

(Lest you are feeling remotely impressed by the philosophical nature of our domestic discussions, please know that we are equally likely to be experimenting with how dry ice melts in various liquid media or discussing, after recently starting pottery and pickleball, what other hobbies we could take up that begin with P…like pole dancing and poultry farming. As a couple we are both ridiculous and sublime.)

The fact is that every one of us is an amalgam of our past, present, and future. We act, react, and behave as we do largely because of what we have experienced and done in the past, and what we want in the future. Our relationships with the people close to us are colored by our compounded experiences with them in the past and, in many cases, a planned or hoped-for future. Current and future successes often stem from past failures. Where we are in life is a product of all the steps we’ve taken along the road to it—one that we’re still walking toward an unknowable but still optimistically charted-out destination.

How this pertains to story

In writing it’s easy to get stuck in any of these three frames of reference. The present is the main plot of the story we’re telling and each individual scene, and if we’re not fully engaged in that and developing it adequately, the story lacks immediacy and impact.

The past is your characters’ backstory, and it’s essential for creating realistic, fully developed characters. Just as we are who we are because of our past, our characters don’t exist in a vacuum and we must create the reality of theirs. But a story that gets bogged down in backstory loses its forward propulsion and its focus.

The future is your characters’ goals, what drives them, and where they’re headed, and without that the characters don’t progress along their arcs, the action of the story doesn’t move forward, and the story stalls. But focus too much on their future plans and goals and your characters may be flat, your story long on action but short on character development and story.

Read more: “Beyond Character Goal and Motivation: The Longing and the Lack”

Past, present, and future combine to create a story’s premise, storyline, and even genre:

• Mystery, courtroom drama, and multiple-timeline stories take place in the present, but the character is often focused on tying it together with the past.
• Genres like romance, fantasy, action, and science fiction tend to be about characters aiming toward a desired potential future, or working to avoid an undesirable one.
• In book-club fiction the action of the present is often a response to or an attempt to understand or be free of the past en route to a more fulfilling future.
• Suspense and thriller stories may feature characters whose actions in the present are feverishly geared toward the future—like unmasking or escaping a villain.

All three timelines are also essential to create character arc:

• Often a character has to face or resolve their past in order to find peace or fulfillment in the present and free them to achieve a desired future.
• A character may be trapped or hung up on the past, hamstrung by it in a way that keeps them stuck there or in the present, unable to move on to a more fulfilling or authentic future.
• Sometimes a character misunderstands the past, which colors the present in a false way, and they must find clarity and truth in order to evolve into the future.

But the story we are reading is always—always—about the now, or you are making false promises to your reader and risking their direct, deep, immediate engagement.

How this pertains to your writing

The writing you do today—every day—is an amalgam of the writing you have done every other day before it, the craft you have learned and studied, the experiences you have had, and countless other factors all firmly rooted in your past.

The writing you do today—every day—is an amalgam of the writing you have done every other day before it.

Most of us are doing it for a clear purpose in our future: to finish a full manuscript, to hit a deadline, to find an agent and/or publisher, to reach readers, etc.

And yet you are always writing in the now. Getting caught up in the past (prior writing struggles, unsuccessful attempts you’ve had, rejections, a spotty or uncertain track record, poor feedback or reviews and the like) or the future (getting to “the end,” going on submission, getting published, finding “success”)—is the quickest way to paralyze your ability to effectively create in the present.

That way lies the demons—comparison of past results with others or the fear of it in the future…impostor syndrome…procrastination…the whole cast of personal demons. (Take a bow, buddies, at yet another cameo appearance.)

Read more: “Forgiving Your Failure”

That way lies dissatisfaction in the act of creating, in the actual writing career that we are having, which consists not of the peak experiences, as I wrote about last week, but of the day-in-day-out experience of writing. Our mediums and mundane Wednesdays of sitting down and actually engaging in our craft, one day at a time—the only part of the experience that’s truly under our control.

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I’ve been mulling over all these thoughts in my own personal wrangle with the past, realizing that regardless of how our personal backstories may have affected us, or how we may have been shaped by them, they don’t dictate our future. Nor do they necessarily have to alter our present, which is, at least insofar as our actions, choices, behaviors, and state of mind, largely up to us.

But all three are also an intrinsic part of who we are—and who our characters are. And knowing what intrinsic role each plays—and doesn’t play—is key to both a balanced life and fully developed stories.

What about you, authors—do you get stuck in your past or fixated on your future…in your writing, your stories, your life? How much does your “now” in these areas reflect the experiences you’ve had in your past, the goals you have for the future?

If you want to explore more about using your characters’ past to inform their present and future, join me for my latest course with Jane Friedman—my first master class, “Mastering Backstory for Novelists.” In three in-depth classes, we’ll explore the three key components of backstory and how to use them effectively without bogging down your story; knowing when and how to use flashbacks effectively; and how to discover and convey what shaped your characters into who they are and how they’re evolving. ($75 with video playback.)

If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.