Why Flaws and Motivations Matter More

What's that? I can't hear you over my AWESOME!

Have you ever created a character so sublimely kickass you can't believe they somehow rocketed straight from your subconscious?

He's a white-haired elf who doesn't realize he's a half-demon, and comes back to save the undeserving village that ran him off, only to die a slow and painful death (with an epic death-speech that would make Mercutio weep in a fit of jealous awe) to teach us all a lesson in tolerance. Speaking of tolerance, he's gay! With a demon. Isn't he awesome?

No. He's not. Maybe the above description intrigues you, and that's not a bad thing. Most likely, you're rolling your eyes. How do I know? Because I haven't given you a reason to care. It isn't that there's anything wrong with being a soliloquizing half-elf-half-demon still fighting to protect the ones that would have him killed (and getting some action on the side), but as it stands he's boring.

Here's the deal: anyone can heap awesome skills and powers onto a character. Anyone can throw a sad back-story and a tragic ending at a character. Anyone can give their character a controversial trait. (May I add, here, that making a character gay is not a quirk, flaw, or free-pass on making your character unique?) I can't embolden, underline, italicize, and capitalize the following enough: NONE OF THIS MATTERS WITHOUT FLAWS OR MOTIVATION.

Stories aren't about how awesome a character is. It's about the problems--internal and external--those characters overcome, and why they overcome them. Sure, how they overcome those problems is an important aspect of the plot, but it's in the "why" that we readers find a reason to care.

Looking for even more tips on writing? Go check out freelance editor CA Marshall's blog for her special Editing Advent contest - you could win a free 10 page critique from someone who knows what she's talking about.

Writing Romance - What About MY Needs!?

Writing Podcasts seem to have a certain synchronicity for me--when I'm struggling with something in my own writing, I hear it discussed in a podcast soon thereafter. It's not even that I seek out the episodes so much as I work my way though them, and the episode I need just happens to be there. That's happened to me with all three of my favorite writing podcasts: The Dead Robots Society, I Should Be Writing, and Writing Excuses. That's what I hope my own podcast, Pendragon Variety, can do for other aspiring writers.

 The other day, I was listening to the Writing Excuses podcast, and heard something that seemed like common sense, but which I sometimes lose track of when writing romance between two characters. I'm not talking about romance novels (not that there's anything wrong with them). I'm talking about every romance you write, and what keeps it from feeling forced--what draws your characters to each other, by proxy drawing your readers to the relationship: knowing the needs the two characters satisfy for each other.

 In "The Mark of Flight", Shiro and Arianna were pretty simple to figure out. Shiro fills Arianna's need to be seen, appreciated, and loved for who she is and not because she's a princess. Arianna fills Shiro's need to be believed in, and his need to be valued as a person. Funny enough, they satisfy a very similar needs for each other, though they come from completely different backgrounds. Their romance was never really an issue for me, so when I started writing HELLHOUND, I imagined everything would fall perfectly into place.

 Not so. Part of this was my fault in writing without any idea who my characters were, what motivated them, or what they even wanted. But I feel like I should have figured it out by the end of the first draft. Something wasn't quite working--it was totally unbalanced. They went from 0 to 40...then back to 10...then to 80...and then piddled along to the end. It's not because they're not both likable, interesting, developed characters. It's not because there wasn't plenty of attraction on both sides.

I knew that Jaesung was a good influence on Helena...but I couldn't quite figure out what it was about HER that made him stick around. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about when I say that, sometimes, I don't think one protagonist quite has as much to offer as the other. "Because he loves her" might be valid, but sometimes I still want a little more.

What does Bella have to offer Edward (besides the feeling that he's a horrible monster for wanting to eat her all the time)?

What does Ron give to Hermione (besides at least three reasons to cry in every book)?

What is it about Clary that makes Jace willing to brave even the possibility of incest for her? (*squick*)

 Jaesung gives me that problem. When you're a 23-year-old grad student juggling lots of goslings, what's going to draw you to a girl whose most likely background is "drug mule in witness protection"? Okay. Her hot legs. At first. But when shit starts going down, there's got to be something more.

Helena tries to do everything herself. She truly believes she has something that only she can do, and that she's got to do it alone. Unfortunately, her character flaw is in her inability to look past the moment and see consequences. Because she's too afraid to think about a future she thinks is hopeless, she gets herself into a lot of trouble for making decisions that don't seem to have any foresight.

Jaesung, on the other hand, has effectively killed his ability to live in the moment by always thinking about the past, and trying to figure out how to avoid making the same mistakes as his father. He works hard at something at which he's rather mediocre to make sure he can support his mother and his future family, while relegating his passions into the "hobby" box. Of course, he enjoys them...but he's not the type of person who can let himself disappoint people.

Helena never thinks about the future. Jaesung always does. This causes tension in their relationship, to be sure, but it also gives each of them something to contribute to the other. In a way, their flaws when it comes to life in general become their strengths for each other. Helena's lack of foresight gives Jaesung the opportunity to help her find her "light at the end of the tunnel" (Oh hai, theme). Her recklessness forces him to admit what he truly cares about, whether that lets people down or not.

Because I think flaws are so important, I have to make sure they grow, but don't fix each other, because the story isn't about overcoming flaws. Like many good stories, it's about overcoming adversity despite a thousand things that are in the way, including those flaws. Helena will probably never be able to plan ahead the way Jaesung does, and I know he will always feel duty-bound to take care of everyone around him.

She'll drag him out to play in the snow at 4AM. He'll remember anniversaries. She'll remind him to take a break from doing taxes. He'll make sure they get done later. She'll hunt demons for the safety of the world. He'll make sure she doesn't do it alone.

Yeah. They're a good match.

Character Flaws - Make them Matter

Character flaws: those deficiencies and limitations we're supposed to give our characters to make them more human and accessible. We know we need them to avoid writing the dreaded Mary Sue, whose only flaw isn't really a flaw, because it never gets her in trouble or changes the course of her story. Seriously, y'all: how am I supposed to believe that clumsiness is negative when its only consequence is tipping her in the arms of Edward Cullen her love-interest?


A few weeks ago, I wrote a post on interpreting conflicting advice in which I discussed a story I had written and how I used a beta-reader's suggestion to root out the real problem in the story. That problem wasn't that the main character didn't have flaws, but that the flaw didn't matter enough to the story for the reader to feel satisfied. It was only really in writing that post that I understood what I had done. Lest I accidentally claim to having more genius than I actually possess, let me assure you that I didn't "get" the connection of flaw to textual evidence of it until I wrote it down. 


Aspiring writers hear all the time that their characters need to have flaws. What we don't hear so often - which is perhaps more the point - is that those flaws have to matter. What's the point of giving your main character a lightning-bolt scar if it doesn't get him recognized when he doesn't want to be, or twinge and burn when he's taking OWLs? So, how do we make the flaws we give our characters matter?


We give them consequences.


The flash-bulbs are going off in my head like two starlets are cat-fighting on my brain's red-carpet. I knew this about flaws already...sort of. All the components were floating around in my head, waiting for me to connect them. (Raven could probably wax awesome here and make a metaphor about molecules and covalent bonds in reference to this kind of discovery, but I'd have to wiki that sucker, and then she'd sneeze on my science-metaphor and knock it off its unstable little legs.)


Epiphany-moment: I can't just give characters flaws for the sake of having them; I have to make their flaws have consequences! The realization found me scrambling through my manuscripts to make sure there was evidence of the flaws I knew my characters had. And, holey-plots, Batman - there are some places I will need to make repercussions, which opens up a lot of new exciting story possibilities. 


The best part about this connection was the realization that I could follow it backwards, rooting through the text for consequences to flaws I hadn't realized were there. 


I knew that Bay was a recalcitrant busybody, but I never realized his itinerant ways stemmed from their own insecurities, from the grudge he holds against the town he grew up in, and the teacher who left him behind. Who knew Arianna was so impulsive, so rebellious, and that her resistance to taking suggestions from anyone she considers beneath her would land her in so much trouble? And Helena - the Magic-weilding Hellhound - I couldn't believe how fast her self confidence vanished when she wasn't kicking bounty-hunter butt. Boy, does that kick her legs right out from under her in regard to her relationship with her roommates. Then there's Procne - deluding herself about her brother's death because she secretly fears being alone.


Srsly. I could be here a while.


Another bonus about flaws with consequences is that they help me with another topic I really struggle with: theme. I rarely start out writing with a theme in mind, and if one manages to emerge from the text, it's watery and unfocused. But if I consider my characters' flaws...


Mark of Flight: Wisdom is not defined by class or appearance.
Hellhound: Overcoming insecurities to find one's humanity.
Beggar's Twin: Acting out of the fear of loneliness ultimately hurts more people.


I can change these into sentences that reflect major themes in my work! "A princess discovers that wisdom is not defined by class or appearance"; "a non-human girl overcomes finds confidence in her own humanity"; "a young woman defeats her fear of loneliness and puts her brother's soul to rest."

Wow. So, apparently my issues in finding the theme of my story had to do with that un-established connection between a flaw, and how it matters to the story.


*cue hard rock hallelujah*


Giving your characters flaws is not enough - they have to somehow impede your character from reaching his or her goal. Even if it's not part of the main plot, it's got to matter enough to the story that the reader can sympathize with overcoming their own drawbacks, even if they're not the same. Because people sympathize best with characters who have accessible flaws, it's important to showcase them by giving consequences to that flaw.


 Does your character have a scar? Have it cause insecurity, and have that insecurity make her angry. Have that anger make her use excessive force to dispatch an iddybiddy-bad-guy and draw the big bad closer. Sometimes it's useful to look at the plot, and tease out a flaw that might already be there, like an archaeologist unearths the skeletons-in-the-closet of ancient kings. Considering last week's post on character journeys, you can probably tell that I really like this "going backwards" method.


Your characters' flaws have to matter, and to matter, they have to have consequences that affect a plot or sub-plot of the story by hampering your character. Whether it's feeling unworthy of the love-interest, or having a fear of heights that keeps him from becoming a dragon-rider, these flaws have to mean something to the story.


What kinds of flaws have you given your characters and how do they show up in your story? Do you think of flaws before you start, or do they rise from the text as you write? How have your own flaws held you back or gotten in your way?


Image by Jeremy Brooks