Your Characters and Their “Old Tapes”

Not those you insert in some machine, but the ones that, waking or dreaming,  play incessantly in one’s head.

You have your own. There’s the sports one: instead of making a double play in the last inning of a tied game, you drop the ball. Or you’re an  unprepared teacher, and, one by one, the students exit a classroom with multiple doors. The list goes on: you are—or aren’t—really pregnant. They’re taking your PhD back. You’ve lost your home, job, partner, etc.

If all that’s farfetched, why would you—or your character—fear it, consciously or otherwise? According to neurosurgeon Wilder Graves Penfield, most of us at least occasionally replay tapes from childhood that remain intact—without benefit of the experience and insight that’s happened since. So this syndrome in a character feels instinctively credible. 

Further, if those tapes surpass the superficial or trite, they engage readers quickly. Here’s why:

Characters must have emotional needs, wounds and skeletons in the closet. Factors like these will cause tension and keep the reader interested until the end.     

Readers are nosy; they want to delve into a character’s private affairs. In the real world, we’re rarely able to snoop to our heart’s content. In fiction, we have a license to look around, to open up the secret drawers and hiding places. Be sure to give your readers a chance to do just that. — Jessica Page Morrell, Between the Lines

In “A Character's Fatal Flaw: The Vital Element for Bringing Characters to Life,” Coach Dara Marks analyzes why people hang on and how this drives story: eves

This unyielding commitment to old, exhausted survival systems that have outlived their usefulness, and resistance to the rejuvenating energy of new, evolving levels of existence and consciousness is what I refer to as the fatal flaw of character….     

The FATAL FLAW is a struggle within a character to maintain a survival system long after it has outlived its usefulness….     

As essential as change is to renew life, most of us resist it and cling rigidly to old survival systems because they are familiar and "seem" safer. In reality, even if an old, obsolete survival system makes us feel alone, isolated, fearful, uninspired, unappreciated, and unloved, we will reason that it's easier to cope with what we know than with what we haven’t yet experienced….     

Identifying the fatal flaw instantly clarifies for the writer what the internal journey of the character will be. This is no small thing, because once the writer is clear about what the protagonist needs in terms of internal growth it will clarify the external conflict as well.

To delve deeply into the “Old Tapes” your characters play, explore your own. What do you cling to what’s no longer useful or relevant? Then ponder what freezes your character(s) in the past. How does that compulsion manifest in bad choices, misspent energy, and unattainable goals? In other words, what’s the “Fatal Flaw,” and how does it escalate both tension and microtension?

Tip: The “Old Tapes” your characters play propel plot, evoke emotion, and transmit theme.

Characters Are People, and People Are…

…not always appealing or intriguing. Perhaps your neighbor is intelligent, financially comfortable, and in good health, yet constantly disappointed. The weather’s always wrong. Taxes are high, jokes dumb, spirituality hollow, and politics? Don’t even start.

If Eileen’s your neighbor, what can you do? Have something on the stove? But if Eileen’s a character, you might not buy or finish the book she’s in. Eileen may be realistic, but real-life versions of her are annoying enough. Who wants to follow a character like that?

You might argue that everyone knows Eileen. Besides, by the end of the novel she grows up—quits being so disappointed and hard on herself and everyone else. Still, realistic isn’t necessarily appealing. More seriously, people change because circumstances bring out their best. But people can change only so much, just like a zebra can’t grow a giraffe’s neck just because drought destroys all the foliage below the canopy.

Tip: The potential for growth must exist in your protagonist right from the start.

That serves two purposes. First off, even in your opening lines, readers will know that Eileen whines a lot, but there’s more to her. That rouses curiosity. What will she learn—and how? Secondly, when Eileen finally performs some heroic act at your novel’s end, no one will say, “She’d never do that. I don’t believe it for a second.”

How can you make your protagonist more appealing while plotting your plot?

• Identify your protagonist’s hidden strength. Right on the first page, find a way to make this strength visible but never obvious.
• Decide how your protagonist’s hidden strength will assist or save at least two people.
• Give your protagonist a flaw or weakness that will undermine the hidden strength.
• Foreshadow a fear that will obstruct your protagonist’s progress toward morality, maturity, or both.
• Shape circumstances so the hidden strength can triumph over weakness and fear.
• Determine the climax for your protagonist’s arc. What’s the high point of whatever will change about your protagonist, and how does that hidden strength produce victory?
• List at least five life-changing events that thrust the protagonist toward the climax. The last one of these must force to protagonist to conquer that weakness and fear—magnificently.

But take any irritating version of the real “Eileen” out of your novel, unless she’s there for gentle comic relief. And give the real Eileen a cup of coffee. Maybe she has a hidden strength after all. Even if finding it won’t help your novel (and it might), it could certainly help her.

Unhappy Characters = Happy Readers

For real people nothing beats a sunny stretch, unexpected windfall, or confirmation of love, friendship, and family ties. So it’s an odd irony that although that good news sells self-help and children’s books, it sells few novels. Fiction readers want good news only at the end. Because the word “novel” is spelled “t-r-o-u-b-l-e.”

Why would this be? For a start, writing happiness isn’t easy. Too often it sounds sappy, silly, clichéd, or unbelievable. Plus it simply doesn’t captivate. The protagonist and his girlfriend are having a really nice day. Isn’t that nice. I think I’ll hit the gym now, though. Working up a sweat would be more fun.

But neither of those are the main reason. Aristotle articulated the real one in the “Poetics,” where he observed that audiences are emotionally reborn (catharsis) by watching the downfall due to the arrogance (hubris) of a noble hero.

Our heroes have changed radically, as have our versions of downfall and arrogance. But the impetus for story stays the same. Today’s venue is more often the page than the stage, but we still want to watch the guy or gal suffer through all that trouble and learn from it.

Trouble drives story. People don’t change unless forced to, and painful as it is, the real lessons come from dreadful circumstances. These not only impose choice and commitment but elicit inner resources that might surprise even the protagonist.

Here’s how to structure that:

• Plunge your protagonist into trouble.
• Give your protagonist a fatal flaw.
• Give your protagonist a concealed yet powerful asset.
• Make the trouble worse and worse.
• Let every action, choice, or decision produce a visible result.
• Corner your protagonist until it looks hopeless: Love, fame, joy, forgiveness all beyond reach.

Create a climactic moment that teaches the protagonist the one lesson that partially undoes all the wrong. Nothing will ever be the same. The past can’t be repaired; the mistakes remain on the books. But where there’s progress, there’s hope of happiness.

Your novel probably has a happy ending, which is probably good, since that’s what readers usually want. Just provide the happy pleasure of watching the troubled protagonist learn the lesson, overcome the flaw, and imagine sunny skies and moonlit strolls down the beach.

Tip: Trouble teaches your protagonist where and how to find happiness.