characters – Jake W. Powell

Stop Being Bad: The Redemption Arc in Storytelling

The story of the redeemed villain is a common and provocative trope in storytelling. It’s always fascinating to witness how a thoroughly evil and vile figure can turn around and repent of their ways. We like to see these tales play out and watch what happens next. It appeals to us.

Maybe the villain is likeable enough that we don’t want to see them die, or maybe we even see a little bit of ourselves in there, and hope that their redemption means there’s hope for us, too. Whatever the reason, a villain’s redemption is a major story beat, and should be treated as such. Which, in turn, means that writers should seriously consider it before going through with it. Is it the right move for the story? Is the villain truly redeemable, that is to say, is it a logical and fitting step in their growth as a character? Are they willing to seek redemption? Most importantly, can they be redeemed in a way that the audience finds natural and believable?

It’s easy to fall in love with a good villain and not want them to die. So, some writers just … give them an out. The villain evades consequences, sobs a few tears, gives a dramatic monologue, and skips on over to the side of good. And are welcomed with open arms. But is that how it would actually play out in the context of the world you’ve written? How bad is your bad guy? Did they blow up a planet, or just steal a few pies? If it’s the former, do you really expect them to be immediately welcomed and trusted by the heroes?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about a villain-hero team-up. Sometimes, good guy and bad guy have to work together, usually against a worse bad guy, but the villain remains clearly villainous, just currently motivated by shared interest. To be redeemed, a villain must be penitent. And to be penitent, a villain must truly feel remorse. And in feeling remorse, a villain must show a change in action and motivation.

A redemption arc is character development. The character will not be the same person at the end of it. Indeed, we writers should seriously consider this fact. If the villain was likeable because of their villainy, then redeeming them may in fact hurt them as a character. They’re no longer a villain. Will that take away what made them interesting and engaging?

On the other hand, you could have the villain redeemed through the classic act of self-sacrifice. It worked for Darth Vader, didn’t it? But, and hear me out, I think this is a bit of a cheat. Imagine how different things would have been for this classic movie villain if he had survived and had to stand trial before the people whose friends and family he had slaughtered. He would have to face his daughter Leia over the destruction of Alderaan. He would deliver himself into the hands of the Rebel Alliance he had hunted down for the whole trilogy. He’d have to live with the memories of his crimes. He’d have to do more than gasp a few words to his son as he lay dying to convince us he was truly changed. He would have to make his redemption stick. An interesting thought, no?

Redemption arcs are fascinating. They offer an incredible opportunity to explore facets of a character that usually aren’t. How and why does the villain do what they do? What would make them stop doing it? Can they stop? Do they have doubts? Do they value something greater than their current goals that they would give up their desires for? These are the sorts of questions that can help you figure out if your villain is a candidate for a moral turnaround.

The most important question to ask is: Does it serve the story? We are talking about fictional characters, after all. They’re not real people, they’re figures in a narrative that we as writers have the responsibility and privilege to manage and direct. Redemption and repentance in real life is quite another thing entirely, even if they do inspire our work. Real life is fuzzy. We can’t truly know other people’s motivations. But we can know exactly what motivates the characters we write, and so we can answer this question with confidence: Can my villain stop being bad?

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image Source: “THE Supervillain’s Lair” by nicknormal; Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Stories Talk: Why Dialogue is Important

We engage in dialogue every day. We talk with people face-to-face. We type emails, send letters, conduct Zoom meetings, send messages via social media. We even talk with ourselves. Any conversation we hold is a dialogue, and wherever there are two or more people (or you and the voice in your head) there is conversation.

Since dialogue is such a vital part of real life, it is reasonable to assume that it is also important to writing. And this is true. Characters talk to each other, and the manner in which they speak and communicate is important. Everyone has their own voice, their own mannerisms, accents, affectations, slang, tone, rhythm, and personality. Most stories are going to have dialogue of some sort. They tell the reader who the characters are, how the world works, provide information about the plot, and so forth.

But unlike the real world, where two people can keep a conversation about absolutely nothing going for four hours, writers need to be choosier about what their characters say. Every piece of dialogue carries weight. And it can serve several purposes that can improve and flesh out your story.

So, what does dialogue do for a story? What point does it have? Well, I respectfully submit three here for your consideration.

Characterization

We know what people are like through the way they speak. The things they talk about, how they talk about them, and what they don’t talk about all tell us who they are. People reveal their personalities and values through their words. Actions may speak louder than words, but words still count for something.

Is a character brooding and moody? Witty and optimistic? Intelligent and thoughtful? Brash and shortsighted? The narrative can describe a character as such, but their dialogue should carry through on that description. Different people talk differently. Just consider all the people you know. Do they all talk the same? Do they all respond identically to any given situation or topic? How do their background and experiences influence their words?

Furthermore, characters change over the course of a story. Consequently, their dialogue changes. Perhaps a rude character becomes kinder, and his words are sprinkled with more empathy and compassion. Someone may become obsessed, and her dialogue slowly becomes fixated on a single focus.

Or a character surprises. The stoic deadpan warrior cracks a joke at a key moment, demonstrating he’s not as humorless as he appears. The comic relief offers heartfelt insight that inspires others to action.

Worldbuilding

“You’ve never heard of the Millennium Falcon?” “Should I have?” “It made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.” – Star Wars: Episode IV

“The Dauntless is the power in these waters, true enough, but there’s no ship as can match the Interceptor for speed.” “I’ve heard of one. Supposed to be very fast, nigh uncatchable. The Black Pearl.” “There’s no real ship as can match the Interceptor.” Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

What is the Kessel Run, anyway? If you’ve only seen the movie, you’ll never know. But it’s a challenge for space pilots to navigate, apparently. And there’s the subtle implication that the speaker is a no-name making empty boasts.

The Black Pearl apparently is a fairy tale among sailors, setting up the supernatural overtones of the Pirates of the Caribbean film franchise. Also, the British Navy has some really nice ships and isn’t to be taken lightly in this setting.

Do people explain everything when they talk to each other? Do they launch into a five-minute expositional speech whenever they mention something the reader or viewer doesn’t know about? No, they generally don’t, unless it’s in an appropriate context. People in real life make offhand references to stuff all the time with the assumption that their conversation partner understands. Sometimes they do, sometimes not. But that kind of dialogue in a fictional world makes the setting feel more real. There are things that characters take for granted, for instance, and there are legends and folklore that have seeped into the culture.

Explanations aren’t always necessary. Characters talking about this or that thing that’s never followed up on is more like a real conversation than prefacing every explanatory statement with, “As you know…”

We may not know, but the characters do. And as long as it isn’t vital for us to understand, it makes for a fun bit of worldbuilding.

Story Progression

Amazingly enough, characters tend to take action when someone tells them something. Shocking, isn’t it? The king commanding his loyal knight, the messenger arriving with bad news, the lovers making plans to escape to a new life, the villain announcing his diabolical scheme to his archnemesis … Dialogue moves the story along.

Character motivations shift and change as people learn more about each other. Alliances are made and broken. Riddles are solved and treasure maps deciphered. The plan to take down the evil empire is concocted. Plot revelations are, well, revealed.

A story can’t move along without communication. Dialogue is a bit like a meandering river. Each interaction is a journey downstream from one point to another. It can take a while, and there are plenty of sharp turns, and the destination can be radically different from the start.

Sometimes, all a story needs to get going is a quick and innocuous chat. Things have a tendency to snowball from there.

And these are just three ways in which dialogue is vital to telling a good story. There’s plenty more out there. Feel free to share any that come to mind in the comments. After all, what is the comments section, if not another way to have a conversation?

Writing About Tricksters

I’ve talked about tricksters before, and nine months later, I realize I have more to say.

Tricksters are fascinating to read about and to write about. They’re the weirdos who exist on the fringes of polite society. They’re the ones who can get away with what other people can’t. They’re stick their tongues out at the world and make the rules work for them, rather than working according to the rules.

Tricksters are fun. They’re fun because, deep down, don’t we all enjoy seeing someone willing to say what we’re all thinking and doing what we wish we could? Tricksters are escapist characters. They pay back the jerks and the bullies, outwit the corrupt authority figures, and flout senseless and silly rules. We all enjoy our Robin Hoods and B’rer Rabbits.

Writing tricksters is fun, too. Writing the character of Hermes for my books has let me see the world from a different point of view. I suppose writing any character gives you such insights, but seeing the world through a trickster’s eyes …

They’re a surprisingly philosophical bunch. As characters whose primary role is to push boundaries and alter the status quo, they are naturally prone to questioning the point of things. Why are things the way they are? Why should (or shouldn’t) they change? Tricksters are the ones who can call out others for their actions and make the rest of the cast pause and think. And that makes for interesting writing. The archetype can fill all sorts of niches, whether the villainous anarchist, the secret mentor, the voice of reason, or the snarky smart aleck who gets all the best lines.

And then, of course, there’s the trickster as protagonist. Tricksters can carry a story all by themselves. By their very nature, they’re proactive. They get things done. The can save the day (or ruin it – protagonist doesn’t mean hero). Since the archetype is almost always transgressive in some way, he or she gets to give society a kick in the pants, usually by acting so outrageously or cunningly that nobody knows what to expect next.

Speaking of cunning, writing tricksters has also taught me a bit about plotting out, well, plots. I sometimes feel like we live in an age of fiction where schemes and trickery must be excessively complex. Writers like to create grand conspiracies, when a trickster is just as likely to tap you on one shoulder while standing on the opposite side. Committing a trickster like Hermes to the page has shown me that deception can be much simpler. Tricking people doesn’t really seem to be that hard. Often, it’s just a matter of reading people and playing up to expectations. Or remembering that most people just want today to be the same as yesterday and aren’t expecting to be hoodwinked. Then again, written characters also behave according to how the author has plotted them to behave, so maybe I’m just blowing smoke.

So, tricksters upend the social order. They slip into different roles with ease. They’re many things to many people. What they aren’t is moral, upstanding role models.

But …

What if a trickster tries to be moral? Is such a thing possible? Trickery is lying, and lying is immoral. Can you reconcile the trickster archetype with the hero archetype? Transgressing social values and upholding them? Can the two be melded? A liar with a moral compass? Can a trickster follow right and reject wrong? Can anything truly good come from trickery?

Very interesting philosophical musings, indeed. I’m still messing about with such notions in my writing. My version of Hermes is developing as I go, revealing new facets of his personality as my works progress. Tricksters aren’t simple characters, after all.

Give and Take: Developing Characters with Banter

So, in my last post I went on a bit of a rant about how I dislike how much quip humor is overused in today’s media. So, maybe you’re wondering what kind of comedic writing I do like. Well, lucky you! That’s what I’m here to talk about today.

In all seriousness, comedy is a great way to develop and humanize characters. We use humor in all situations, including dangerous ones. It relieves stress, it helps us relate to each other, and it can lighten a grim situation. Most everyone has a sense of humor. And you know what? Nobody’s is exactly the same. So what happens when two people pit their humor against each other? Well, sometimes a black eye, but in most situations you get the normal, casual banter that marks so many conversations in real life. And as in real life, writing banter can reveal a lot about what people are really like.

Banter is defined by Dictionary.com as “an exchange of light, playful, teasing remarks; good-natured raillery.” While I doubt anyone uses the word “raillery” in casual conversation anymore, this definition gets the point across: Banter is a two-way (or more) street. It is dialogue, and it is reliant on character interaction. Where two characters interact, you get development and characterization. You also get exposition explained in a palatable way. You can get plot progression, foreshadowing, romance, conflict, and all sorts of other things. Why? Because it is dialogue. Because it is character interaction. Because, unlike quipping, banter relies on sharing the spotlight with someone else.

Good-natured ribbing is a form of camaraderie the world over. Inside jokes and bad puns and the playful critique thereof illustrate the history of a relationship more succinctly and beautifully than a full paragraph detailing the backstory. Verbal sparring is fun to read or watch and can be laden with subtext that delivers multiple messages in a single conversation. Just check out movies and books with great dialogue. Well-written banter makes characters feel like real people.

And quips … well, people do quip in real life, but it’s a lonely game to play. It’s a one-trick pony. What happens when people get tired of one-liners? Banter is more flexible. People throw different types of funny at each other. To quip is to play golf: You hit the ball and off it goes. One and done. Banter is tennis. You hit the ball back and forth, leaping and twisting around to catch it and keep up the rhythm.

I promise my blog won’t turn into a campaign against types of writing I don’t like. I don’t despise quipping. But I do prefer variety and versatility in writing. Banter simply offers more options and has more applicability. Not everyone talks in one-liners. But everyone enjoys a spot of teasing and ribbing. Want to flesh out your cast? Add some banter.

Overused and Old Hat: Why I’m No Longer a Fan of Quipping

We live in an age of quips. Quipping has gripped modern entertainment. Quick, glib, clever one-liners are all the rage nowadays. You see it in blockbuster movies, television, comic books, and general writing. Pithy turns of phrase to sum up a situation, shove humor into it, or just to show off how clever the writer is.

And like anything in excess, people eventually become tired of it. One-liners aren’t bad in and of themselves, but I feel that overexposure to any style of writing can sour people against it. Like eating ice cream and pizza three meals a day for a month, something you originally enjoyed now just leaves you feeling sick and disgusted.

Humor is very important. Without it, a story can feel lifeless and dull. But humor comes in many forms, and we aren’t limited to the simple quip. I’m not saying that quipping is bad in and of itself. James Bond can get away with his cheeky one-liners all day long. But variety is the spice of life. More importantly, not every story needs that type of writing.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. What is quipping?

Dictionary.com defines “quip” as “a clever or witty remark or comment” or “a sharp, sarcastic remark; a cutting jest.” And that pretty much sums it up. Quips are one-liners, punchlines, and statements to show off a character’s biting wit. They can be used to characterize and flesh out the tone of a story, but modern writers, especially in film and television, have become obsessed with this one form of humor. What happens when you’re exposed to one, and only one, type of funny for ten years? It becomes boring.

What’s worse, writers can fall into the temptation to constantly strive to outdo themselves and each other. Stories lose their focus and become quip-a-thons. What wacky thing will the hero say next? And how will it completely disrupt the otherwise somber tone of the scene? Because that’s what a poorly used quip can do: It destroys the mood. Too often, I watch movies that are afraid to end on a quiet note. The tone needs “lightening up” with some funny, silly observation. And suddenly, the characters aren’t taking anything seriously. And if they aren’t, why should the audience? Main hero in mortal danger? He makes a quip, and it’s just a big joke, no reason to be on the edge of your seat. A scene of exposition establishing the stakes? Sum it up with some pithy, self-aware remark that illustrates the characters are more concerned with pointing out cliches and proving how clever they are than getting the job done. Guess the audience shouldn’t care, either.

Can you tell I really don’t like this style of humor?

I used to. I enjoyed Marvel movies. I liked Arnold Schwarzenegger’s cheesy one-liners. But overexposure soured me against quips. No, let me revise that statement. It soured me against every main character in the story using quips. That’s the biggest gripe I have against the style, because it makes every character basically the same. Oh, sure, they might have different motivations, different backstories, different personalities, but they all sound the same. Same remarks, same puns, same tendency toward glibness. They all react the same way to a situation. And that is, I emphasize again, boring.

That being said, there are stories I enjoy where quipping is used. I like The Dresden Files, and the protagonist’s tendency toward wise-guy remarks. And I don’t mind James Bond’s use of hilariously callous puns after killing someone. Heck, I enjoy the Marx Brothers’ old films, and Groucho Marx is a machine at quipping. A bona fide master. And you know why I can tolerate these examples? Because they are the only characters in the story who rely on quipping for humor. They stand out because of it. Other forms of humor are used by other characters. Rather than being the default fallback for extracting humor, their smart-aleck words are used to define their character and place in the story. It’s part of who they are.

What’s that old saying? If everyone is special, nobody is. I don’t know about that, but I do think that if everyone is funny in the same way, than nobody is funny at all. Put some variety into your story’s humor!

Image: “Dear Old Hat” by Muffet: Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Writing Characters You Don’t Agree With

Writing characters require us to dive into their heads and figure out their backstories, beliefs, and personalities. It’s a fun diversion in and of itself to discover a character, much less to incorporate those discoveries into a greater narrative. Learning more about our protagonists can make us as attached to them as we hope our readers will be.

But what about writing people who are … less than agreeable? Or worse, who don’t share our values and principles? What about writing those whose motivations and beliefs are diametrically opposed to our own? What is it like to dig around in the head of someone who we don’t agree with?

It can feel almost like a betrayal of ourselves. He can’t say that, I don’t believe in it! She can’t do this, it’s not part of who I am! But putting yourself into your writing doesn’t necessarily mean you are your writing. You are creating a world with words, and that world will be filled with a motley mix of individuals who all possess their own strong personalities.

This can apply to antagonists and villains, but really, it includes any character you write. They play roles in a story, and sometimes those roles require them to be someone drastically different from yourself. Can that be awkward? Sure. Maybe there’s the nagging feeling in the back of your head that writing a character who deviates from your own worldview is somehow condoning things you don’t agree with. But if the story demands it and it develops your world, then it must be done. It’s not betrayal, it’s the mark of a maturing writer. I write people who do and say things I don’t personally find tasteful, but which do fit their own personality. I’m not that person. They’re a work of fiction, after all.

Besides, characters who disagree with you are likely to disagree with other characters, and that creates conflict. And conflict is how you keep a story going.

Even if you don’t agree with a character, they’re still yours and serve a purpose in the story. So, roll up your sleeves and figure out what to do with them. The first thing is to put yourself into their shoes. Think like them for a bit, practice seeing the world through different eyes. How do they feel about this thing or that other individual? How do they feel about your protagonist? Why?

Learning a bit of empathy and a bit about other worldviews certainly helps, as does reading good literature and learning from example how other authors write. It’s valuable to learn how to write characters whose voice and opinions don’t echo your own. Why? Because it is too easy to put yourself into every character and have everyone essentially act and believe as you do. And that makes a story boring and predictable.

And besides, for all that characters have a habit of taking on a life of their own, you are ultimately the final authority here. Like a director herding meddlesome actors, you learn to work with your cast and guide them toward your vision.

Ultimately, story is king. It comes first, and we do what we must to tell it. It’s all part of growing as writers.

Blank Spaces of the Mind: How Do You Tell A Story Without Having to Tell Everything?

I like movies. I’m a visual person, and I enjoy seeing things portrayed on the screen. Little details are the most fun. Characters’ tics and interesting events happening in the background. Sometimes, I envy filmmakers. Creating their worlds are a little bit easier, because they can convey in a minute what can take a writer four or five paragraphs to communicate. ESPECIALLY when they are able to tell the story without a single word being said.

We writers, of course, don’t have that luxury. Books are nothing but words, which got me thinking: How do you show the reality of a story, that is, communicate character traits and worldbuilding details, when you can’t really show anything at all?

It’s a different game from simply describing a scene or a character. That’s to be expected. But where to stop? Where’s the line between “This is what Joe looks like and how he acts” and “This is Joe’s personality and character, let me tell you without ever referring to it again and thus making this paragraph pointless.”

So, I’ve thought about it, and here’s what I’ve come up with so far.

Stories are best told when the writer doesn’t need to explain everything. A good story unfurls through action, whether visual or written. Actions define a character, a group of characters, even a location. The way a person carries himself, dresses, talks – these all express relevant elements without the need for a mountain of exposition.

And they can be brief. For example: A wizard appears in the story. He dresses in fancy clothes and has clean, well-groomed hair. He talks formally with a condescending tone. He casually refers to esoteric subjects. He sniffs loudly whenever he disapproves of the other characters’ comments. He kills a wolf with a single, well-timed spell. Short, succinct statements that tell us what we need to know – and give us the freedom to paint a picture of the character in our minds. We don’t always have to go into detail about hair color, eye color, body type, or a detailed analysis of clothing. Heck, just the word “wizard” probably had you paint half the picture from a single word, didn’t it?

But then, another character brings in the Artifact of Doom for the wizard to identify. The wizard immediately panics and backs away, demanding that the object not be brought near him. Well, that tells us immediately that the Artifact of Doom is really bad news. If Mr. High-and-Mighty is scared, it just might be a serious problem for everyone.

So, yeah, books aren’t visual, but they can still tell a story without having to tell us everything. In short, leave some space for the reader. Now, I’m not going to say that I’m necessarily good at this as a writer. I’m still learning, but I’ve learned as much from reading as writing. And I get annoyed when books pause everything to describe the POV character’s emotional state or appearance in long, flowery detail. It just seems … excessive.

Maybe it’s just the mark my journalism classes left on me. I like simple and to-the-point. And I like to think that my readers can be trusted to have a little imagination to fill in the blank spaces of the mind that words can’t reach by themselves.

What are your thoughts? How do you think a story can “show, not tell?”

Image: “New York City Street Scenes – Rainy Night on the Lower East Side” by Steven Pisano; Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Quirks and Tics: Characterization through Minor Details

You ever think about how traits and habits can shape a character? Everyone has their own flavor of mannerisms: body posture, repeating gestures, facial expressions, verbal expressions, nervous habits. For the sake of simplicity, let’s call them “quirks.” They’re the little details that don’t play a part in the unfolding plot, but simply help flesh out the world you’re creating. Being visual cues, for the most part, they also aren’t always the easiest thing to describe in writing. Movies love them, though, and they can definitely help liven up a scene and make characters more relatable.

It’s all about humanizing your characters. Real people have habits and tics. They do or say things on a regular basis that are uniquely a part of them. You – yes, you – have habits and gestures of your own that make you, well, you. The devil is in the details, but so is good writing. Experienced authors can make even a bit character memorable by throwing in a couple of notable traits and letting those emblazon themselves in readers’ minds. Movies have it even easier. Being visual by nature, a film or TV show can display those quirks without pausing to describe them, letting such details blend more seamlessly into the narrative.

Mostly, quirks are all about worldbuilding, aren’t they? Not necessary to the plot, not vital to understanding the hero and supporting cast. They’re like sprinkles on ice cream. They’re a little something extra.

Or are they?

Quirks can be used as plot devices and can even deliver good payoffs. Someone recognizes her long-lost lover because of the specific way in which he twirls his hair. A secret agent’s habit of spinning his knife causes him to drop it and nearly trigger a motion-sensor alarm. A villain always unconsciously taps her fingers at the prospect of playing a game. A protagonist with OCD compulsively touches and counts poles on the sidewalk. He misses one and goes back for it – just in time to miss being run down by an oncoming car.

These are all examples taken from real movies and TV shows. Can you figure out where they come from?

Do you want your story to feel real? Do you want your characters to feel like people you might actually meet on the street? Or maybe you just want to challenge yourself with producing something a little more creative than past works? Consider using quirks to ad spice to your story. How? Well, take a look at the people you already know. Watch them carefully (but don’t be weird about it). Look at how they act and talk and move. Real life is good inspiration. Everyone has quirks.

Are there ways in which you have used quirks in your writing? Please feel free to share!

A Voice of Their Own: Crafting Your Characters

Stories need characters to be stories. Stories are about people. Whether they be human or otherwise isn’t the point: They are defined personalities with concrete goals that drive the plot. Even a place can become a character in the hands of an imaginative writer. Whatever shape they take, every tale needs characters to be a tale. Otherwise, you might be dabbling in some form of avant-garde, and I can’t help you there.

Since characters are so vitally important, from the protagonist to the antagonist to the mentor to the love interest to the bit part, it is important as a writer to learn how to create an interesting and layered cast to inhabit the worlds we put down on paper. People have quirks and habits. They have desires. They have likes and dislikes. They have relationships. As authors, it is our job to make the cast come to life. We create the illusion that they are real people.

It’s impossible to create a fully fleshed-out person as you would meet in real life, simply because the sheer complexity and depth of a real person could never fit into any number of books. Pick a historical figure, say, Napoleon Bonaparte. How may books have been written about his life? And they all have something different to say. One man, and everyone sees something slightly different. A writer would have to dedicate his life and then some to even approach that degree of complexity. No, I believe that it is the author’s job to create enough of the character as is needed to serve the story.

That’s what I mean when I say writers create the illusion of real people (or dogs, cats, antelope, aliens, mythical monsters, etc. You get the idea). It’s a bit of literary sleight of hand. Each character is just a slice of reality, a digestible piece that is enough for the plot and reader. By giving layers and dimension to those slices, we approximate reality. The closer we create someone who acts mostly like a real person, the more our readers are convinced they truly are. Suspension of disbelief. Very rarely will you ever read or watch a character behave exactly like a person in real life behaves.

The victim in the slasher flick always heads into danger. The James Bond villain always monologues about his scheme before inexplicably letting the hero live. The cowboy cop always goes rogue and comes out a hero. Characters reflect reality, but they shouldn’t adhere to reality perfectly. They adhere to the plot. The story is everything, and characters serve to move the story forward. A little tinkering with common sense is a necessary evil.

So, how do you craft your characters? How do you make them their own unique person? Well, some people like to make complete backstories before they start. Some have bibles dictating their characters’ natures, quirks, and traits. Some, like me, start with a basic outline and then let their characters reveal themselves during the course of writing. When I wrote A God Walks Up to the Bar, I knew Hermes’ basic nature. But during the course of the project, I discovered new things about him. There were layers to him I did not anticipate, reactions to events that I did not expect. He’s a fictional character, and I have final say in what is on the published page, but even so, he feels alive.

And that’s good! When the character feels like a real person, I am better able to write them. It’s less like putting words into a dummy and more like having a conversation. I get to know Hermes, know what he’s like, glimpse into the parts of himself that he keeps hidden from all others. He reveals his history as I write him, and I am able to better write him because he has a history.

With that comes a knowledge of what is in-character and out-of-character. How does he react to this situation? And what does he not do? If every character acts the same, then they are interchangeable and the story is boring. Boring is the writer’s death knell. Even an awful story can be entertaining. Heck, I’d rather write an awful story than a boring one. If the reader’s bored, he stops reading. But a “so bad it’s good” kind of story at least keeps their attention.

Mind you, these are all my personal thoughts. Different authors have different styles. If you are a writer who finds it easier to write out a complete and detailed backstory for your characters before starting the first page of your book, then do so. I don’t think any writer should force themselves to do something that runs against their creative instinct. But be open to surprise. Inspiration is always active and strikes at any time, even mid-sentence.

The gods and beings of ancient myth never went away. They just moved on with the times.

My book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is currently available on Amazon.com. Venture into the world of the Greek god Hermes, a world filled with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, magic, and trickery. It’s a tough job, being a god!

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Why Writers Should Make Their Character Suffer

It is my duty as an author to make my characters suffer. I must put them through the wringer, submit them to the lash, and force them to endure severe physical and psychological torment. Nothing must come easy to them. My characters must endure doubts, confrontations, and existential crises. They must be tested to their utmost, then pushed even further.

Why? ~~Because authors are sadistic monsters~~ Because the testing of a character forces them to grow, and the pleasure of reading a story is to see its heroes overcome the challenges they face. The greater the challenge and the greater the suffering they endure in conquering that challenge, the greater the catharsis of victory for both hero and reader. And there’s also no small amount of pleasure in giving my characters that final victory. I personally like happy endings.

Suffering can bring out the best and worst in people, whether they be real or they be fictional. It’s an interesting experiment to put a written character to the test and see how they react. What happens if I put the protagonist into THIS terrible situation? Or make them confront THAT unpleasant truth? Struggles let us see what makes people tick. Test your mettle and see how strong you are … and grow stronger.

All that being said, it boils down to this: a story is only as interesting as its characters and the situations they find themselves in. If the characters are flawed and have to work through their problems, then great! The readers share in their triumphs and failures, empathize with their foibles, and root for their success. Characters who never struggle and always succeed perfectly in everything they do can have a place in a story, but you might want to think twice about making them the protagonist. In a word: Boring. Invincibility is fine against bullets and blades, but even Superman is weak against kryptonite.

Authors should toss their characters into the furnace every now and again. Let them work for what they want. It’s what readers are paying for after all, and we got to fill those pages somehow.

The gods and beings of ancient myth never went away. They just moved on with the times.

Enjoying my blog? Don’t want to miss a single post? Subscribe for updates on when I post and follow my writing career, musings on fiction and storytelling, and reflections about life in general!

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