Something that I’ve come to realize over the years is that cynicism isn’t all that interesting, when you get right down to it. Cynical stories can feel exciting or refreshing in the immediate aftermath of experiencing them, especially if they are meant to stand in contrast of the less jaded or ironic examples that surround them, but their novelty often quickly wears thin. This shouldn’t be all that surprising, given that there is a simple emotional tax that comes with living in the heads of bitter, angry people for too long, but there’s another component that matters too, I think: Being cynical is easy, especially in a world when everything constantly feels like it is either actively on fire, or a mere spark away from bursting into flames. Writing a story that is filled with real, earnest hope is a much harder feat, and I think a more rewarding one in the long run.
