Poldark: An Unfortunate Case of Character Assassination

It happened in season 6 of Parenthood. Close your eyes if you don’t wanna know!





Parenthood fans know what I’m talking about. When our beloved and loyal and devoted Joel turns into this unrecognizable character that leaves his remorseful wife and refuses to work on their marriage. Mostly because of a kiss that, lest we forget, also happened between him and Racquel in season 1 or 2.

I was irate, because that was not my Joel! My Joel would stay and fight for his wife. He would never leave. This new, lookalike Joel was some imposter from the underworld, sent to make us Parenthood fans turn violent on our televisions.

It’s called character assassination.

This moment when we, as the viewer, feel betrayed, because the character we have fallen in love with, the character who has won our hearts, has suddenly turned into a total and horrendous jerkface.

Enter Poldark.

A show a few good friends of mine had been talking about.

Enter this weekend, wherein I needed to check out from post election insanity and find a happy place. And so, while I organized all the things and folded all the clothes, I watched all of season 1 in a day. My husband says I have an addictive personality. He’s probably right.

And I fell in love.

Spoilers ahead: don’t read if you’re not caught up on last night’s episode.

Swoon! Ross Poldark and Demelza.

Could there be a better couple in all the land of television?

I mean, seriously. The unexpected marriage. His fondness for her in the form of THAT GRIN. The one he tucks away in one corner of his mouth.

The moment that fondness turned into love.

And then baby Julia, and the more precious-than-presh scene where Ross is holding Demelza while Demelza is holding their baby and we have all the very best feels.

Then baby Julia and his wife fall ill and Ross loses his mind, he loves them so much. How can any of us forget the desperate, tortured look in his eye when he asks annoying-Elizabeth to pray that he doesn’t lose the LOVE OF HIS LIFE.

Oh, right. I guess Ross forgets.

At this point, there is nothing I love more than Ross Poldark’s love for Demelza. Together, they are my most favorite.

And then we get to season 2.

Which I watched the next day. (It’s a disease I have, y’all. A disease.)

We still have our beloved Ross, whose integrity and honor are both his strength AND weakness. How could you not love a man like that?

He goes to court, wherein every possible card is stacked against him. Yet, despite the odds, the verdict is not guilty. We all rejoice!

And then everything falls in the toilet.

The Ross we deeply admire slowly disappears. We see glimmers of the old Ross. Like when he tells Demelza about the dog star. Or when he gives her the Christmas present. But it’s kinda hard to stomach in the midst of those simmering looks he keeps giving annoying-Elizabeth.

It seems to come out of nowhere. One minute he doesn’t want anything to do with her, because Julia. Then they all make up at some harvest thing, and suddenly, he’s whispering things to her that make me want to punch him in the throat.

It escalates from there, wherein Elizabeth becomes a widow (RIP sweet Francis) and Ross becomes downright neglectful of his wife (and son … who we all forget exists because nobody ever talks about him).

Then the BIG BAD AWFUL happens, wherein he tells Demelza to get out of his way. TO GET OUT OF HIS WAY, people. I about chucked my computer out the window. I don’t know what’s worse. That moment, or the morning after, when he claimed to have no choice.

Um, Ross? I watched the U.K. version of the show. From my angle, it looked like Elizabeth was the one who didn’t have a choice.

Basically, he lost his integrity AND his intelligence, all in one fell swoop. And Demelza’s not having it.


How does a person possibly come back from that?

How do we, the viewers, get over it? I mean, what in the world happened to Ross Poldark?

The writers of Parenthood found a way to redeem Joel. But then, Joel didn’t do what Ross did. Whatever creature from the underworld that possessed Mr. Poldark was a thousand times worse than the one who got a hold of Joel.


I understand that this is  based off books, and they want to stay true to them or whatever. But at what point is it just better for the writers of the show to say, “Um, I think there’s a better way.”

I mean, do any viewers think it’s worth it? To make a character change so unimaginably? To go from the underdog hero to the guy who makes us all want to break things? I have to tell you, as an author, it seems like a poor move. It’s one thing to put your readers on the edges of their seats, to make them despair, even. But to make them viscerally hate the main character?

It doesn’t seem wise. But then, the Poldark books have been successful enough to be made into a television series. Twice. So maybe I’m missing something.

All I have to say is, I wish I would have stopped watching after episode 2 of season 2, and taken that for my happy ending. Back when Ross was still Ross and not the unrecognizable creature he was last night, when the assassination of his character was made complete.

What do you think? About Poldark. About this thing called character assassination. Does it make you stop reading/watching, or become all the more maddeningly invested?

Paving a Way to Unity

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. – Romans 12:15-16

In this cultural climate where many are weeping and many others are calling for harmony, these have to be two of the most relevant verses in the Bible right now.

Weep with those who weep.

Live in harmony with one another.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they come hand-in-hand. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that one precedes the other.

The Greek word used for weeping here is klaio. It means any loud expression of grief, with an emphasis on the noise accompanied with weeping.

And we’re seeing it, aren’t we? We’re seeing pain and fear surface these days. It’s loud. And honestly? I think for most of us entrenched in white America, it’s uncomfortable. We don’t like to leave too much space for lament.

Yet, in this short, simple verse, Paul reminds us that part of our job as believers is to enter into the feelings of others. Even if they are louder than what we’re comfortable with. Even if they don’t make sense to us.

I love what Anthony Bushnell says in his post, Let’s Rise to Love Those Left in Fear:

“We don’t have to agree with the intensity of their fear in order to empathize with them. Compassion doesn’t require us to be convinced another person is entirely correct. It requires us to care about how he is feeling. Even if you think the danger won’t come to pass, the fear is certainly real.”

I immediately thought of my daughter, Salima, who has a deep-seated fear of dogs. It’s gotten better the longer she’s been with us, but when she first came home, she would crawl up my body at the sight of one, screaming like someone was about to saw off her leg. It was intense. It was extreme. And while I didn’t understand and couldn’t relate to it, it didn’t negate the fact that her fear was 100% real.

In this short, simple verse, Paul reminds us not to be like Elphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, three “friends” who tried to reason with Job when what he needed most was a sympathetic ear.

Weep with those who weep.

Because doing so ushers us closer to the harmony Paul talks about in the very next verse.

Interestingly enough, this harmony isn’t the setting aside of differences. It’s not the idea that we should all just get along. This harmony is talking about being of the same mind. It’s present tense, which means our same-mindedness should be an ongoing, continual process.

Being of the same mind means wanting for your brother or sister what you would want for yourself if you were in the same position.

The problem is, we don’t know what position the other is in. But the Lord. He is clever, isn’t He? He knows that when we step into another person’s grief and weep with them, our hearts start to go soft. Suddenly, we want to understand.

But just in case we forgot to actually do verse 15, Paul gives us a directive.

Do not be haughty.

Don’t think we somehow know better. Just because we may not be going through a thing, doesn’t mean our brother isn’t. And we certainly shouldn’t tell a person how they should feel when they are experiencing something we never have.

Don’t be wise in your own estimation.

I love how one theologian put it:

You don’t know what your brother is going through until you get down in the trenches with him.

And that’s where Jesus calls us, isn’t it? Into the trenches, so we can weep with those who weep. He calls us to put on humility. He calls us to listen well.

Instead of trying to silence the division that already exists, as if silence is somehow the same as peace, let’s step into the heart of it. Let’s do the hard work of healing, where true unity is born – the kind that makes the watching world take notice.

The Evolution of a Story

Four and a half years ago, I finished writing a book called A Broken Kind of Beautiful and wasn’t sure what to write next.

I’m not one of those writers who has a constant overflow of story ideas. A disconcerting thing, especially when I’m around those writers who have a constant overflow of story ideas and like to say things like:

I just started this story, but five other ideas are calling my name!

All the while, I twiddle my thumbs and whistle off in the corner, trying not to panic that I’ve used mine all up.

Anyway, I finished the story about Ivy, a fashion model at the end of a career that has always defined her, and came across this random news article.

It was about this boy who survived a plane crash.

A total miraculous survival, as the plane was completely decimated, along with every other passenger with it.

Enter The Spark!

What a relief this brings, when an idea does strike. I start petting it, cooing to it, like Gollum and the ring.

After I read that article, the wheels in my mind started spinning. I began asking the question every novelist asks, “What if …?”

What if instead of a plane, it’s a train?

What if it’s a big national tragedy?

What if the entire country becomes obsessed with this woman because of her miraculous survival?

What if, in turn, this woman becomes obsessed with the people who didn’t survive? What if this woman becomes obsessed with the dead?

At the time, I considered myself a contemporary romance author, which meant that I needed a hero to go with my heroine.

What if the hero was a man who lost his wife in that same tragedy? A man who wants to forget. Paired with a woman desperate to remember. Ooo. Every novelist loves a bit of irony.

Dredging up the Courage

I have a secret:

I’m a dreadful writer.

My first drafts are never good. Combine that with the fact that I find the blank page terribly intimidating, and well … getting the story down is never easy.

And so, I have to work up the courage to write ugly. To trust the process.

I repeat things to myself like:

You can’t edit what’s not there!

And, don’t get it right, just get it written!

Like Dory, I keep swimming. I write through all the insecurity. There are moments – encouraging bursts of, “There is something here!” – but for the most part, it’s not pretty.

I wrote the rough draft of this particular story all the way back in 2012. A good chunk of it I wrote in Galena, Illinois with my pal Erica Vetsch. We spent the weekend holed up in a hotel, drinking copious amounts of Diet Coke, our fingers flying across the keyboards.

And then I finished and I went through the many, many, MANY stages of editing. The story became functional, something I would actually show another person. Like my agent and my editor.

At the time, it was a romance. Tentatively titled Falling for Autumn, even though I always referred to it as the train story.

Waiting Its Turn

Remember, this was 2012.

Fun fact: When I signed my second 2-book contract with Waterbrook Multnomah Publishing House, they wanted the train story. They planned to publish that one first, The Art of Losing Yourself (which was only a spark of an idea at the time) second.

A Broken Kind of Beautiful was not on the docket at all, even though it was complete and one of my personal favorites.

I sent the synopsis of the train story off to my editor.

She read it, and … we needed to talk.

There were problems. BIG problems. It would require a massive rewrite.

My heart, my friends, just wasn’t in it. My heart was beating for Ivy the model and her journey down in Greenbrier, South Carolina.

So I suggested that we look at A Broken Kind of Beautiful instead. I believed in this book. Believed, believed, believed. I was still wishy-washy about the train story.

And so, we moved forward with Ivy. She was published first. In 2014, she met the world. I got busy bringing Carmen and Gracie to life, the two leads in The Art of Losing Yourself.

All the while, the train story languished in a file on my computer’s hard drive.

Dusting It Off

This brings us into 2015.

I signed my third 2-book contract with Waterbrook, this time, for two books not yet written. These were just little sparks.

I started writing the first. And boy, was it a painful, painful process. This story was not cooperating. The whole thing filled me with angst. No magical moments at all. But I persisted (stubbornly, and foolishly). I pushed through. I finished the worst rough draft ever to exist in the world, and I sent the summary off to my editor.

There were two components of the story she wasn’t a fan of. Slight problem. Those two things WERE the story. I mean, that was it. Take those two things out, and I had nothing. Not to get dramatic or anything, but the thought of going back to the drawing board for this particular book made me want to shrivel into a ball and die.

So I said, in a squeaky, discouraged sort of voice, “Hey, what about the train story?”

While this, too, needed a massive re-write, my heart was drawn to what it once wasn’t. The premise of the story grabbed me, even all these years later.

It was better for my health to work on something that grabbed me, instead of working on something that made me want to curl into a ball and die.

So the rough draft that I had just finished went into hiding. Maybe someday, it, too, will get pulled out and dusted off.

Right then, though, it was the train story’s turn.

Becoming Something New

My editor and I talked about all the various problems. We came up with solutions.

And you guys?

I rewrote this thing from the ground up.

The premise remained. The name of my main character remained. The hero remained. Almost everything else changed.

Along with the title.

Life After by Katie Ganshert

While I was furiously re-writing, my publishing house was creating the perfect face. My editor sent it to me via a private message on Facebook and I loved it so much I told her to, “Shut up!”

It spurred me onward.

Finally, I finished. Y’all, I was in love. The whole process of rewriting, especially in light of how awful the previous failed project had been, felt magical. I was in my element. And so, I emailed it off to my editor with confidence.

And then I waited.

Next Level, Please

The first round of edits with a publishing house has many different names:

Content edits, macro edits, substantive edits.

They all mean the same thing.

Basically, BIG edits. I don’t know a single author whose stomach doesn’t shrink into the size of a raisin at the thought of them.

My big edits have always been extra, extra big. And I was extra, extra afraid this time around. Because I loved this story and I didn’t want to change it.

Enter: the phone call.

My editor had read the manuscript and was ready to talk.

She liked it. Of course, there were some issues. She saw ways to bring it to the next level that would require a substantial overhaul, but if I really liked it the way it was, that overhaul wasn’t necessary.

Whew! This was looking to be my lightest big edit yet.

It had been a good chunk of time since I submitted the manuscript. I needed to re-acclimate myself with the characters. I printed it out at Staples and started reading.

A funny thing happened. I was thoroughly NOT impressed. Which is thoroughly NOT a good feeling.

Afterward, I had a two hour Skype session with my editor, I rolled up my sleeves, and I got to work. Revising and rewriting once again, this poor story that had already taken on so many different shapes and versions.

An Accomplishment

My friends, I can tell you that last night, I emailed this newly revised version off to my editor, once again.

Big edits. Check!

The hardest work behind me. Check!

Sure, there are still line edits, and copy edits. Probably still some biggish issues to iron out. But the hard, hard work is through.

And while I’d love to say that it’s awesome and I can’t wait for you to read it, my eyes are too crossed and my heart too close to have any objectivity at all.

I’ll have to rely on my editors for that.

For now, it is time to start a new adventure, with a new setting and new characters. An entirely different, “What if …”

Let the brainstorming begin!