I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
A character’s real need is the solution to her or his internal problem. A character may be aware of an external problem and want to solve it. But before the want can really be attained, that character may have an internal problem that needs to be solved. Quite possibly the character is blind to this character flaw or fault, and the real need is initially to become aware of it in order to then be able to take action to resolve it. Sometimes the character does not attain full awareness of the real need until more or less reaching the goal, even if it has been hinted at earlier but initially ignored. Achieving the goal may turn out not to be what the character really needs. So the real need is an act of learning or emotional growth.
In most stories, what a character really needs is growth.
Characters display flaws or shortcomings near the beginning of the story as well as wants. What they really need to do in order to achieve what they want is likely to be something they need to become aware of first.
The real need relates to the internal problem in the same way the perceived need relates to the external problem. The character has some sort of dysfunction that really needs to be repaired.
That means the audience or reader may become aware of a character’s real need long before the character does. Most stories are about learning, and learning entails the uncovering of something previously unknown. So the real need of a character is to uncover the internal problem, to become aware of their flaw.
To recap: The usual mode in storytelling has a character consciously responding to an external problem with a want, a goal, and a number of perceived needs. Unconsciously, that character may well have a character trait that amounts to an internal problem, out of which arises that character’s real need – i.e. to solve the internal problem.
So if a character is selfish, the real need is to learn selflessness. If the character is overly proud, then he or she needs to gain some humility. In the movie Chef, the father neglects his son emotionally – his real need is to learn to involve the child in his own life. The audience sees this way before the Chef does.
Even stories in which the external problem provides the entertainment – and with that the raison d’être of the story – may profit from a sub-layer of internal problem and real need. It is not vital to enjoying Raiders Of The Lost Ark, but notice how at the beginning of the story, Indiana Jones fervently believes the obstacles to his gaining the treasures he seeks are due to mechanical trickery (“hocus pocus”), whereas at the end he recognises that there are indeed spiritual powers beyond his secular world-view (“Don’t look!”).
Revelation
There is a strong connection, then, between the real need and self-revelation. If a character must repair a fault in his or her character, the fault must first be recognised. Often this occurs at the midpoint and is typically acted upon just before the goal – indeed the act of learning to accept the real need might make the goal redundant. The character makes amends for the fault – in the above examples, through an act of selflessness or by being humble – and as a reward gets what he or she wants, often not via the goal but by a route the character had at the beginning of the story not foreseen. Of course not, because the character at the beginning of the story had not recognised the internal problem and therefore could not know his or her real need. By the very end of the story, the character has grown. The real need is no longer there.
This is all neat, satisfying – and often conventional. We all know popular novels and Hollywood films that work this way. Which is absolutely fair enough.
But writer trap: Self-revelation with immediately positive results can quickly seem like a cliché. The technique seems to lead too easily to the happily-ever-after, and has inherent dangers like moralising or ascribing simplistic causes (such as a backstory trauma) to what the audience or reader is intended to perceive as a character flaw.
There are alternatives.
For instance, it might make for a good story if the character is not able to get what he or she really needs. In stories that do not end quite so happily-ever-after, there is often a scene that corresponds to the self-revelation or the crisis moment of choice. It is when the audience or reader recognizes that the character will not get what he or she really needs. Often this audience epiphany must be provided by another character’s act of recognition, as in The Godfather, where Michael’s wife Kay has the door shut in her face. In that moment, she realizes – and her face shows it to the viewers – that Michael has not been able to achieve his need, the need to escape from the family business. Quite the contrary.
Another way of avoiding the self-revelation writer trap is by basing the internal problem on a mistake rather than on a character flaw. Note that a mistake is something the character did, so it is active, rather than a trauma, which is often caused by something that happened to the character, and is therefore passive. If something the character did once upon a time (i.e. in the backstory) resulted in the current mess (i.e. the external problem), the real need may well involve recognition of this past act as having been a mistake. But there may be nothing the character can do about it now. If the character once made a mistake, it’s up to the gods and the author whether any atonement will bring redemption. May ancient classics hinge on mistakes, such as the story of Oedipus Rex.
And indeed, who says the character wants to be redeemed? Perhaps such a character will happily continue in their incorrigible way, and burrow him or herself into our collective consciousness as an unforgettable fictional character. Not every character must grow in order to be memorable. In cases where fictional characters do not change and grow, it is usually us, the readers or audience, that do the growing. Such characters tend to be revealed slowly, in stages, so that while they have not altered, our perception of them has, because by the end of the story we know more about them than at the beginning, and thus we have learnt something about ourselves. Consider Ishmael and Ahab in Moby Dick.
In any case, an emotional need in a main character provides some level of deeper psychological, emotional or moral meaning below the surface structure of plot. So this real need of a character provides a basis for a story’s “deep structure”, and tends to bring on the change that forms the emotional core of the story.
To read more of Beemgee’s writing craft articles click here
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
Classic heroes are a staple of nearly all fiction, regardless of the genre you’re writing in. These characters are those who face seemingly impossible challenges, rise to the occasion, and then return to share the rewards of their journey with their community.
At first glance, this “hero’s journey” seems universal, and in many ways it is. However, there’s another side to this story that doesn’t match up with the traditional hero—and that is the heroine. Believe it or not, heroes and heroines aren’t the same. So, in this article, let’s explore all the differences between the hero and heroine, along with why these character types have nothing to do with gender!
In that article, I explained that this arc is based on Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, which states that all fictional heroes follow the same common patterns—which Campbell calls the “monomyth.” In this theory, the hero’s quest is about a character leaving home, facing a series of tests and trials, and then using the lessons they learned to heal and preserve their community for the future.
It’s this “return” that sets the hero apart from the rest of your cast.
By making the difficult choice to return home, your hero caps off what is basically a three-part journey:
The Known World:
The hero begins in their normal world. This represents stability and the status quo, though there are undeniable flaws beginning to form. Most heroes are discontent in their known world, even if they appreciate the security it provides.
Facing the Unknown:
This shifts when the hero enters the unknown, a wild place filled with possibility. This is where they’ll face tests and trials that help them attain mastery of their new world, eventually equipping them with the tools they need to resolve their story’s conflict.
Returning to the Known:
Finally, the hero returns to the known. By now, they fully understand their community’s flaws, and use that understanding to heal their world. In the process, they become a hero, safeguarding their community and ensuring its future for years to come.
This journey is what forms the foundation of the “hero’s character arc,” which takes these more plot-focused elements and translates them into a character-centric framework. Of course, these are just the basics! There are a whole variety of unique story beats that characterize a well-written hero, along with their cyclical journey from known to unknown.
This is where the heroine comes into play.
You see, the hero and the heroine’s arc both follow this three-part structure. What sets them apart, however, is their focus. While the hero’s character arc is all about a character gaining physical mastery over their world, the heroine’s arc is much more concerned with their mastery over their own mind.
In the end, this has nothing to do with gender, and there are plenty of excellent female heroes and male heroines out there. Instead, these two character arcs act as mirror images—with one focused on an external quest, and the other on an internal one.
The Hero’s Arc vs. The Heroine’s Arc
The Hero’s Arc – External:
So, how do these arcs compare?
Well, we’ll start by discussing the hero’s arc. This is what most people associate with the classic hero, so it provides a great baseline for understanding how these character arcs unfold:
The Known World:
The hero begins their story suffering from some inner struggle. Meanwhile, their community is suffering too. Though they might not realize it just yet, a powerful threat is brewing beneath the surface—both within and outside of their known world.
A Threat Revealed:
This threat reveals itself at the Catalyst, forcing the hero to leave their known world behind in search of some reward. This is where they first step foot into the unknown.
Entering the Unknown:
Once in the unknown, the hero will face a variety of challenges, learning and adapting as they struggle to get their bearings. Along the way, they’ll start to understand the flaws of their community, though they won’t know how to handle those flaws just yet.
Receiving Their Reward:
This culminates in a major test, where the hero embraces their truth and receives their reward. This could be anything from a new skill to key allies, powers, or physical tools. Whatever it is, it’s rarely what the hero expected at the start of their quest.
Dreading the Return:
Now comfortable in the unknown world, the hero will dread returning home. They’ve attained mastery over the unknown, and are hesitant to leave. Instead, they make plans to resolve their story’s conflict without abandoning the unknown world.
Facing Failure:
Unfortunately, this falls through. After a major defeat, the hero is forced to question their place in the unknown, as well as the fate of their known world. If either is to survive, they must sacrifice their own desires in order to protect them.
Becoming a Hero:
Realizing their reward is the secret to saving their community, the hero makes the choice to leave the unknown world and return home. In a final test, they share their reward and sacrifice a part of themselves for the greater good, earning the title of hero.
Finally at Peace:
With their community safe, the hero is left with a foot in both worlds. No longer restricted to one or the other, they bridge the gap between the known and unknown.
As you can see, this hero’s arc is tightly focused on the hero’s physical mastery over their world—though it still contains all the elements of a successful character arc. Though they’ll still have to confront their inner struggle and (eventually) embrace their truth, the main reward they gain is external.
For instances, consider Disney’s Mulan.
Mulan begins her story when she sets out to protect her father from the draft, only to find herself struggling to survive in the Chinese army. Luckily, she eventually gains mastery over this new unknown world, until she eventually defeats the warlord threatening her people. In doing so, she returns home with honor, rising to the status of hero and completing her hero’s character arc.
This is a great example of the hero in action. Though Mulan learns a lot about herself and overcomes her inner struggle throughout her journey, her story is primarily about overcoming physical threats—and thus attaining physical mastery.
The Heroine’s Arc – Internal:
In contrast, the heroine takes a different approach.
This character starts out in the same known world, suffering from a similar inner struggle—but, rather than set out on a physical quest, they leave home in search of their true self. This journey is all about wisdom, identity, and internal connections, following the heroine as they slowly rekindle their connection to who they really are:
The Known World:
The heroine begins their story suffering from some inner struggle, taking shape as an internal disconnect. Meanwhile, their community is suffering too. Though they might not realize it yet, a powerful threat is brewing beneath the surface—both within and outside of their known world.
A Threat Revealed:
This threat reveals itself at the Catalyst, forcing the heroine to leave their known world and enter the unknown in search of the wisdom needed to protect their people.
Entering the Unknown:
Once in the unknown world, the heroine will face a variety of challenges, learning and adapting as they struggle to shed the weight of their old identities. Along the way, they’ll begin to understand the flaws of their community, though they won’t know how to handle those flaws just yet.
Discovering Themselves:
This culminates in a major test, where the heroine embraces their truth and rekindles their connection with their true self. This internal change is typically represented by some symbolic action.
Then and Now:
Now comfortable in the unknown world, the heroine will dread returning home, unsure how to reconcile their old self with their new identity. Instead, they make plans to resolve their story’s conflict without abandoning the unknown.
Facing Failure:
Unfortunately, this falls through. After a major defeat, the heroine is forced to question their new identity, as well as the fate of their known world. If their community is to survive, they must accept who they are without fear.
Sharing Their Wisdom:
Realizing this wisdom is the secret to saving their community, the heroine makes the choice to leave the unknown and return home. In a final test, they share their true self and sacrifice a part of themselves for the greater good, earning the title of heroine.
Finally at Peace:
With their community safe, the heroine is left with a foot in both worlds. No longer restricted to one or the other, they bridge the gap between the known and unknown, finally at peace with who they are.
Right away, you can hopefully see how this heroine’s arc mirrors the hero’s arc—just with a more internal focus. While the heroine will still face plenty of physical conflicts, their true reward is the wisdom to heal both themselves and their community.
A great example of this is Moana.
Much like Mulan, Moana sets out into the unknown in order to protect her family. However, her story isn’t about physical mastery. Though she absolutely faces physical trials throughout her journey, her ultimate triumph is instead discovering her ancestry and accepting her emotional bond with the ocean. It’s this deeper understanding of herself that eventually allows her to save her people, thus marking her as a heroine.
A Note on Primary vs. Secondary Arcs
With those differences in mind, what should you do with all of this information?
Well, the first thing you’ll want to consider is that the hero and heroine’s arcs are secondary arcs. This is a term I’ve mentioned in past articles, but it essentially describes a subset of character arcs. Secondary arcs are optional, specialized patterns you can use to create specific types of characters like the elder, rogue, or hermit—along with the hero and heroine.
Meanwhile, primary arcs are the type of character arc most writers are familiar with. These are your classic positive, negative, and flat arcs, which determine the overarching journey your character goes on, whether they achieve their goals, and how their story concludes.
What makes this distinction important is that secondary arcs layer on top of primary arcs—meaning that, if you want to use a secondary arc to craft your hero, you’ll first need to consider their overall journey.
NOTE: If you’d like to explore other primary and secondary character arcs, these articles are a great place to start:
Ultimately, the terms “hero” and “heroine” are tangled up in all kinds of preconceived ideas, and those ideas can make it hard to see our characters for who they really are. Personally, this is why I find these character arcs so valuable! By understanding the specific journey each of these types of heroes goes on, I can look at my cast objectively and build better, more engaging stories.
The key is simply one of focus.
While the hero’s story is all about their journey into the unknown in search of physical mastery, the heroine’s is all about their quest to better understand their own mind. Because of this, the hero’s arc is mostly an external one, while the heroine’s arc is primarily internal.
Lewis Jorstad is an author and editor, a lover of reading and travel, and the steward of a very creaky sailboat. He hopes to visit every country in the world before he dies, but for now he spends his time teaching up-and-coming writers the skills they need to write their dream novels. Interested? Read more here or get in touch.
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
Chapter Endings are so important. But how do we write them effectively? It’s simple, really. Basically we want to end the chapter so that our readers will say:
“Oooh! Can’t stop now — Just one more chapter!”
Okay, great. But how do we DO that? All chapter endings have a few key components. Over the course of your chapter, you will have introduced conflict that has now built up to a tantalizing climax. But argh, how to end it?
Well. This post is for you!
The Two Key Ingredients of Chapter Endings:
Closure for the previous chapter’s conflict (at least partial closure)
Introduction of a new, tangible conflict
I know that this may be controversial, but I’m going to go ahead and say it.
If you’re doing you’re job right, you basically want to end almost EVERY chapter with a cliffhanger.
( …but there are lots of types of cliffhangers. They’re not all what you’d think.)
10 Types of Chapter-Ending Cliffhangers
Having scoured the interwebs, and also having written my fair share of chapter endings over the years, I’ve come to realize that there’s more than one way to inject your chapter end with a must-read-on-moment (aka cliffhanger). Quite a few in fact. I’ve grouped them into categories here.
The Imminent Doom
The Sense of Foreboding
The Surprise Twist
The Discovery
The Failure
The Emotional Hook
The Vow / Decision
The Dilemma
The False Lull
The Promise
1. The Imminent Doom
This is what we classically think of when we picture ‘a cliffhanger’ and where the term comes from. It’s when, at the end of the chapter, we leave the reader hanging with the protagonist if not literally off the edge of a cliff, at least in dire straits or mortal peril.
The Gunshot/Arrow/Knife to the Chest
The Blackout/Fall/Car Crash
The Dangle from a Precipice
The Look Down the Barrel of a Gun
The Natural Disaster
But …
This is not the only type of cliffhanger. There are more you can (and should) use. Lots more.
2. The Sense of Foreboding
Rather than leaving the protagonist in actual physical peril, sometimes simply tugging the reader along in fear of what’s to come is enough. This may simply be a sentence or two setting the tone for the next scene and the next conflict. It may be an Inner Monologue from the protagonist expressing their dread. It could be a “sign” from the universe that the MC interprets as a bad omen.
The Knock on the Door
The Shadows in the Mist
The Invasion Begins
The Feeling That Something’s Not Quite Right
The Bad Omen
3. The Surprise Twist
Reversals and plot twists are kind of a staple of writing, so instead of burying them mid-scene, why not end the chapter with one? Show the main character being betrayed by someone they trusted. Show a presumed enemy acting as an ally. Show a side character you’ve built up as a suspect in a situation which reveals their innocence.
The Plot Re-direction
The Suspect Vindicated
The Two-Faced Friend / The Betrayal
The Unexpected Accusation
The Unlikely Ally
4. The Discovery
Related to the surprise twist, “The Discovery” is a moment where in the MC obtains a key piece of information related to the plot. Unlike the “Surprise Twist”, however, it’s something that the MC has actively been seeking and expecting. With this one, the key to making it an exciting chapter end is all in the execution. Show the MC opening the lockbox that contains the important documents she’s been searching for … but don’t show what’s in the box. Or, reveal the clue, but then show how it takes her backwards rather than forwards. Show her finally getting what she wants, only to realize that it’s not actually what she wanted.
Game Changing Info
Object of Desire Obtained, but …
Next Clue / New Lead, but …
5. The Failure
Another great ending (so long as it’s not overused), is “The Failure” — it’s a low moment in the book, where the MC has been working so hard to achieve something only to fail miserably … whether due to internal shortcomings, the antagonist, or other external barriers. Readers will feel so sorry for your MC, they’ll have to read on to see how he/she gets out of this.
The Big Mistake
The Closed Door / Missed Opportunity
The Lost Soul
Example: “Karou saw them and understood. The way to Elsewhere had been severed, and she was cast adrift.” — { from Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor }
6. The Emotional Hook
This is a similar ending to “The Failure,” but distinct in that rather than being directly plot related, this is simply an emotional moment for the main character. The estrangement of a dear friend, a rejection by a crush, a private, public and/or viral humiliation, the thrilling anticipation of a special outing / first date / proposal. The key here is to end on a poignant moment that tugs at the reader’s heartstrings. One way to do that is to break the chapter at a key moment where the MC pivots from one strong emotion to another. For example: A build-up of hope … only to have it crash down right at the last. A chapter that seems darker than dark which cuts away with a light at the end of the tunnel.
The Loss
The Rejection
The Embarassment
The Thrill
The Longing
7. The Decision or Vow
You can probably only really use this once, or maybe twice per book. Unless your character is a really voicey MG protagonist and is always “vowing” to do things. Anyway. This could go alongside many of the other Cliffhangers as (a) a sort of one-line “zinger” at the end, where the MC vows to get revenge, to beat her enemy etc. Alternatively, this could take the form of (b) a choice that the MC makes, and the reader knows the options, but not which path the MC will take …. until the next chapter (thus making it a cliffhanger) 🙂
The Vow to Act
The Decision/Choice is made (but not revealed until next chapter)
8. The Dilemma
You could almost think of this Chapter Ending as the set-up to “The Decision.” It’s where (1) it’s first revealed that the MC has an important choice to make, and/or (2) the consequences of that choice become painfully clear. The MC may take a long time to get around to making the decision (chapters even), but this is where the dilemma is first presented.
Which Needs Changing: Self or Others?
Speak/Act Up or Remain Silent?
[Career] vs. [Relationship] etc etc
Who Do I Trust?
Moral Dilemma
9. The False Lull
Think of this as “The Calm Before the Storm.” It’s where you end the chapter on a happy, relaxed, hopeful, or joyful note. The key is to do so in such a way that makes the reader say: “oh no, this is too good to last.”
I’ve finally gotten my heart’s desire
I’m just about to get everything I ever wanted
I’m in a happy place
10. The Promise
This is where you end just before showing something that you know the reader has been dying to see. In Romance, this might be the when the MC and the crush have “a first moment/kiss/proposal.” In Fantasy or Sci-Fi, maybe it’s a cool setting, thing, or place that the MC keeps hinting at, but now you’re finally going to show it. Again, here, the key is to hint (strongly) that this is about to happen, but don’t show it until the next chapter. (okay maybe a tiny peek. tiny.) You’re promising the reader that in the next chapter, you’ll show them that awesome moment/scene/setting that they’ve been dying to read about for pages and pages.
It’s Almost Time for…
The New World
The Epic Battle
The First Date/Kiss/Proposal
The Healing/Letting Go
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
11. BONUS: The Revelation / The Idea In some ways, this sort of like a combination of “The Promise” and “The Discovery.” It’s when your MC has an “aha” moment. It’ll likely be plot-related, but could also be your protag realizing something about her/himself as a person, or about a significant relationship, etc. Again, here, the success is in the execution. One way to leave it cliffhangery would be to show that an “aha moment” was had, but not show what the MC has thought of … until the next chapter. Another approach might be to reveal the basic revelation (or a piece of it) straight away, but not it’s broader/deeper significance in the story, so that the readers are left scratching their heads, going “wait, how is that going to help?” A Few More Tips and Tricks:
Techniques that can work:
End with…
A dangling question
A new person or object
A switch of emotion for the MC
A teaser of a new scene
Don’t bury the hook. End with it.
Be specific. Vague doom isn’t scary.
Don’t (always) give the reader what they want at the beginning of the next chapter
Write your cliffhanger “zinger” lines in advance … when you’re plotting your first MS draft.
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
The internal problem is a character’s psychological or emotional flaw, weakness or shortcoming – and is often what makes the character interesting. So the internal problem is usually a negative and harmful character trait, possibly one that led to terrible mistake the character has made in the past. Watching the character resolve this inner issue by causing a change is what the story is really about, on a deeper level than the surface structure of the plot. So the author and the readers/audience need to know what the internal problem is – although the character may not. At least not until the middle or near the end of the narrative, when the realisation of this internal problem (gaining awareness) marks the beginning of its being (re)solved. What is this character’s issue?
An inner or internal problem is the chance for change.
While the external problem shows the audience the character’s motivation to act (he or she wants to solve the problem), it is the internal problem that gives the character depth.
In storytelling, the internal problem is a character’s weakness, flaw, lack, shortcoming, failure, dysfunction, error, miscalculation, or mistake. It is often manifested to the audience through a negative character trait. Classically, this flaw may be one of excess, such as too much pride. Almost always, the internal problem involves egoism. By overcoming it, the character will be wiser at the end of the story than at the beginning. Thus the character must learn cooperative behaviour in order to be a mature, socially functioning person.
The inner problem is the pre-condition for the character’s transformation. It is the flaw, weakness, mistake, error, or deficit that needs to be fixed. In other words, it shows what the character needs to learn.
Internal problems may be character traits that cause harm or hurt to others. They cause anti-social behaviour. And internal problems can also harm the character. They can be detrimental to his or her solving the external problem.
From Lack of Awareness to Revelation
While the external problem provides a character’s want, i.e. motivation, the internal problem provides the need.
The audience sees the flaw before the character does. The character is blinkered, has a blind spot. She first has to learn to see what the audience already knows. At the beginning of the story the internal problem is a hindrance to the character’s emotional growth and even causes the character to hurt others. But eventually it may give rise to awareness or self-revelation. The character will recognise the internal problem and understand that it is harmful to him or herself or to others, and really needs to be solved.
The Internal Problem of a character is revealed to the audience in scenes that show the symptoms of the flaw for the character and her environment. It results in internal obstacles, specific instances of the character’s flaw which prevent her from progressing directly towards her goal. Furthermore, the antagonism in the story may well be a sort of symbolic manifestation of the protagonist’s internal problem.
So a character may initially not be aware of his or her internal problem. A character trait, after all, is something that has been in a character for a long time – since before the beginning of the story. In real life, the origin of behaviour patterns is seldom so singular and specific, but for authors of stories it helps to have scenes in mind for:
a scene early in the narrative that shows the audience the character’s flaw,
a “confirmation bias” moment, the outcome of which is that the character’s flawed belief or worldview is reinforced,
another incident that “touches the nerve” of our flawed character in such a way as to lead them to arduously defend themselves and their flaw, revealing the extent of their internal problem to the audience,
a scene which shows the character recognising the first cracks in the flawed world view, an initial revelation – often in the middle of the narrative,
a particular instance that is the origin or root cause of the character flaw,
the scene which demonstrates whether the character has fully recognised the problem and has learnt to act in such a way that the audience may now consider it solved.
The scenes don’t necessarily appear to the audience in that order. Since the inner problem was caused long before the story starts, all this seems to invite backstory scenes to explain its origin. But beware, there is a subtle writer trap here. More about that below.
The Problem Gives Rise to A Need
So: A character wants a certain state of being, a particular situation such as wealth, power, happiness, being in a relationship, owning a desired object. The character may believe this will be attained upon achieving a particular goal, the apparent manifestation of the solution to the external problem. However, once the character has reached the goal, it may transpire that the goal is not at all what the character needs in order to achieve the want. The full extent of the real need was perhaps suppressed by the character up to now, because it requires a change in character, which is to say a change of the negative character trait to a positive one.
In other words, growth. The character will grow by solving the internal problem. The internal problem is an emotional immaturity in the character. The real need the internal problem spawns is for emotional growth. This growth will turn the character into a person whose actions are no longer detrimental to the self, and who acts well towards others, i.e. with social responsibility.
That all sounds moralistic, which is a writer trap.
Writer Traps
We all know stories in which characters learn something and become better people by overcoming negative character traits. Very direct examples are the ones where a young protagonist helps a grumpy old person to redeem him or herself, such as True Grit or Scent Of A Woman. The idea of a main character having to learn something is so fundamental that its effects are visible in virtually all stories, especially – but not only – in ones from Hollywood.
Yes, the audience or reader should become aware of the internal problem of the character. And here’s how to avoid the morality trap: The internal problem should not be presented as something unforgivably reprehensible, but as a trait which the audience or reader recognises in themselves – to an extent at least. The more obviously anti-social the effects of the internal problem, the more the story turns into a morality piece. Generally speaking, the audience is more likely to have an emotional response to the story when the story does not transport a moral or the author’s intended meaning too explicitly. The audience is happier feeling it for themselves rather than having it spelled out to them.
And as for the backstory trap, this one is a doozy.
These days, for the last hundred years or so, we have a tendency to look for the origin of negative character traits in our own histories, often in the form of more or less powerful traumas suffered in our childhoods. Sigmund Freud has influenced storytelling here. Many modern stories provide explanations of the internal problem of a character by presenting a traumatic event which occurred in that character’s past. The film director Sidney Lumet mocks the “rubber-ducky” explanation scene: “Someone once took his rubber ducky away from him, and that’s why he’s a deranged killer.” A topos that has become a particular cliché in modern storytelling is child abuse. The protagonist was molested as a child; that explains the anti-social behaviour; confronting the trauma leads to its healing. Such simplistic explanations are writer traps.
It is quite possible to use a specific event in a character’s past as the cause of the internal problem without it turning into cliché. Speaking from a purely dramaturgical perspective, in terms of story structure there are alternatives to trauma. The ancient classics did not use traumatic events to provide an internal problem for a character to solve. Most older stories don’t try to find such psychological explanations – they are often less about trauma and more about errors of judgment. About mistakes.
Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone makes bad decisions sometimes. A bad call does not mean there needs to be a trauma. A bad call is usually simply the result of emotional immaturity.
So, the event that led to the internal problem does not have to bear Freud’s influence. The event could be a simple mistake a character made once upon a time, which comes back much, much later to haunt that character. An example from the ancient classics would be Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex.
Classically then, the internal problem is the cause of the external problem. Even stories that don’t manage to achieve this level of neatness will try to establish some connection between the external and the internal problems. In stories where the protagonist is her or his own worst enemy, such as Leaving Las Vegas, the internal problem becomes the antagonistic force.
To read more of Beemgee’s writing craft articles click here
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
Mystery and suspense novels are some of the best-selling fiction genres, and have been for quite some time. But what kind of mystery and suspense novels are the most popular? Here is a list of mystery and suspense genres, ranked from most popular to least popular. This list was compiled by examining the amount of new works that were published in each genre in 2020 and how well these book sold. This is how “popular” was defined for this particular list.
It should also be noted that many books can be categorized into more than one mystery and/or suspense subgenre. Also, while some of these genres might not have been popular in the last year, these things are constantly changing. Like anything else, genres go through trends, and a lot of the subgenres within the mystery and suspense genres that were once very popular have fallen out of favor in recent years. Likewise, some old genres are regaining popularity, and new favorites have popped up as well. Enjoy this list for what it is: a snapshot of the mystery, suspense, crime fiction, and detective genres as they are at this point in time.
Psychological Thrillers
While psychological thrillers have always been a popular subgenre, we can trace the recent boom of psychological thriller novels to Gillian Flynn’s 2012 super hit novel Gone Girl. Psychological thrillers typically deal with characters who are dealing with psychological distress, usually because of some harrowing mystery or other suspenseful situation. A more recent example of a psychological thriller would be In the Clearingby J.P. Pomare.
Cozy Mystery
A cozy mystery has all of the thrills of a good mystery novel without all the blood and gore and gritty details. So it makes sense that this genre is so popular and has remained popular for decades. These novels often feature amateur detectives whom the reader can follow and root for. Many cozy mysteries are also serialized, which means when you get into a particular character or story, you can invest in those people and that story for many, many books. One example of a series with many books you can sink into: M.C. Beaton’s Agatha Raisin series. The most recent one, Hot to Trotcame out in 2020.
Historical Mystery
Mystery genres quite frequently end up being crossed over with other genres, and one of the most popular of these crossovers is the historical mystery. This genre places detectives investigating crimes into different times in history. For instance, the novel Curious Toysby Elizabeth Hand is set in 1915 with the backdrop of a carnival.
Romantic Suspense
There is no denying the popularity of the romantic suspense genre. Though some titles lean more toward romance than suspense, we don’t imagine the popularity of romantic suspense books diminishing any time soon. If you like a little swoon with your action, we recommend this genre with titles like A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Mayhem by Manda Collins.
Spy Thrillers
Who doesn’t love crime fiction and thrillers that feature spies? Charming spy characters like James Bond have long been a favorite in both novels and films. And while many of your older spy thrillers and espionage novels center around men as the protagonists, contemporary entries into the genre are becoming more diverse. Just look at American Spyby Lauren Wilkinson, which follows the story of an African American woman spy named Marie Mitchell.
Police Procedurals
Sure, it’s fun to see amateur detectives put clues together to solve a crime, but sometimes you just want to read a crime novel about a professional at work. Which is why police procedurals remain a pretty popular subgenre of mystery/thriller novels. As the name suggests, police procedural novels follow a police detective or a team of detectives hunting down a killer. Sometimes these novels switch back and forth between the detective’s perspective and the criminal’s perspective. One recent must-read example of police procedural fiction? If you’re a fan of the genre, you won’t want to miss James Patterson and J.D. Barker’s The Coast-to-Coast Murders.
Private Detective
On the flip side of the coin of police procedurals are private detective novels, coming in right after police procedurals in terms of popularity in recent years. Private detective novels focus on a private detective (obviously) and his or her journey to gather clues and ultimately solve a crime. There have been many famous private detective characters over the years, such as Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. A recent one you’ll love is Sherry Thomas’s Charlotte Holmes. The most recent book in her Lady Sherlock series is Murder on Cold Street.
Legal Thriller
For readers who are more interested in the justice side of crime fiction rather than the police or detectives, legal thrillers are the answer. Legal thrillers usually star a lawyer or some other court official who is working hard to get to the truth behind the crime when law officials seem to be on the wrong track. The Last Trialby Scott Turlow is an excellent new legal thriller you’ll want to read if you’re a fan of this subgenre.
Heist
More interested in the criminals and the thrilling act of the crime? Heist fiction takes you there. These stories focus on criminals as our antiheroes as we watch them perform nearly impossible thefts, usually of heavily guarded and highly prized items. While heist fiction is not as popular as other thriller subgenres, this genre still contains some popular favorites. Looking for a new, exciting heist story? Try Sandra Brown’s Thick as Thieves.
Locked Room
Locked room mysteries are fun because it adds a sense of urgency to solving the crime. Why? Locked room mysteries revolve around a seemingly unsolvable crime. How did the perpetrator get in? Get out? Because this is such a specific subgenre, not as many books are published that fit within this genre. But when locked room mysteries come out, they’re usually very much enjoyed by mystery fans. One recent locked-room mystery that was loved by many: The Woman in Cabin 10by Ruth Ware.
Noir
Noir or hardboiled detective fiction is a genre that reached its height of popularity in the early-to-mid-20th century. These crime novels feature weathered and cynical private detectives who see the dark, edgy side of the city in which they live. As you can imagine, these stories are dark and often violent. While there have been more recent entries to the genre, this is one that has fallen out of favor in contemporary mystery fiction. Perhaps it’s because when a genre is so oversaturated, the tropes of the genre begin to feel cliché. Of course, mystery and thriller novels across genres still borrow conventions and are inspired by noir fiction. And as with any trend, we’ll likely see a resurgence at some point.
Supernatural Thriller
Why do supernatural thrillers have such a niche readership? Is it because people prefer concrete answers to their mystery stories? Is it easier to swallow a mystery if we know, at the end of the day, a butler did it and not some ghost that can’t be thrown in jail? Whatever the case may be, while supernatural thrillers continued to be published and read, the subgenre is not nearly as popular as others; however, there are gems like Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky thats popularity reinvigorates this sub-genre.
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
Sometimes a character has a secret that provides a hidden motivation to that character’s actions. Does another character know of this secret? Does the audience? When is it revealed, and what happens as a consequence?
What a character might know that others don’t – including the audience
Some characters have secrets. We are not talking here about their internal problem or the need that arises out of it (they may be aware of such a problem or not.) We are talking about information that makes a difference to the story once it is shared.
Character secrets are intimately bound to the scene type called a reveal (which does not necessarily have to entail a revelation).
In terms of story (or rather the dramaturgy of the story), if a character has a secret that is never revealed, the secret is irrelevant. Only if the secret is made known at some point in the narrative does it really exist as a component of the plot.
For authors, the main aspects of character secrets to control are:
Does the character share the secret with another character at any point, and if so when (in which scene)?
At what point in the narrative (in which scene) does the audience receive knowledge of this secret?
Who are you, really?
If it is so important the character has a secret, then, often, the secret becomes part of who this character is. Their role in the story, their identity within the story, is determined by their secret. So secrets are dramaturgically important.
Let’s take the fairy tale topos of the girl who pretends to be a boy in order to be allowed (by the patriarchal system) on some sort of quest. Typically in such a story there will be a scene early in the narrative in which the girl makes the choice to hide her real identity. Later there may be a scene in which she reveals her secret to an ally, the prince or love interest. The audience, however, knows about this secret all along. It is probably the whole point of the story, part of its premise.
An alternative scenario may be the (somewhat clichéd) idea of a character interacting with others throughout the bulk of narrative, and at a key point in the second half of the story the identity of this character being revealed as the long-lost son, heir to and saviour of the family fortune, for instance. In such a story, the audience is surprised by the reveal just as much as the other characters.
More sophisticated versions of the idea of character identity being part of a big secret keep the audience guessing about who the character really is. For example, many dramatized versions of the story of Martin Guerre, the French peasant who returned to his wife and family many years after having left to go to war, play with the doubt about the returnee’s real identity, thus creating tension. Similarly, in Homeland the audience wonders whether Brody has been ‘turned’ or not (and [caution: spoiler alert] some of CIA officer Carrie’s erratic behaviour is later explained when the secret is revealed that she has a bipolar disorder).
Secrets can create and maintain the audience’ curiosity and ongoing interest. Throughout thousands of pages, Dumbledore keeps (an implausible amount) of secrets from Harry Potter and thereby from the audience. The gradual unveiling of the truths behind the foregrounded plot are part of J.K. Rowlings overall design of the entire series. In Harry Potter the point of view character is Harry, and we know more or less what he knows. But with a different story design, tension may also be created by trying to keep track of who is in on the secret and who is not, that is, who is fooling who. Take for instance The Talented Mr. Ripley, who lies to many characters but cannot conceal everything from everyone, and the fun for the audience is waiting for him to get caught out.
The protagonist in Sixth Sense has a secret and doesn’t know it [caution: spoiler alert]. This secret is effectively lifted in a big reveal at the end of the movie, when the audience discovers the hero died in an early scene and for the greater part of the narrative has actually been a ghost. This forces the audience to reconsider all the previous scenes in the light of the new information. By comparison, much of the enduring appeal of Blade Runner resides in the (even more effective) doubt around the main character Deckard’s identity – is he a (non-human) replicant or isn’t he? By not answering the question and maintaining the secret, the movie allows fans to discuss the various clues for years, and the film may be considered more of a classic than Sixth Sense.
Summing up the secret
In terms of narrative structure, the reveal of a major secret should best be placed at a key point in the plot, possibly at the midpoint, or the second pinch point or second plot point. Since many stories lead to a revelation scene (for instance in a crime story when the true identity of the murderer is revealed), it may be tempting to treat the reveal of a great secret as the great story revelation. One should consider, however, that the most effective revelations concern a sort of meta-level understanding of the story that creates a change in the audience’ understanding of the world or themselves, i.e. that they have learnt something through experiencing this story. The reveal of a character secret can rarely carry quite so much weight.
Concerning character secrets, it is crucial is that the author always remain aware of the state of knowledge each character has at every stage of the plot, so that each character can act and react according to the state of his or her knowledge at that particular moment. It may be quite different from what the audience knows, or other characters, creating effects of dramatic irony.
Conversely, if a character knows more than the audience and solves problems with the benefit of knowledge or objects that the audience is unaware of or did not know the character has, then the audience feels cheated at the reveal. In some stories, usually not the great ones, you see a hero at a crucial moment whip out some object or other that the audience had thought lost, and you gasp, “oh, he does still have the thing”. The idea is that we think the hero clever for slyly putting the thing in his pocket back when we thought it got lost. But let’s face it, this is a cheap trick.
To read more of Beemgee’s writing craft articles click here
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
In my mind, there are seven big things that can undermine a novel. I want to address them all, but to avoid having a post 8 miles long, I’ll break them up so they each have their own real estate. Today let’s look at the first sin on the list!
Sin#1: Low Stakes
Stakes are paramount in a novel–they force your character to act. High personal stakes create strong conflict because each choice or action will carry a hefty price. Low stakes lead to mediocre conflict and a risk that the reader will not care about the outcome.
Often low stakes can be attributed to two things:
–the storyline lacks adequate conflict
Conflict is the key to holding the reader’s attention and the driving force behind forward story movement and character investment. Pushing your character to clash with the forces against him or her is what gets the blood pumping–this is conflict! By infusing your story with scenes where characters experience heightened emotion and face powerful obstacles you not only create high stakes in your novel, you also raise them for the reader. Pages turn because your audience is drawn into the action, compelled to find out what happens next.
–The writer doesn’t push the characters hard enough
Sometimes the stakes are high, the consequences dire, the action bursting off the page…and the character does not rise to the challenge. While indecision is often a large part of any thought process when facing difficult choices, it cannot overrun the character’s actions. At some point, the character MUST COMMIT to a chosen course and put their all into it.
Other times, the writer sabotages the story because they care too much about a character to shove them in harm’s way or force them to do the dirty work. If circumstances or another character always swoop in and save the day, the stakes flatline. CHARACTERS ARE NOT OUR CHILDREN. Never hesitate to throw them into the path of a bus. Only then can we really see what they are made of.
Can you think of other ways low stakes ruin a novel? Have you ever cared about a character so much you struggled to force them to face their fears?
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
External obstacles tend to be hindrances formed by the realities of the story world, such as geographical or topographical characteristics. At their best, external obstacles are inbuilt parts of the world the characters occupy, so that they are logical consequences of the setting of the story. They are in the way of the character achieving the goal, and must be overcome. However, if such things from outside the character’s sphere of influence make his or her life difficult, there is a danger of such external obstacles appearing random to the audience or reader. In the world of this story, what’s in this character’s way?
In essence, there are three kinds of opposition a character in a work of fiction may have to deal with:
Character vs. character
Character vs. nature
Character vs. society
However, this way of categorising types of opposition is not equivalent to internal, external and antagonistic obstacles. Any of the three kinds of opposition listed above may be internal, external, or antagonistic. It depends on the story structure.
External opposition
In any story, the cast of characters will likely be diverse in such a way as to highlight the differences and conflicts of interests between the individuals. In some cases, certain roles may be expected or necessary parts of the surroundings, i.e. of the story world. In the story of a prisoner, it is implicit that there will be jailors or wardens, whose interest it will be to keep the prisoner in prison, which is in opposition or conflict with the prisoner’s desire for freedom. In a jungle story, one may expect wild animals or other natural forces to hinder and obstruct the character in her or his story journey, i.e. in the way towards the goal this character has set. In both cases, in terms of dramatic structure, the obstacles are external to the character.
However, when the force of opposition becomes concentrated and specifically in opposition to the plan and goal of the protagonist(s), then it manifests itself as antagonism. Warden Samuel Norton in The Shawshank Redemption is not incidental or external, but is the main antagonist. In Deliverance, the river down which the characters canoe is not simply part of the story world, but is the representation of antagonism. Similarly, in The Revenant, nature as a force is antagonistic when it is working in opposition to what the character played by Leonardo DiCaprio wants (survival, for a start). Kafka in The Trial or in The Castle set up whole societies which for the characters stuck in them are antagonistic.
So, external obstacles arise out of the story world, not out of the character’s emotional makeup or dramatic function. Internal obstacles on the other hand are inherent in the character. Antagonistic obstacles at their best are aspects of the character’s dark shadow or polar opposite.
External Obstacles are generally part of the story world, not of the character.
External obstacles are more important to the plot than to the inner transformation of the character. Stories that rely heavily upon external factors to provide opposition do their best to load these obstacles with significance within the story world. In Lord Of The Rings, the heroes must overcome several topographical elements, such as mountains and marshes. J.R.R. Tolkien provides all sorts of hints and information about these features of the landscape long before the characters reach them, setting them up as forces of opposition to such an extent that they almost become antagonistic in themselves.
Ultimately, the boundaries between the kinds of obstacles are fuzzy – and in fact it is not so very important to be able to categorize them neatly. What is important is that the obstacles do provide real opposition to the character’s plan. Moreover, by overcoming an obstacle – or indeed by failing to –, the character must be a step further along her or his path of development.
Characters dealing with obstacles and opposition is what makes up the bulk of any story. In a narrative, each obstacle – whether it be external, internal or antagonistic – must be greater in intensity than the last. Ideally, the character will learn through having to deal with each one, and be better equipped to deal with the final great confrontation towards the end of the story. It is unlikely that this great final obstacle that marks what is often called the crisis will be an external obstacle. It is far more likely to be antagonistic, and at best may involve elements of external and internal opposition, uniting all the kinds of opposition in one great climax.
A potential writer’s trap in the external problem is what is sometimes referred to – in a considerable extension of John Ruskin’s original sense of the phrase – as the pathetic fallacy. Sometimes external forces are used in stories to highlight particularly dramatic moments or conflicts. The classic example is a thunderstorm that happens to occur at a moment of great emotional intensity. This sort of convergence of obstacles or forces of opposition runs the risk of turning into cliché.
To read more of Beemgee’s writing craft articles click here
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
Here is the link to articles on the Beemgee blog about developing fictional characters..
Hindrances to characters’ attaining what they want are either consequences of the character’s personality (internal obstacles), of the world in which the character is struggling (external obstacles), or of the antagonistic forces pitched against the character (antagonistic obstacles). An antagonist is another character’s opponent or competitor. Antagonistic obstacles are the ones that the antagonist deliberately places in front of this character in order to foil his or her attempt at reaching the goal. In other words, the central opposition to what the protagonist of a story wants is the antagonism of the story, which manifests itself in antagonistic obstacles.
To read more of Beemgee’s writing craft articles click here.
I’m currently taking a writing and blogging sabbatical due to family health issues. For now, I’ll repost selected articles from my Fiction Writing School.
In today’s post, I’m going to walk you through the ten action genre conventions. So, these are the character roles, settings, and events that need to be present in an action story in order for it to work and to satisfy fans of the genre.
I’m also going to show you how these action genre conventions show up in the movie The Hunger Games.
Why movies? Why not books?
Well, the simple answer is that movies require less time investment than books. And I’m hoping that if you haven’t seen The Hunger Games movie, then you’ll at least watch it after reading this post to help cement these conventions in your mind.
But before we dive in, let’s quickly talk about what makes an action story or what makes the action genre unique.
What Makes an Action Story?
Action stories are about life and death and good versus evil. They’re about a character who has to rise up, overcome great obstacles, defeat forces of evil, and maybe even save the world.
But that being said, these stories aren’t always about superheroes. In fact, the protagonist in an action story is usually someone who is like us, but different.
They’re special or unique in some way–and because of that, they’re often misunderstood by the rest of society. And that is what makes this genre so relatable.
Because even if we don’t have magical powers, special abilities, or an unwavering faith in a certain mission or destiny, we’ve all experienced the curse of feeling different or being misunderstood. And this is where action stories come in.
They show us how we can not only embrace the things that make us different but how we can use those things to fight against the evil forces in our lives. They show us how we have the power to be the hero of our own story and make a difference in the world, too.
Beyond that, action stories can have any tone or style, be set in any place or time, and have various levels of romance, mystery, adventure, or magic. They can include different subplots as long as the protagonist’s fight for survival (against the antagonist) remains the focus of the story.
Why do people read action stories?
People choose to read action stories to experience the excitement of the life and death stakes and situations that the protagonist is presented with.
But it’s not just about that — like I said earlier, we choose these stories because they inspire us to become the best versions of ourselves, too.
These stories show us that even a character destined for greatness has problems — and that their problems aren’t too different from our own. I mean, how many of us have had fantasies about being special or about rising up and proving that we’re better than our peers or better than those who try to keep us down? I know I have — and I’m sure you have, too.
So, it’s that plus the good versus evil dichotomy that reassures us that if we keep at it, if we embrace our unique gifts or talents, we know that good will eventually prevail.
And like all genre fiction, you have to deliver the emotional experience readers are looking for in order for your story to work. To deliver this emotional experience, you need to include the obligatory scenes and conventions of your genre in your novel.
What are obligatory scenes and conventions?
Conventions are a reasonably well-defined set of roles, settings, events, and values that are specific to a genre. They’re the things that readers intuitively expect to be present in a work of genre fiction whether they consciously realize it or not.
Obligatory scenes are the key events, decisions, and discoveries that move the protagonist along on his or her journey. They’re what help us write a story that works and when coupled with your genre’s conventions, help us evoke emotional reactions in our readers.
Long story short, if you don’t deliver the obligatory scenes and conventions of your genre, your story just won’t work. So, what are the action genre conventions? Let’s take a look (warning–spoilers ahead):
Action Genre Conventions:
#1. The protagonist has a special talent or gift and the potential for heroism.
This gift can be something like the ability to wield magic, a mission to do good, a strong resolve, an impenetrable faith, loyalty to friends, etc. This special talent or gift is how the reader gets to feel special by proxy because your protagonist will essentially become your readers’ avatar for experiencing the story.
And although this gift or talent or gift seems fun at first, there’s a flip side that the antagonist might try to exploit. It’s also how writers can create conflict and make our protagonists more relatable.
For example, the antagonist might capture or harm the protagonist’s love interest or best friend. Or the antagonist might somehow use their magic against them or find a way to dampen their magic. Superman has Kryptonite, Tony Stark has a battery-powered chest.
Either way, all action protagonists have something in common—the potential for heroism and the courage to sacrifice for others.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss is an excellent shot with a bow and arrows. She also has a strong desire to protect other people who aren’t as strong or skilled. Both of these things help her in the arena, but they also work to her disadvantage sometimes. If she loses the bow and arrows, what other skills would compensate? And when the game makers blast sounds of Prim screaming for Katniss or when Rue dies, we see Katniss’s resolve and ability to focus slip. All that being said, Katniss definitely has the potential for heroism (she volunteers to be a tribute in Prim’s place!) and has been sacrificing for others ever since her father died.
#2. The protagonist’s goal is to stop the antagonist and save victims.
Although the protagonist will face danger, be put in extreme situations, and be forced to take risks, they cannot stand by and let the antagonist get away with harming others.
The antagonist has created conflict by endangering the victim/s, which causes a new goal to arise within the protagonist. Their new goal is to stop the antagonist and save the victim/s.
In most cases, the protagonist’s journey to stop the antagonist and save the victim/s will take them from their familiar, everyday surroundings to a new, unfamiliar environment—whether your story takes place in real-life or in a made-up world.
Being in a strange land or a new and unknown environment will create more significant risks and challenges for the protagonist to face, increasing the tension and helping them grow.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss leaves the impoverished District 12 and ventures into the affluent and colorful Capital. Katniss not only has to navigate a new environment (the Capital) but a new set of politics and an arena where eleven other people are trying to kill her, too.
#3. There are multiple lives at stake (including the protagonist’s).
There must be more than one life at stake in an action story, including your protagonist’s life. Whatever they’re trying to do or accomplish forces them to make decisions that put their lives or the lives of others at risk. As the protagonist gets closer to confronting the antagonist, the threat to their life must escalate in severity.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss’s life and safety are threatened when she volunteers as tribute. This escalates in severity once she gets into the arena and as more and more tributes are picked off. She also knows that to survive, she’s going to have to kill other tributes.
#4. The antagonist is stronger and/or more powerful than the protagonist.
The action antagonist is very smart, strong, and/or powerful. Much more so than the protagonist. And whatever ordinary measures the protagonist would take to solve their problems will not work against the antagonist. They have to learn, grow, or change to become someone capable of surviving a confrontation with the antagonist.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss comes from the weakest, most impoverished district possible. Not only that, but she’s just an average civilian, and President Snow is… the President. Once she gets to the Capital, she learns that some of the tributes have been training their whole lives to fight in the arena, so she’s at a disadvantage there, too. And finally, when she gets in the actual arena, the odds are definitely not in her favor.
#5. The protagonist has a moral compass that the antagonist does not.
The action antagonist can usually embrace evil, and therefore feels no shame and has no boundaries when it comes to pursuing their goals. They go about their business without noticing the harm they’re inflicting on others. Sometimes, the antagonist is so corrupt that they believe they’re doing the right thing or that the ends justify the means.
In contrast, the action protagonist is willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of others.This conflict and the protagonist’s willingness to sacrifice for others help readers relate to what’s happening in the story. They, too, want to stand up to evil and see “good” win.
Leaning into this moral code is also how the protagonist transforms from an ordinary person into a hero (and the only one who will stand up to the antagonist).
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, it’s pretty obvious that Katniss disagrees with what President Snow and the game makers are doing—making kids fight in an arena and televising it as prime entertainment. And as readers, we can’t help but empathize with Katniss and root for her because we understand how terrible President Snow and the game makers actually are! It’s so unfair, and it’s so evil, that she cannot just stand by and watch it happen.
#6. There’s a speech in praise of the antagonist.
This is when a character talks about how brilliant, strong, and powerful the antagonist is. Sometimes this is shown via a conversation between two characters, through letters or a newspaper article, or on TV during a news broadcast. Something like that.
This could also happen in the form of a revelation where the protagonist pieces together bits of information that show just how smart, strong, or powerful this antagonist is.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, before the District 12 tributes are picked, we see the Capital’s “hype real” that talks about how wonderful everything is now that there is order amongst the districts and how thankful everyone should be to President Snow. Later, we hear President Snow tell Seneca Crane about why they allow a winner in the Hunger Games at all–he uses hope as a tool to help him control the people throughout each of the districts. We also hear Haymitch (and Katniss’s other mentors) talk about the other tributes and their unique talents and abilities too.
#7. There’s a MacGuffin (or a very specific thing the antagonist wants).
A MacGuffin is the specific thing that the antagonist is trying to get, accomplish, or achieve throughout the story. And there needs to be a plausible reason for why they want this specific thing, too. Whatever happens during the story’s inciting incident usually contains a clue about the antagonist’s MacGuffin.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, President Snow wants power and control. He wants to keep the people throughout the districts submissive. And part of the way he maintains this is through the Hunger Games each year. This year, for the 74th annual Hunger Games, his specific goal is to put on a good show! In doing so, he’ll also keep the districts in check too.
#8. There are sidekicks who help the protagonist save the victim/s.
The action protagonist can have one or multiple sidekicks—and they’re usually part of a friendship or romantic subplot.
They often act as confidants and can sometimes create conflict by opposing the protagonist’s decisions or by becoming victims themselves. They can be heralds who remind the protagonist what’s at stake and how dangerous everything is.
Sidekicks can also provide interpersonal conflict when the protagonist is not actively engaged in opposing the antagonist as well.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss’s two main sidekicks are Peeta and Rue. Peeta also serves as Katniss’s maybe-love interest. And Rue also serves as an almost-younger sister/friend.
#9. There’s at least one mentor figure who gives the protagonist guidance.
A mentor is someone who gives the protagonist advice, help, guidance, tools, weapons, insight, or all of the above. They help motivate the protagonist and encourage them to take the next steps forward (for better or for worse).
Sometimes, the mentor has gone through something similar to the protagonist, or they may have a history with the antagonist. Multiple characters can act as mentors, too.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss has Haymitch, Effie, and Seneca Crane to help her prepare for and survive the Hunger Games.
#10. There’s a ticking clock that puts pressure on the protagonist.
There’s a ticking clock or deadline by which the protagonist must stop the antagonist so that they can save the victim/s. The deadline (and the stakes) must be crystal clear to the protagonist and to readers. Ticking clocks usually kick into gear at the Midpoint.
Case Study:
In The Hunger Games, the ticking clock starts when Katniss enters the arena. Technically, there’s no time limit on the actual games, but it’s only a matter of time before she has to kill or be killed. Every other tribute is trying to be the last one standing.
Final Thoughts
You’re probably thinking, “This is so obvious! Tell me something I don’t know!” But seriously, you’d be surprised how many first drafts I see that are missing these conventions.
These are the character roles, settings, and micro-events that readers come to action stories for—they love them!
Everyone wants to see the protagonist learn to embrace their special skill or talent (or even the thing they previously perceived as a flaw!) in order to overcome the antagonist at the end, right? Can you imagine an action story without that element?
So, long story short, don’t leave these conventions out. Find a way to give the reader what they want, in new and unexpected ways, and you’ll gain fans for life.
Many great action stories stick with us because they include these conventions in a new or innovative way. And you can do this, too!
Richard L. Fricks 