As I wrote and rewrote, I realised the story didn’t work that way because of the circumstances I had created. Then came the gruelling task of creating empathy for a person who had his own interests at heart, but still needs to change. The vehicle for change though is the protagonist and narrator of the novel. No easy task. And it’s made me turn more than a few black hair to grey.

As to Erin’s question: Every novel (or should it be character?) that I have read and still remember, or remember the feelings it inspired in me has given me a heightened awareness of living life in that person’s skin. From drama such as Color Purple to satire like Catch 22, it doesn’t matter. East of Eden, The City of Joy, The Reluctant Fundamentalist, I can go on and on, but I should stop.

To be very honest: my own.

Writing a book in which the protagonist is a money-hungry womanizer, I had to determine what redeeming grains of human value remained in this person, depraved though he may seem, and I had to present them to the reader. While there is much to despise about this character, he must have that Something to spark the reader’s empathy, or the book will never be read.

It’s a tricky tightrope walk, but an interesting challenge.