The Challenge of Hooking the Audience

I was asked - as if I knew - what it takes to write a novel. I feel too arrogant and uncomfortable to teach about a craft in which I am just getting started and learning. I preferred to be asked about how to write a news story that engages the reader in an age when competition for attention is a great challenge.

I don't have much experience writing novels, but this is what I learned in a couple of years of trying: Talent, not much. Courage, a lot. Creating (and believing in) a story is essential. Learning, always. Reading, tons. Writing, more tons, and perseverance. Editing, correcting, rewriting, and revising fearlessly and boldly.

Some time ago, after writing truths about journalists and freedoms in several non-fiction books, I wanted to tell fictional stories. Like any mortal, with no innate talent for the discipline and with my mindset always oriented to facts due to my profession as a journalist, I set out to search and learn about the new discipline. I got fed up consuming YouTube courses, podcasts, webinars, manuals on how to write novels, how to create the concept, the structure, the plot, the characters, the dialogues, the moral dilemmas, the ironies, and dozens of techniques about the fascinating world of fiction. It was all beneficial, but one book, more than others, challenged and continues to challenge me: "The Secrets of Story" by Matt Bird. I wish Bird had been more forgiving of my dreams of how to write novels or tell stories. But Bird jumped right in to fight against my ideas and prejudices. It felt crude, amoral, nonsensical. After rereading it and listening to it on Spotify, I gradually discovered its lessons.

In essence, "The Secrets of Story" teaches that a story only works if it presents a character (hero or anti-hero) that the audience can identify with or feel some emotional connection for, to the point of taking sides in their journey.

It sounds simple, but keeping your head in the audience is very hard when you're focused on the story. Beyond its definition, I was emboldened to discover that a novelist and journalist must tell a meaningful, valuable, and relevant story to engage the audience. García Márquez, journalist and novelist, magically knew how to do this with perfection.

 

"Lleno de vacío"

No escribo estas líneas para promocionar una novela, sino para reiniciar. Tras sumergirme por completo en la creación de “Robots con Alma: atrapados entre la verdad y la libertad”, me encontré de repente "lleno de vacío". Una paradoja que viví tras sentirme lleno de ideas, energía y propósito, solo para caer en un profundo vacío interior.

No es una resaca fácil de afrontar. Les ocurre a muchos: el maratonista que cruza la meta tras meses de entrenamiento o el periodista que expone un gran caso de corrupción tras una investigación arriesgada. Leila Guerriero lo confiesa dolorosamente en una columna reciente de El País: “Mientras escribo un libro renuncio a una notable porción de vida, pero cuando lo termino, la vida renuncia a mí”.

Es una sensación desconcertante que trasciende la fuerza de voluntad o la disciplina. Es química pura: durante el proceso creativo, el cerebro libera un torrente de sustancias que, al terminar, cae en picada, dejándonos vacíos. A esta paradoja de sentirse "lleno de vacío" se suman otras tensiones que ocurren durante el proceso creativo: la parálisis ante infinitas opciones, el bloqueo del perfeccionismo o la espera de una inspiración repentina. Picasso encaró esta última con mucha astucia: “que la inspiración me encuentre trabajando”.

Siguiendo aquel consejo, me he obligado a escribir, aunque sin un rumbo claro, como antídoto para convocar la creatividad. Porque escribir, aún en el vacío, es volver a llenarse.

"Full of Emptiness"

I am not writing these lines to promote a novel but to reboot. After fully immersing myself in the creation of "Robots with Soul: Trapped between Truth and Freedom," I suddenly found myself "full of emptiness." A paradox I experienced after feeling full of ideas, energy, and purpose, only to fall into a deep inner emptiness.

It's not a manageable hangover to deal with. It happens to many: the marathon runner who crosses the finish line after months of training or the journalist who exposes a significant corruption case after a risky investigation. Leila Guerriero painfully confesses it in a recent column in El País: "While I write a book, I renounce a notable portion of life, but when I finish it, life renounces me."

It is a disconcerting sensation that transcends willpower or discipline. It is pure chemistry: during the creative process, the brain releases a torrent of substances that, when finished, plummets, leaving us empty. In addition to this paradox of feeling "full of emptiness," other tensions occur during the creative process: paralysis in the face of infinite options, the blockage of perfectionism, or the wait for a sudden inspiration. Picasso faced the latter with great astuteness: "May inspiration find me at work."

Following that advice, I have forced myself to write, albeit without a clear direction, as an antidote to summon creativity. Because to write, even in a vacuum, is to fill oneself up again.

La ironía de la libertad

Existen dos tipos de libertad, la propia y la ajena. Una es la que gerenciamos y depende estrictamente de nuestra conciencia y de las decisiones que tomamos. Podemos estar presos en una celda de máxima seguridad, pero mentalmente libres.

La otra libertad no depende de nosotros. Un dictador cubano puede cerrar su país o una decisión macroeconómica, como la guerra tarifaria emprendida por Donald Trump, puede oprimir nuestro libre albedrío, al ponernos de frente a tomar decisiones de bolsillo para la que no estamos preparados o no tenemos el conocimiento adecuado.

Esta dualidad de la libertad nos enfrenta a una paradoja constante: somos dueños de nuestro mundo interior, pero vulnerables a las fuerzas externas que lo modelan. La libertad propia, esa fortaleza mental que reside en la conciencia, nos permite resistir la opresión y encontrar paz en medio del caos. Sin embargo, la libertad ajena, esa esfera de influencia que escapa a nuestro control, nos recuerda nuestra fragilidad. Los sistemas políticos, económicos y sociales, con sus fluctuaciones impredecibles e incertidumbre, limitan nuestras opciones y condicionan nuestro bienestar. 

En mi nueva novela, “Robots con Alma: atrapados entre la verdad y la libertad” (lista para publicarse) investigo y planteo sobre esta dualidad que las máquinas no sufren. Mejor dicho, no sufrían, hasta que a Dios se le ocurrió dotar de alma y conciencia a los robots. A partir de ahí, lo que parecía un regalo, fue una condena: los robots con alma deben aprender a abrazar la ironía de ser libres y estar encadenados al mismo tiempo.

The irony of freedom

 

There are two types of freedom: our own and the one conditioned by others. One is the one we manage, which depends strictly on our conscience and decisions. We can be imprisoned in a maximum-security cell but mentally free.

The other freedom does not depend on us. A Cuban dictator can shut down his country, or a macroeconomic decision, such as the tariff war waged by Donald Trump, can oppress our free will by putting us face to face to make pocketbook decisions for which we are not prepared or do not have adequate knowledge.

This duality of freedom confronts us with a constant paradox: we are masters of our inner world but vulnerable to the external forces that shape it. Our liberty, the mental strength in our conscience, allows us to resist oppression and find peace amid chaos. However, the freedom others give, that sphere of influence beyond our control, reminds us of our fragility. With unpredictable fluctuations and uncertainty, political, economic, and social systems limit our choices and condition our well-being.   

In my new novel, “Robots with Soul: Trapped Between Truth and Freedom” (forthcoming), I investigate and argue about this duality that machines do not suffer. Or rather, they did not suffer until God came up with the idea of endowing robots with souls and consciousness. From then on, what seemed like a gift became a condemnation: robots with souls must learn to embrace the irony of being free and chained simultaneously.

La autosuperación como inspiración

En el post anterior me referí al best-seller “The Artist’s Way” (El camino del artista) de Julia Cameron, como uno de los libros que me inspiraron a escribir esta nueva historia “Robots con Alma”. En todos mis años he leído y releído muchos libros. Algunos despertaron mi curiosidad por nuevos temas, otros a ser más creativo y algunos, lo más importantes, a cambiar mi forma de apreciar el mundo y mi contexto. Extraje el jugo de esas re-lecturas según mi edad, experiencias y conocimientos del momento.

Entre esos libros se encuentran dos que son fundamentales. “Narciso y Golmundo” de Herman Hess, quien lo escribió en 1958. Y “Juan Salvador Gaviota”, escrito por Richard Bach en 1970. Ambos son historias de superación y esperanza, como la vida misma. Comparten un hilo conductor poderoso: la búsqueda de la propia identidad y el anhelo de trascender las limitaciones impuestas por la sociedad.

En "Narciso y Golmundo" los dos personajes trepan caminos distintos hacia la autorrealización. Narciso, con su vida contemplativa busca la sabiduría, a través del intelecto. Golmundo la busca a través de las experiencias. Ambos aprenden de sí mismos y descubren que la sabiduría se extrae de la integración de ambas búsquedas, la intelectual y las experiencias humanas. Por su parte, “Juan Salvador Gaviota”, nos enseña el valor de la perseverancia y la pasión para alcanzar los sueños, incluso a desafiar los límites de su bandada, en busca de la verdad y la libertad.

¿Y qué tienen que ver estos libros de Hesse y Bach con el de Cameron? Simple: nos invitan a explorar nuestro mundo interior y a descubrir el camino hacia la superación personal.

Las tres obras nos recuerdan que la vida es un viaje de aprendizaje constante, y que la clave para alcanzar la felicidad reside en la búsqueda interior de la verdad y la libertad, la conexión con nuestra esencia. Ya sea a través de la espiritualidad, el intelecto o las experiencias sensoriales, todos tenemos la capacidad de "volar" hacia nuestros sueños y alcanzar la trascendencia.

Self-improvement as inspiration

In the previous post, I referred to the best-seller "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron as one of the books that inspired me to write this new story, "Robots with Soul." In all my years, I have read and reread many books. Some awakened my curiosity for new topics, others to be more creative, and some, most importantly, to change how I appreciate the world and my context. I extracted the juice from those re-readings according to my age, experiences, and knowledge.

Among those books are two that are fundamental. "Narcissus and Golmundo" by Herman Hess, who wrote it in 1958. And "Juan Salvador Gaviota," written by Richard Bach in 1970. Both are stories of overcoming and hope, like life itself. They share a powerful common thread: the search for one's identity and the yearning to transcend the limitations imposed by society.

In "Narcissus y Golmundo," the two characters climb different paths toward self-realization. Narcissus, with his contemplative life, seeks wisdom through the intellect. Golmundo seeks it through experiences. Both learn from themselves and discover that wisdom is extracted from the integration of both searches, the intellectual and human experiences. "Jonathan Livingston Seagull," on the other hand, teaches us the value of perseverance and passion to achieve dreams, even to defy the limits of his flock, in search of truth and freedom.

And what do these books by Hesse and Bach have to do with Cameron's book? Simple: they invite us to explore our inner world and discover the path to self-improvement.

All three works remind us that life is a constant learning journey and that the key to happiness lies in the inner search for truth and freedom, the connection with our essence. Whether through spirituality, intellect, or sensory experiences, we can "fly" toward our dreams and achieve transcendence.