After all this talk about character arcs, I was browsing around on an interesting screenwriting blog, and found an article kind of arguing against character arcs. So are character arcs necessary? The answer, of course, is it depends—and it depends on several factors.

In plot-driven fiction, for example, the characters’ growth and change aren’t what the story is about. Dirk Pitt, James Bond, and Indiana Jones see little, if any, character growth in each episode of their stories (aside from the new Bond movies, maybe). While they are memorable characters, and we root for them to win, we don’t care if they have a life-altering experience to become better people. We’re cool with them staying the way they are. The story focuses on their adventures rather than their experiences.

However, in character-driven fiction, the character arc is central. Reading this kind of fiction enables us the live character’s experiences and feelings, and those are at least as important to the story as the actual actions.

It also depends on the genre. Mysteries tend to be more plot driven. Action stories are usually more plot driven. Romances, especially single-title length ones, are usually more character driven.

Another consideration is whether the book will lead into a series (and if so, how long). If this is going to be a serial character, how many different lessons can s/he learn? It’s possible, of course, to do a metaarc—one that takes the character on a journey from the beginning to the end of the series (Harry Potter?)—but it will probably require considerable planning.

What do you think? Can you think of successful characters who don’t arc? Do you write characters who don’t arc?

As I mentioned yesterday, the Hero’s Journey started with Joseph Campbell looking at heroes across mythology. He found that not only do heroes have a lot in common, but so do other roles in their stories. Again, Christopher Vogler adapted this for writers in The Writer’s Journey, so we’ll be using his terminology.

The Hero is our protagonist. The audience identifies with him (or her). He grows in the course of the story, and is involved in most of the action. He has a character flaw, of course (if he were perfect, could he grow? And would he be interesting?) This flaw is often the flipside of his biggest strength—his optimism means he has false hope, love of family means he won’t sacrifice his dad’s to save the world, etc. But he must be willing to sacrifice when we get to that climactic point of the story.

The first archetypal character he usually meets is the Herald, the character who issues the call to adventure. His challenge announces a coming change, that all is not well in the Ordinary World. He also gives the Hero motivation to go on the adventure.

The Herald doesn’t have to actually be a person—in Lord of the Rings, it’s the ring; in Harry Potter, it’s the letters; in Star Wars: A New Hope, it’s Luke’s aunt & uncle dying. (You could try to argue it’s meeting R2-D2, but remember that R2 bore a message for someone else).

He usually has a Mentor who teaches him. Often, the Mentor gives him a useful gift as well as motivates the hero into accepting the call. (Technically, the mentor doesn’t have to be a person either—and I don’t just mean disembodied voices and Force ghosts, either. It can be anything that teaches the Hero and prepares him for the coming tests.)

Along the way, the Hero encounters Threshold Guardians who block his path. These obstacles are tests for the Hero—have his skills developed enough? The guardians may be working for the good side or the bad side, or no one at all (but it’s hard to make someone who makes trouble for his own sake believable for very long, you know?)

The Trickster is often a sidekick. He often balances the drama with comic relief and brings things into perspective.

The Shape-Shifter can be his or her own character—or it can be combined with another character type. As the name states, he’s not what he appears to be. Revealing his “real” self can create big change in the story—but they may or may not be evil. They may switch sides, but they may become good. In fact, in a romance, the romantic leads are often Shape-Shifters because they must change to enter into a relationship. (Heck, even the Hero might be a Shape-Shifter, since he has to learn and grow throughout the course of the story.)

The Hero may encounter a rival—someone who’s competing for an intermediary goal, or the girl, etc. But it’s the Shadow that is the true villain. He tests the Hero’s true abilities and worthiness, and forces the Hero to rise to the challenge. He’s often a shape-shifter, appearing beautiful, elegant or good.

And nothing is complete without a few examples, right?

What do you think? How do you see these archetypal characters, either in others’ works or your own?

Image credits: superhero—Stefanie L.; shadow—Michal Zacharzewski

I love Burn Notice because of the characters, and how the writers put them into tough situations to show what they’re really made of–the good stuff.

Once upon a time, I wrote a novel where the main character wasn’t likeable. Well, she was—I liked her. But the way I’d written her made her come off as disdainful and arrogant—not qualities I really meant for her personality to convey. So I read everything I could on sympathetic characters and tried very hard to fix her. (One critique partner was adamant that I had not, but no one else objected.)

What does it mean to have a “sympathetic” character? It means that the reader can relate to him/her. The reader feels the things s/he feels, and the reader understands the difficulties that character is going through. (It doesn’t always mean, however, that the reader likes the character, though that can be helpful.)

It often seems like sympathizing with main characters (who aren’t villains or anti-heroes, at least) is automatic—but anyone who’s ever written an unsympathetic character quickly learns that it’s not. Sometimes we writers think we’re doing something avant-garde by creating someone as alienated/sarcastic/cruel/apathetic/distant as a “real” person—but most of the time, we learn that this “cutting-edge” technique has been tried before. Without success.

I didn’t really think I was being avant-garde or even cool when I created my unsympathetic character—I accidentally focused too much on characteristics or behaviors that made my trying-to-keep-her-cool character was all but condescending.

Months after all my research to fix her, all that information suddenly crystallized. There are only two things that make a character sympathetic: strength and struggles. The character must have both in some form.

So this month, we’re going to be talking about strength, struggles and sympathy for characters!

Photo credit—Michal Zacharzewski