Even with minor characters, there are opportunities to comment on their social world. A car’s bumper sticker (STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE) or a runner’s T-shirt (BOSTON STRONG), observed in passing, is a nod to a much larger reality.
As you do more research, you’ll be reminded that humans—whatever our backgrounds—have much in common. Do you remember hearing of Abraham Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs” in a psychology class? Maslow argued that satisfying our needs motivates our behavior. To reach the higher-level needs, we must first resolve the more basic needs we all have. According to Maslow, in order of immediacy, our needs are:
Physiological Needs
Safety
Love and Belonging
Self-Esteem
Self-Actualization
If you think about your characters in their social world, trying to satisfy their needs, you can begin to develop empathy for them. You can begin to perceive the world from their standpoint.
If your new and more diverse characters will play pivotal roles in your short story or book, or will be recurring characters, you should know more about them. You might begin by identifying the issues about which they might have strong opinions. Your character is an individual, a member of a category but not defined by it. For example, not all African Americans are liberals. All groups have generational differences with regard to politics and religion. You are not required to take a side. You can have characters with different points of view who discuss and argue. That’s what happens in the real world.
However, you should think about “cultures of memory”—the collective memories of a group who share cultural experiences. In the United States, the Fourth of July is a summer holiday, a weekend when (in normal times) many people barbecue or attend parades or go to an amusement park. But it is a less than inspirational holiday for African Americans who remember that when European Americans were celebrating the birth of a new nation, the slaves were still in bondage. This is why Frederick Douglass, escaped slave and abolitionist, began a speech he was invited to make by wondering, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” This cultural memory of slavery in the midst of freedom might seem irrelevant to your story. But if your story is set in July, you might want to know if your character intends to celebrate “Independence Day” on July 4 or already did so on Juneteenth (June 19).
All groups have a culture of memory. For example:
Native Americans: Trail of Tears, Ghost Dancing, and the Wounded Knee Massacre
Mexican Americans: Bracero program, Zoot Suit Riots, Sleepy Lagoon murder case
Chinese Americans: Chinese Exclusion Act, murder of Vincent Chin
Japanese Americans: Executive Order 9066 and the internment camps
White southerners: Sherman’s March to the Sea
Not to worry. Much of this information is readily available. There are experts who will be happy to answer your questions at colleges and universities and in local and state libraries. The Library of Congress is also an important resource.
Readers and Feedback
If you are writing a story with a character who is a forensic scientist, you might try to arrange an interview with a real person who works in a crime lab. Similarly, if you’re creating a character who has a background different from your own, you might want to reach out to someone who can tell you if you’re “getting it right.”
You may have heard someone mention hiring a sensitivity reader to have a look at a manuscript. This professional reader is usually a member of a marginalized group and/or someone with experience in the area of diversity and inclusion, They will advise you about aspects of your characterizations, settings, and/or plot that might be problematic. Working with a sensitivity reader may allay your concerns. However, as when hiring any professional, you should seek information about the process from trusted sources (e.g., writers’ organizations).
More often writers will seek out a member of a marginalized group and ask that person to serve as an unpaid beta reader. But even when you feel that you are ready for feedback, you should not assume that you can simply ask someone who is a member of a group you’ve written about to read your manuscript and provide suggestions. The person you ask may be delighted to hear that you are working to be more inclusive. This reader and/or fellow writer might be happy to help you in your journey. Or this person may resent being asked to educate you about “diverse characters” just because they happen to be a member of that group. This person might be thinking that if you can educate yourself about serial killers, you should be able to learn about other people who have normal lives. They may be having a bad day and just not up to dealing with what you need to know so that you can write your book. So, as in the case of anyone you are asking to provide “expert” insight, please practice good manners. Pause to take a breath and gauge the reaction of the person with whom you’re talking about your work in progress.
Rather than asking for a seal of approval for what you have written, you might instead ask your informant (in the social science usage of the term) to tell you how readers with various viewpoints might perceive this character. You might also ask for recommendations of nonfiction books and documentaries that you may not have come across. Your questions should reflect the research you have already done, and demonstrate that you are willing to do the work required for authenticity.
Ideally, you will find beta readers from a variety of backgrounds who are willing to provide you with feedback. Finding and connecting with people from diverse backgrounds will be good for your writing—and might change your life.
ELAINE VIETS
My grandfather was a security guard. He worked weekends, holidays, and nights when temperatures plummeted below zero and frozen winds blasted the empty parking lots. He never said, “I don’t feel like guarding the warehouse tonight. I’m blocked.” My grandmother babysat. She never said, “I’m not watching those brats today. I’m blocked.” So when I spoke at a high school, a student asked, “What do you do about writer’s block?”
“Writer’s block doesn’t exist,” I said. “It’s an indulgence.”
The Protagonist
Your hero: the one we relate to, the one who drives the story.
ALLISON BRENNAN
Character Is Story
One of my best friends told me early in my writing career that “story = character + conflict.” This phrase stuck with me first because I didn’t want to believe that the core of fiction could be summarized in five words: story equals character plus conflict. Yet the more I tried to disprove the theory, the more I proved it was true.
The key point here is that your characters—and, specifically, your protagonists—are the primary drivers of the story. That, in fact, all stories are character-driven.
I don’t know who said this, but it’s a quote that has stuck in my head for many years: The truth of character is expressed through the choice of your actions. Consider this the gospel for your fictional characters. Your character will reveal himself through his actions. This is how readers identify the good guy, the bad guy, the victim, the mentor, and other important characters. Just like a picture says a thousand words, so do actions.
A Compelling Protagonist
Characters make or break your story. You can have a complex plot with a cool twist and write dialogue better than Elmore Leonard, but without great characters, your story will flop. All stories are character-driven.
No character is more important than your protagonist.
A protagonist, by definition, is “the leading character or one of the major characters in a drama, movie, novel, or other fictional text.”
What you really want in a compelling protagonist is a “real” person. Real people have flaws. They might drink too much, or have a difficult relationship with their parents, or have made a mistake in their past (a believable mistake, like drunk driving or cheating or stealing) that they struggle with—either because of guilt or because they are pulled to go back to their old ways.
Readers need chara
cters they can root for—characters they want to see overcome their flaws.
Readers also want characters who do things they might not do, say things they would never say. Essentially, characters who are “larger than life”… but realistically so. (Of course, this need for realism applies less to the popular superhero genre. But even superheroes have flaws.)
Flaws aren’t physical or things done to the character. It’s not a flaw to use a wheelchair, to be the victim of crime, or to be overweight. A flaw is a character trait that the character wants to fix, or should fix, because it’s preventing them from becoming the person they want to be.
Some of the best flaws are also attributes. For example, if your character is naturally distrustful (likely because of some past event), ask yourself: How does that hurt her? How does that help her? Any flaw should be a positive and a negative.
A great protagonist can be rough around the edges and flawed, but they will generally do the right thing (or the wrong thing for the right reasons). For example, in the movie Romancing the Stone, Michael Douglas’s character is rude and threatening, but you know pretty much from the beginning that, at his core, he’s a good guy, because of a pivotal scene: he has the chance to kill the bad guy (shooting him in the back as he’s running away), but he doesn’t. (Of course, that decision comes back to put him and others in jeopardy—which makes it a great plot point!)
A protagonist is also going to care about others—even if just a family member. They could be a teacher who works with special-needs children, or a soldier who is loyal to his band of brothers. A nurse who works with the terminally ill, or a lawyer who fights to help the elderly who’ve been scammed. A protagonist has a care, love, or commitment deeper than the love of self. While this may or may not be an important part of the story itself, it will show the protagonist in a positive light.
When writing a compelling protagonist, keep these points in mind:
A protagonist or hero should drive the story (remember: story = character + conflict).
They possess common traits that we admire and that set them apart from other characters, such as intelligence, loyalty, duty, courage, and perseverance.
They have a relatable flaw—they can’t be perfect, but their flaw should be something they are aware of (or will become aware of) and that we, as a reader, can understand or relate to.
Even when they make mistakes, in the end they will always do the right or just thing.
In crime fiction especially, the protagonist is often driven by the need for truth, answers, justice—find out why.
Many authors write compelling, interesting protagonists. Below are two series I read that illustrate exceptional attention to the main character and how their flaws both help and hurt them:
Mickey Haller, a workaholic lawyer created by Michael Connelly, is a borderline antihero protagonist. He’s kind of sleazy, he often represents low-life criminals, but he has a noble strength. His commitment to his clients and job (and making money) has cost him his relationship with his wife and son. He wants to be better, he wants his family, but has to battle himself to be better not only for them but for him. The complexity of his character, coupled with his desire to find the truth, makes us want him to overcome his very real flaws and achieve his goals.
Eve Dallas, the determined futuristic cop created by J. D. Robb, is clearly a hero protagonist. Her background is complex and violent, and we feel for her… but her violent background isn’t a flaw. It’s part of who she is and creates situations that she has to overcome, such as nightmares. She has trouble befriending and trusting people. She views the world literally. It takes her many, many books to learn to trust, to understand the value of friendship, to see nuances in relationships. These are the flaws that she struggles with—and while they stem from her past, they clearly impact her present.
Protagonist as Villain
David Baldacci said, “But protagonists are protagonists and heroes are heroes.”
It’s important to recognize that while in crime fiction the protagonist is usually also the hero, by definition, the protagonist doesn’t have to be the hero.
There are two primary types of villain protagonist. The first is the “unreliable narrator,” which has become popular in crime fiction. While Gillian Flynn was certainly not the first to use this technique, she’s one modern author who popularized it today. Readers generally love or hate the unreliable narrator, and this type of protagonist is difficult to do well because readers will often feel cheated if they learn they are being lied to. You need to give them enough clues so they can figure it out along the way, rather than pulling the rug out from under them at the end of the book. I, personally, am not a fan of unreliable narrators. The stories don’t satisfy me in the same way that those with traditional protagonists do. But it is a valid storytelling trope.
The other type of villain protagonist is like Joe in the You series by Caroline Kepnes (also a Netflix series). Joe is the protagonist—the story is told through his eyes. He is also a villain—he’s a stalker, a killer, obsessed with the fact that he has left evidence of his crimes.
A good villain protagonist will also have one or more redeeming qualities. (In fact, any compelling villain—protagonist or antagonist—will have a redeeming quality. It’s what makes them complex and interesting and makes them more relatable, sympathetic, and at times even scarier.) In the You series, Joe has a strong attachment to children. He helps an abused child even though by doing so, he risks being caught for his crimes.
I teach a workshop called “The Villain’s Journey” that is built on the premise that the “villain is the hero of his own journey,” discussed by Christopher Vogler in The Writer’s Journey. If you’re writing a villain protagonist, this is a good point to keep in mind.
The Antihero
By definition, an antihero is “a central character in a story, movie, or drama who lacks conventional heroic attributes.” An antihero can be your protagonist. They are very popular in superhero fiction and comics—think Jessica Jones, Daredevil, Batman, Harley Quinn. More literary examples might include Jack Reacher, Jay Gatsby, Huckleberry Finn, and Tom Ripley (though he might be considered a villain protagonist). Han Solo is initially portrayed as an antihero in the original Star Wars movie, but he grows over the course of the story into a heroic role and never wavers from there.
Some people consider Walter White from the TV series Breaking Bad to be the epitome of an antihero. I would argue that while he started that way, he devolved into the villain protagonist. Compare him to Walter’s young partner in crime, Jesse Pinkman, who I consider to be a true antihero. Every time Walter is faced with a clear moral choice, he chooses the immoral or evil action—[Spoiler alert!] letting Jesse’s girlfriend die; poisoning a child; plotting to kill Gale. Every time Jesse is faced with a clear moral choice, he chooses the moral or just action (saving the little boy, going to the DEA when he learns that Walter poisoned a kid). When Jesse actually commits a crime that goes against his moral core (killing Gale) he spirals down into despair, while whenever Walter commits a crime, he justifies it—and, in fact, glorifies his decision.
When writing an antihero protagonist, keep in mind the primary reasons why they are successful in fiction:
They are flawed (usually in bigger/deeper ways than a traditional hero protagonist).
Their moral complexity mirrors our own.
They are unpredictable.
They have a moral code (it may be different from ours, but it is important to them).
We root for them—we want them to be redeemed, and we ache when they fall.
Strengths versus Weaknesses
I started this essay by talking about flaws because this is the area that I see most new writers struggle with—either giving their characters physical attributes that are treated as flaws (like a woman struggling with her weight) or heaping on the tragedy (a guy loses his parents, then his family, then his girlfriend, then his job, and is framed for murder…). What is most impor
tant to me is that the flaw needs to show readers your character is real. That they could exist in the world you have created.
As important as flaws—and maybe more important—are your protagonist’s strengths.
What you consider a strength is important, because you’ll be better able to convey that strength to readers through your protagonist.
Donald Maass, in his book Writing the Breakout Novel, asks this:
What does “strength” mean to you? Cunning? Stamina? Insight? Intuition? Wisdom? Outspokenness? Cultural pride? Leadership? Knowledge? Open-mindedness? Reverence? Humor? Mercy? Hope? Evenhandedness? Thrift? Gambling for a good cause? Perseverance? Humility? Trust? Loyalty?
His point is that your protagonist’s strength needs to be something that not only you find admirable but readers will find admirable. He goes on later to say that there are two particular qualities that leave a lasting impression on readers: forgiveness and self-sacrifice.
Your readers will be drawn to your protagonist because of his strength and in spite of his flaws. This means his strength is what makes him “better”—makes him someone they aspire to be, doing things they wish they could do—while his flaw makes him feel real and believable.
Avoid Stereotypical Flaws
A prostitute with a “heart of gold”
A cop who drinks too much
An angry crime survivor
This isn’t to say that your jaded detective can’t drink one too many or be a recovering alcoholic—both perfectly acceptable tropes in crime fiction. It’s to say that a stereotype shouldn’t be your protagonist’s primary flaw or character trait. Consider flaws that average people can relate to, and give your protagonist the ability to address, fix, or at least understand their flaws.
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