Three Things I Learned From Ender’s Game, Part Three

(See also Part One: The Loneliness of Genius and Part Two: The Danger of Empathy)

The Power of Words

“There are times when the world is rearranging itself, and at times like that, the right words can change the world.”

One of my heroes is Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the theologian-pastor who plotted to kill Hitler, and maybe more importantly, stood against him even back in the early days when the Nazis were changing things mostly through creeds and committee meetings. He thought deeply and wrote powerfully, using words that cut through empty rhetoric to get to the truth.

Hitler was mentioned in Ender’s Game. He’s always the one we look back on, maybe the one we will look back on forever into the future, as a person who accomplished despicable things because he had both clear insight into how people think and the ability to craft words and make them beautiful.

I have clear insight into how people think. I have the ability to craft words and make them beautiful.

I could be Hitler.

Or Bonhoeffer. Or Ender’s sister Valentine, who “could persuade other people to her point of view—she could convince them that they wanted what she wanted them to want.”

That same passage could be describing me. And that terrifies me. Because even if there is no chance that I will commit the atrocities that Hitler did, what happens if someone else does? Won’t I be responsible to say something, do something?

I am an ordinary person in (so far) ordinary times. Bonhoeffer had Hitler. Valentine had a corrupt world order. All I seem to have is an alarm clock that goes off too early, people who don't know how to merge, and an enormous heap of laundry. Hardly the setting for the rise of a hero.

Sometimes I don't want to be one anyway. Sometimes I wonder what to do with the intelligence, empathy, and words I have been given. And, probably the most common "sometimes," sometimes I wish I had more opportunities to be heroic.

Either way, I closed Ender's Game with the certainty of several things: I shouldn’t want to be a genius. I can’t take on all the suffering of the whole world. And I could still be a hero.

What to Do With Banished Adjectives

Most articles on ways to improve writing will give a very simple rule: cut adjectives and adverbs. Instead, use strong nouns and verbs.

And they’re right. Adjectives are like sprinkles. Used in the right way, they can add just the right dash of color, but they really don’t have much substance and can easily be overdone. (Or maybe I’m just biased against sprinkles because I threw up a bunch of them when I got food poisoning a few years ago…long story.)

The time when the no-adjective rule is most likely to apply is when it comes to characters. There are so many more ways to show what people are like that we shouldn’t need to slap on one-word descriptions. Unlike, say, a rock, which can’t do much to demonstrate that it’s rough or igneous or whatever, a person’s words and actions can substitute for adjectives.

Don’t tell us he’s quirky. Show him playing “Little Mermaid” songs an accordion just because it sounded like fun. Don’t tell us she’s a bad loser. Have her slam her cards down on the Candy Land board and accuse her seven-year-old cousin of cheating. Suddenly, adjectives aren’t necessary.

"Please Preach at Me," Said No Reader Ever

Ever read one of those stories that tries to cram in a bunch of SAT words into a novel? (They exist. Check out a few riveting plots here.)

I’ve never read one, but I’ve heard that they are replete with a plethora of haranguing by the author in an attempt to repudiate the claim that they are lackluster and bombast the student with knowledge.

Did that sentence sound a little strange to you? That’s because I deliberately structured it to fit six of the top 100 SAT words into it instead of just trying to communicate my point in the best way possible. Which is not a good way to do things.

God Does Not Need Me

Have you ever noticed that sometimes we race past the familiar?

For me, this especially happens with Bible stories. I was zipping through John 11 this morning, skimming the story of Lazarus—“Oh, quit blubbering Mary and Martha, he’s going to be alive again in about three paragraphs”—when I was stopped by something surprising: a new observation.

Here are the verses I read, part of the wrap-up of the story where the Sadducees and Pharisees get really angry and start planning to kill Jesus: “Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, ‘You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.’” (John 11:49-50)

I’ve read these verses before. I’ve even thought about how ironic it was for Caiaphas to say this, since Jesus really did die to save the whole nation from perishing—just in a different way than Caiaphas was thinking. It’s not a very original thought, since John goes on to explain that little plot twist in the next two verses.

But what I never thought about was this: God doesn’t need Christians to say really profound things about Him.

How To Talk to People About Stuff

I mentioned in my post on Wednesday that an interesting conversation is like a gift to me. Which, besides being excessively corny, is true. And I had never really thought of it that way before.

This is probably why I love dialogue, first-person narrators, and writing scripts. Forget the action scenes, beautiful imagery, or sensory descriptions. People talking! Woohoo!

As I was thinking through my love of talking with people, I started listing the things that make a bad conversation. Most of them are mistakes I make. I am super good at doing stupid things that I know are stupid. It’s one of my mad skills. (The other ones are writing treasure hunt clues, baking cookies, being bad at sports, and making fun of myself. It’s an impressive skill set.)

Anyway, here are the three that first came to mind. Sure, there are other ways to hijack a good conversation (complaining constantly, giggling at inside jokes, or talking at all at a play or a movie come to mind), but these are some of the more subtle.

My Two Favorite Questions

Most people don’t have a favorite word. I’m a writer, which means that I’m not “most people” in pretty much any category.

For a while, I thought my favorite word was “pretentious.” The word just sounds like what it means. (Try to say “pretentious” without sounding pretentious. Can’t do it, can you?)

And before I knew that word, “snickerdoodle” was high up on the list. Besides sounding funny, you can practically smell the cinnamony goodness as soon as you say it. It’s like an onomatopoeia, but for a smell.

Then it came to me one day, the obvious answer to the question, “What’s your favorite word?” in case anyone would ask (which they haven’t yet…maybe I need stranger friends). My favorite word is my favorite question: “Why?”