How true this sentence. The squeaky wheel gets the attention. Still waters run deep.
Heroes are often times so flamboyant. Victims, when photographed well, move others to tears.
But what about the quiet man? Quiet men intrigue me. The quiet purposes of men suffering in silence so often lead to misunderstanding and lack of empathy. Their decisions, their foolishness, their tendency to snap like stray dogs at the person willing to wait at the gate of their hidden depths … these things bring questions not only about them but about me.
How often do I create fictional motives for others?
How often do I have the patience to wait for answers from the deep before plunging into situations and only making them worse?
Some readers of fiction have little patience for quiet men who don’t explain themselves early. It’s understandable. We live in a busy time. Will it profit us to sit with people who take too long to disclose the reasons behind their seemingly irrational behavior?
I like quiet men but I’m better as a writer waiting for CHARACTERS to tell me why they seem so aloof or unlovable than when I have real men keeping their silence.