This past week, I went to see Wicked on Broadway for my brother’s birthday. It was spectacular, as always: I’ve read the book, know the music by heart, and have seen the Broadway show once before (for my birthday, coincidentally). This time, though, the experience was different. I suddenly saw in Elphaba’s journey that of my main character’s, one of being different and unaccepted by her peers. Elphaba’s storyline hasn’t changed, but suddenly it resonated with me in a whole new depth of feeling, now that I’ve had to put myself in those emotional shoes.

This could be easily attributable to mere circumstance: different seats (last time I was further back in the mezzanine; this time, row D in the orchestra where I could see minute facial expressions (and people spitting as they sang!)) and a different cast. This Elphaba played her as more shy and gawky than I remember the last, so unsure of her every movement because everyone had been telling her that she is wrong for her entire life. Her singing strength even builds throughout each song, at first so tenuous and hesitant that I wanted to scream at the actress to tighten up her vocal cords. Then I realized (or at least imagined) that this was part of the characterization: she doesn’t feel comfortable expressing herself even when she’s alone, fearful of the strength of her innermost thoughts. This Elphaba’s transformation into realizing that she is above those she looks up to, that she is different and special and good, and therefore has the strength to stand up to those who ARE wrong, is so much more powerful than I had previously experienced. This is my main character’s arc, perfectly illustrated.

I’m sure a great deal of my newfound takeaway has much to do with this change in circumstances, but it’s also because these storylines are what I’m focused on right now, in my own writing. At various points over the past decade-plus that Wicked has been around, the music has resonated with me in different ways, provided me with perspectives on different life lessons that I was experiencing at the time. And isn’t that what all great works should do? Give you a variant reading and interpretation based on your current worldview, each time you return to it? Wicked certainly has done that for me.

The other big Wicked lesson, since I’ve spent these past few weeks re-plotting and restructuring the first book, is a reminder of the kind of story I respond most to: character-driven instead of plot-driven. Now, all good stories have to have both, but there are different access points into a story that a writer must decide upon, and mine is the human element through and through. In terms of Wicked, we see this distinction in the vastly different portrayals of the same story in the book and the musical. The book is heavily concerned with the social and political aspects of the story, the worldbuilding, so much so that we readers aren’t given a chance to really connect with the main characters. It’s an enjoyable but difficult read. The musical, however, is all about these characters, getting to the heart of their motivations and oftentimes justifications for who they are and why they do what they do. That’s what is fascinating to me, this revealing of human nature. That’s what you can take away and apply to your everyday life, what stays with you long after you exit the theater.

I needed that reminder, because I’ve been getting a little bogged down in details and worldbuilding and plot points, that it all comes back to character. It all comes back to my protagonist and how she interacts with the world around her. It’s the same work, the same development, but a different perspective. I need to write the story that I would want to read!

Wicked is just one example of works that I’ve been discovering and/or revisiting and having them be the perfect thing to encounter at that moment, giving lessons on what I’m writing, why I’m writing, what worldview I wish to share. I wonder, are these things finding their way to me now, when I need them the most, or am I merely just experiencing them in different ways, through the lens of my own story? Perhaps a little of both, but I’ll take inspirations and encouragements wherever I can get them, especially from old friends, the stories and music that live in my heart and whose messages are expressed in everything I say or do. To them, eternal thanks, for a lifetime of wonderment. I hope to give back to the world just as much as you’ve given me.