How to Practice Sondering

Sonder: n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.*

Mrs. Dalloway sent me sondering. It’s a heady experience to enter, difficult to dwell in for long. Virginia Woolf’s classic investigation of the internal lives of others is textbook sonder material, but every fiction writer has to dip into the stream of other people at some point, or they would never be able to write a believable character. 

Sondering is essential for omniscient narration, but even for books with a more limited view, the writer should have an idea of what is going on inside the head of all their characters. No one is the side character to their own lives. Every extra is the protagonist of their own story. Though you get the godlike choice as the writer to focus on one person as your main character (or even several in an ensemble),** you have a responsibility to every character on the page. Each of Woolf’s characters are unique—and she is so skillful—the story successfully hops from head to head, sometimes even mid-paragraph. A careful reader can follow easily. That’s just how good she is. 

Practice sondering in real life to build your story world and to give your characters more substance.

Kim Basinger won Best Actress for LA Confidential, deservedly, but she was on screen for less than 15 minutes. Imagine how real your story world can be if every character is just as rich and layered as the gorgeous and complicated Lynn Bracken. 

Start small.

Sondering “each random passerby” would be too big a scale. Sondering in the middle of Times Square would be disorienting and counter-productive. Each random passby is passing by much too quickly. You need to sit in the same space with a person for a little bit to sonder them. For my first intentional foray into the sport of imagination at the expense of strangers, I sat at the bar counter in a busy coffee shop. Later, I sondered over an excellent meal in a classy yet understated restaurant with an unparalleled wine selection; each entrée was garnished with herbs from its rooftop garden. (Writing is lonely and hard. Treat yourself). But you don’t have to eat alone to sonder. A train car, a big box store, and waiting rooms are all small but contained spaces of strangers where you can observe stealthily.

Listen intentionally.

People are constantly telling you who they are through their clothes, the tone of their voice, what they order and how they eat or drink it when it comes, their body language, and of course what they say. These are the only instances where I don’t mind overhearing a phone call because you inevitably learn something about another person that you have absolutely no right to know. Sit in the knowledge that everyone around you is the hero of their own lives. Then pick a few at random to try to guess what that means to them. What did they do before they came to this place? What do they care about? What’s difficult for them? You can’t know for sure, but you might be surprised by the empathy that flows from just attempting to build a world from a real stranger. 

Take notes (surreptitiously).

Though I wish every person on the subway was reading a book instead of looking at their phones,*** it’s perfectly acceptable behavior to take notes on your phone because it will just seem like you're sending an email. Paper and pen notes sometimes draw unwanted attention, but if your handwriting is only legible to you, at least no one you’re observing is likely to read anything about themselves over your shoulder. Capture stray thoughts about the people around you. Remember to focus on impressions of their inner life. Who are they on the inside? What do they want?

Don’t be creepy.

Look for busy places with good lighting and low music to unobtrusively observe others with both ears and eyes. Sondering is not the same thing as staring. It’s not stalking. Don’t sonder people you know in real life. If you are unaware of the existence of an  inner life of your partner, your work friend, or your roommate—you have bigger problems than flat side characters in your writing. This is an exercise in imagination. 

Write immediately.

Go back to your work and read it again. Do your side characters lack complexity? Walk into your story, sit at the counter bar and order a coffee. Listen.

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* Definition pulled from this random blog post

**The excellent Lincoln in the Bardo, by the marvelous and perfectly named George Saunders, has a cast of hundreds. It’s another great stroll with a master of sondering.  

***Odds are some people are reading books on their phones.