You’re standing on a precipice. There is you, there is the ground, there is the path that has led you here, and there is the void. Your life is safe, content, even happy. And yet you stare into this void that reason promises can only offer annihilation. It calls to you. It tempts you. You want to jump and you don’t know why.
This is the call of the void.
I’ve also seen it called vertigo (although this usage is technically incorrect, as vertigo is a medical condition that refers to intense dizziness).
Don’t confuse this feeling with depression or suicidal thoughts. It’s not really a desire for death. This is a whole different animal. Though you might feel the call of the void more often when you’re depressed, you can feel it when you’re happy, too.
It’s a strange sensation that’s surprisingly common, despite how little we understand about it. Even with my fine arts’ degree. and interest in postmodern philosophy I’d never heard the term until a few months ago. I was describing how I’ve been feeling lately to one of my close friends and she said, “That sounds like the call of the void.”
So, I looked it up. Translated from the French l’appel du vide, the call of the void has also been called “high place phenomena” and a few studies have been done on the sensation. Despite that, the term seems pretty fluid. Every article I’ve read seems to disagree about what it is, exactly.
Looking into the Void
Last August I finished my manuscript and sent it off to my copyeditor. Immediately after hitting ‘Send’ I wanted to burn it.
I’ve been working on this project off and on for about ten years. I left my office job to finally finish it because I just couldn’t not. Why would I want to destroy it? I was angry for a few weeks after that, and then it was time to go to the big PNWA Conference in September to pitch to agents.
The conference wasn’t what I expected, but it was still a great learning experience. I even had a few agents interested in seeing a query! Two days after, I got sick. Sick as a dog. I was bedridden for almost three weeks and even threw out my neck coughing too hard.
Stress blocks the immune system? What?
Two weddings later I was sick again and the holidays were upon us. I didn’t want to work (even on those rare occasions when I could) because what if this thing that I’ve given so much of myself to ends in nothing? Ugh. What would that mean for me? Who I am without this novel?
So, I started writing in my concept journal. I recognized that, even if I couldn’t bring myself to working on this edit, I could reflect on these feelings and use them as source material for my characters later. I’ll post an article about using concept journals in the future, but for now please note that I write them in stream-of-consciousness. I’ve edited this slightly for readability and to keep private things . . . private.
“Let’s talk about the flood of intense feeling I’ve had lately. I’ve been depressed in a way that’s familiar, old.
Paralyzed, numb, empty, hollow.
Nothing feels real, nothing feels substantial, nothing feels like it matters.
The thing is, I don’t really mind. These feelings are . . . comfortable. It’s not the dull ache of loneliness or the sharp, stabbing pain of heartbreak. These feelings . . . I think they’re not talked about enough. They’re rejected as dangerous, unhealthy. Bad.
But talking about depression is important. So is accepting those feelings.
It’s like a vertigo. Like I’m addicted to this feeling. It’s so deep, so intense. I’ve called it the darkness in my journals, the hollow in my novel. It’s like a black hole. An emptiness that sucks you into its oblivion. It is death and life and eternity and the end.
It hurts so bad, but it’s a pain I’m addicted to. I want it.
It’s incapacitating. Paralyzing. I’m so frozen in place I hardly notice the passage of time. It’s impossible to be present for long. Too long and I start to feel like life is meaningless. Hopeless. Depraved. False.
Why should I reach out to grasp at something if it’s only an illusion?
In order to be present, I need purpose. But without it I feel free. Fulfilled. Like I could float on forever. Happy. So, if I can be this satisfied with this pain in my chest, can it be called depression?
To feel so deeply . . . It’s intoxicating. Somehow, I feel more when I’m numb than when I’m not?”
-Chrysalis Concept Journal #6
((Blush)) Some dark stuff. Depression coupled with something else. My friend said this was the call of the void. The black hole sucking me into its nothing. But is it?
It’s a fitting name for those feelings, except they’re existential. I don’t have any direct stimulus like a cliff to jump from or a car to jump in front of. Instead, the cliff is my dreams and goals and the void is the temptation to give up on them. Does that count?
Using the Void to Define Character
Regardless of what you want to call it, most of us experience these feelings to some varying degree, and so should your characters. I’ve used this sensation as a literary device in my novel, but it can be easily used in normal characterization.
My characters follow a few basic rules of engagement. The one that’s important here is “A character acts consistently except when X happens.” X can be a trauma in the present, something that triggers a past trauma, an event that creates a rub between what the character thinks about themselves and who they actually are, etc.
Sometimes things happen that affect us in a way that we didn’t expect. When I finished my manuscript, I expected to be delighted. Instead, I felt angry and confused. The after effect of those feelings led me to stare into the void.
The void might be something that’s always haunted your character, or it might be a new experience. Think of it as an unexplainable desire to do something that they know is bad for them. Something that is counter-instinctive and in direct conflict with their goals.
In my own musings, I’ve written that this feeling is pretty addictive. It’s a temptation. Perhaps you could think of it as the internal struggle of someone in a monogamous relationship’s desire to remain faithful and their temptation to cheat.
You could write the call of the void as a desire for a sort of dark freedom. Freedom from the constraints of society that keep your character from engaging in absolute hedonism. Or freedom from the pressure to be perfect, the pressure to succeed. These are all relatable desires, but the cost of realizing them is often too high for most of us. But there’s always that minority that just can’t resist.
Hmm . . . this sounds suspiciously like a villain’s backstory.
Here’s some questions to ask yourself:
- Does your character give in to temptation?
- Have they struggled with it in the past?
- Do they currently struggle with it?
- How does this feeling preoccupy them?
- How does it affect their relationships?
- How can it make their behavior inconsistent?
These feelings aren’t exclusive to people suffering from depression or anxiety disorders like OCD and PTSD. Not that it matters. Anxiety is prevalent in our culture. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, 40 million people above 18 suffer from anxiety disorders in the United States. If you aren’t already considering cognitive struggles in your narrative, perhaps you should.
Answering the Call
Well, beyond a character study and beyond striving to be inclusive (not to mention a natural tension builder), let’s talk about self-reflection.
No matter your opinion on your own mental health, if you want to write a complex and believable character, you need to understand yourself. You will never find a better source for understanding human emotion and frailty better than by observing yourself.
Sure, that’s easier said than done. I know people who are completely dishonest with themselves. They rewrite their own memories because they can’t accept their own actions. But we’re all liars. We jealously guard the soft, squishy parts of ourselves that we think are vulnerable, that we’re afraid others will reject.
Take this as a challenge to be honest with yourself.
Full disclosure: I didn’t write this article just because it’s an important narrative element in my own novel, to be inclusive, or even because mental health is a stimulating source of internal conflict. It’s for the very fact that it is so hard to face our own feelings honestly. Negative feelings kind of get swept under the rug in our culture. They just aren’t talked about, and when they are it’s from the perspective of getting help. Maybe we need help, but it also seems important to practice self-acceptance and to talk about our feelings because it’s OK to have them.
How did “feelings” become such a bad word?
I’ve been told a lot of shitty things about how I’m too sensitive–to do a job, to have a relationship, you name it. But as an artist, I know that it’s important to relish in these feelings. It’s these feelings that make my writing strong, that help me understand people. They give my life color and substance.
And I think it’s important to talk about that. I want to remind you that when you feel inadequate, afraid, or hopeless it’s because of those feelings that you can appreciate love, hope, and victory. This is how you connect to the people around you, to your art, and to the world.
Anger and pain; hope and joy–they’re opposite sides of the same emotion. Experience them honestly–and express them.
Further Reading
The Science Behind The ‘Call Of The Void’
Demystifying the Call of the Void
Ever Stood On A Ledge And Thought, ‘I Could Jump’? There’s A Phrase For That
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