It would be remiss of me to comment on the art of writing without addressing some of the dialogue which surrounds the modern zeitgeist. Our art is, afterall, a reflection of the times. Our work is an additional commentary on our views of the discourse concerning the major topics which shape, mould and build our experiences and thoughts. Some people may view their work as escapism from the arguments of the day but even said escape will reflect the author’s own views of a world free from whatever it is they think currently plagues it the most. 

Haughty introduction aside, today I want to discuss a topic I’ve seen not only in writing but across movies, music and television as well. Especially now, in our global world, there’s been unparalleled migration and integration of people and culture around the world. Our local culture is more varied and diverse than ever before. As such, I think there’s value in paying mind that the people who could pick up your work aren’t necessarily going to be your primary audience. As well, there’s always great lessons to be learned by writing and empathizing with other people’s experiences – especially those far from your own.

And yet, I’m sure some writers are probably worried about criticism and cries of stereotyping if they were to include a diverse cast of characters in their work. 

First, I think receiving criticism is a good thing. I know we’d all like to receive universal praise and adoration for our writing but criticism at least demonstrates a reader is engaged. Not only are they reading something and forming an opinion about it but they are motivated enough to share their thoughts with others. I maintain the worst result for our art is to be ignored and forgotten. Ruffling a few feathers is just kind of expected when you enter a public discourse. Not everyone is going to love what you do and that’s alright. 

And with criticism we can examine our work, find flaws within it and improve our craft going forward.

I do think it is important to try and avoid stereotyping people and cultures. Sure, stereotypes exist for a reason but I don’t think our art benefits from replicating stereotypes – especially lazy or thoughtless ones. We’re in the craft of telling stories and no one wants to listen to characterization that has been so beaten to death that it has formed a generic blueprint. One reason that subversion of stereotypes is received so well is for providing something new and exciting to experience, think about and discuss. 

Now there’s a whole quagmire surrounding the inclusion of minorities and the like in your work. It can feel tiring trying to avoid every single stereotype revolving around an ethnicity – especially when oftentimes they’ll have contradictory ones. I’ve seen people complain about being tired of seeing the black jock stereotype over and over again in high school stories. Yet the moment a black nerd character is introduced, the cries of Steve Urkel copycats ring out. I don’t think these sorts of contradictory complaints, however, are without merit. More than anything, I think this complaint doesn’t spring from the use of a stereotype insomuch as its a complaint about tokenism.

And here’s my little trick. If you only ever include one character of a minority, your readership is going to naturally assume that you – as the author – are presenting your full thoughts of that minority in that one character. Thus, people get more sensitive to how that single character is portrayed and whether they’re contributing to modern issues regarding representation in the media. So how do you get around this?

You include more than one.

Like, it’s hard for people to get twisted into knots about patriarchal representations of women if you have a traditionally girly character in your story who just wants to look pretty and be a loving wife standing alongside a modern, tough-as-nails and independent woman. And the more you show these two characters reacting to situations in their own individual way, the more you create unique characters while also broadening the representation of these communities. 

Now, obviously not every story is going to allow you the ability to include two of every type of person in the world but the more you diversify the primary, secondary and tertiary characters in your cast, the less any one of them has to shoulder the burden of the whole representation of their identity in their characterization. And, of course, while this is a pretty quick and easy way to head off stereotyping criticisms it also rests on the fact that you’re still applying your strong characterization skills to these characters as you do to the rest of your cast. 

So, when you’re thinking of description for your characters and considering how you’re representing people – especially those further from your own lived experience – ask yourself:

Is this the only person of this identity in my story? Is it possible to work in someone else who shares this identity or rework another character – who is markedly different from this one – into the same identity? Finally, are these characters being properly represented as individuals or are they just presented as stock characters with little that makes them interesting or unique?

One of my first tips on writing concerns your protagonist’s motivations. Every story is driven by the want of its principal character and the challenges that they most overcome in chasing that want. However, very few stories are just about a singular character. The vast majority of tales will involve some interaction with others. These are your secondary or tertiary characters – hopefully named if they’re going to be featured frequently. But they are more than just set dressings to your protagonist’s journey.

Alright, they actually are set dressing but part of the unspoken contract you’ve made with your reader is to mask this fact. There’s a sense of verisimilitude which we strive to achieve with our writing. We’re not recreating reality. Such a task is both impossible and ultimately undesirable. People read stories precisely because they aren’t reality. Stories have clear arcs. They have definitive beginnings and endings. They contain themes supported by actions and events. They’re tight, concise and satisfying.

Reality has none of this. Reality is messy. Reality often has conflicts or issues that don’t get resolved. Or they’ll have random events unforeseen come careening in to drastically alter people’s course and fate. People won’t always learn lessons. Distractions often reign supreme. To accurately mimic reality would be to create a mess of a narrative. So we don’t want to copy reality – we merely want to tease a sense of it. 

Part of creating this feeling of a living world in our works actually rides on the backs of our supporting cast. In reality, there is no protagonist. There is no single person which the world revolves around like in a novel. Everyone is their own main character, consumed with their own troubles and tribulations. Obviously, we can’t have this in our books. In fact, many characters in stories will drop everything they’re doing to help the protagonist. Many go out of their way to assist or hinder in dramatic fashion. There is almost an element of solipsism in novels where one person’s perspective is all that’s important. 

But it is the duty of a good writer to mask this truth. We don’t want our supporting cast to feel like a supporting cast. They should give hints and glimpses of rounded individuals leading their own lives. Not servants to the wants and needs of the main character. 

Yet how do we accomplish this? Well, I kind of do a similar exercise for my supporting cast as I do for the main character. I’ll assign them a goal or motivation which drives them. However, unlike the protagonist, a supporting cast member only ever gets one motivation. More than that will make things too complicated, messy and confusing. Furthermore, unlike the protagonist, this motivation is going to be minor in comparison. And, frankly, supporting characters don’t need dramatic hurdles impeding their efforts to achieve their desire. 

In fact, it’s probably easier if they don’t have much standing in their way. In this manner, the support character can be slowly toiling towards their destination all the while the story revolves around the struggles of their compatriot. 

For example, in my novel A Clockwork Caterpillar, Felicity comes across an old acquaintance Gerard. Gerard led a band of rebels against the colonial throne. His goal was to create an independent nation free of the monarchy’s influence. As such, his interactions with Felicity were always underscored by this desire. He spoke to her of his dreams for liberation. He justified his actions in kidnapping her terms which furthered that interest. At times, his goal for independence aligned with Felicity and he was an ally. At other times, they were conflicted. But regardless of what happened with Felicity on her journey, Gerard always had this liberation from the monarchy as his single-minded goal.

In contrast to this, I’m sure we can all think of stories where a supporting character didn’t have any motivation. In fact, they only ever seemed to serve a very literary function with the protagonist. Perhaps they waited in the wings, willing to drop everything in order to lend the aid the protagonist needs at whatever moment was necessary. These characters often end up rather flat. Without motivation, they lack a personality. Without a personality, they often come across as a bland version of the protagonist. 

So, as a rule of thumb, try to give your supporting cast of characters something to do. It doesn’t need to be anything big or grandiose. But just a little personal desire that is not shared by the protagonist will make them stand out more and help with building that sense of realism in your stories.

Thus, when writing your secondary characters, ask yourself:

What does this character want? Is this want suitably minor enough for the character’s role? Or will this want overshadow the protagonist’s journey? If so, can they have some other motivation that won’t distract from the story?

Finally, how does this motivation manifest during interactions between this supporting character and the protagonist? How can I express this want without distracting from the primary focus of the story?

I’ve got a story for you. There was this girl. She was really pretty. She liked to sing and hum a tune. She thought to herself, you know I’d like to be a singer. She told this to her family and they all agreed – she would be a lovely singer. So her mother put her in some singing lessons. They were a little difficult but her vocal coach was very patient and encouraging. So she kept at them, refined her voice, recorded a sample album with the help of some friends and decided to shop it around. She went down to her local radio station and they enjoyed the songs so much they put it up that weekend on their local hits segment. A talent scout heard the song, thought her singing was wonderful and reached out. He suggested she enter a singing competition and while she was nervous at first, she eventually agreed. After several nerve-wracking weeks of competition, she got first place, signed a recording contract and now tours the world following her passion. 

The end. 

Wasn’t that exciting?

No?

I don’t understand. Surely this was really engaging. It must be because I’ve stumbled across similar stories more often than I would expect. Alright, I know you that you know there’s an obvious issue with this little snippet. Maybe a few clever readers think this is an example of a Mary Sue. Don’t worry, we’ll get to that one day. However, I imagine most of you read the title of the blog and already know where I’m going with this. 

So it might all seem pretty basic. And you’d be right. This is a pretty basic lesson. Every story needs a conflict. This opening one lacks it. So there’s no reason for us to be attached to the protagonist. There’s really nothing to keep us reading through it. The whole drama and engagement with a work of fiction hinges on competing desires, wants and challenges.

Yet, this is something I’ve come across in other people’s writing more than I think I should. It’s a little more prevalent, I’ll admit, in short stories. Which I get. Short stories are challenging in many ways that longer novels are not. I think, sometimes, people get so bogged down in the minutiae of their themes, character motivations, world development and setting that the whole idea of a conflict just sort of slips their mind. 

And then they end up with a twenty page description of a giant space transport line, the formal teaching structure of a strange magic system based on herbology or a whole novel on collecting bulbous woodland perennials. 

I know I’ve mentioned that just about every rule can be broken in art however I’m not certain this is one of them. I’m really struggling to think of a successful story where there was simply no conflict. The need for a conflict to drive narrative is so fundamental to the storytelling process that it’s kind of hard to talk about its absence. It would be more like writing a journal than a story but even people’s personal journals still often deal with the writer’s personal conflicts they face either internally or with people they interacted with that day. 

More than anything, it’s kind of a fact of life. The act of living is, in part, one of navigating conflicts. Whether it be the storied histories of nations and governments fighting over resources with their neighbours or even just the competing interpersonal relationships between a couple trying to manage their and their partner’s shifting emotions and viewpoints.

And I sometimes wonder if, perhaps, some people trip themselves over worries about tropes and a “lack of creativity.” Perhaps this could be a whole other blog entry, but I know I’ve seen some people in discussing the media they consume rolling their eyes at yet another protagonist having personal issues with their spouse. “Why does this daytime television show always have to have their main characters in rocky marriages?!” The obvious answer is because it’s a show. A show is meant to entertain. Just like our stories are. We don’t have a lot of tales about loving couples who always see eye-to-eye or manage to compromise and have a healthy marriage because… frankly it’s boring. 

Not that you can’t, of course. A loving couple tackling other problems like an invasion of space bugs intent on destroying the world would work wonderfully. But that’s kind of got a baked in conflict for said loving couple to grapple. If I were to ever make a hard, fast and ubiquitous rule it would be this:

Every story needs a conflict. Stop writing stories without it.

Now, for me, creating conflict has always been pretty second nature so I want to be open to those who may struggle with creating some tension in their narrative. Thus, when you’re starting your project and you’re not entirely sure where to take it or whether you have a conflict in the first place, ask yourself these two questions:

What does my character want?

What’s stopping them from getting it?

It’s really that simple. When you know your character’s primary motivation you need to immediately come up with some thing or some things that are in place preventing that character from obtaining it. 

Jumping back to the opener, how would that story have looked if the protagonist’s parents didn’t want her singing? What if they were insistent on her being a doctor? Maybe she had to take her lessons in secret. Maybe she had to make sure she was never caught singing in the shower. And what if her vocal coach wasn’t good. Or even supportive. Maybe she had doubts that she could actually be a singer. Maybe she wanted to quit and only kept at it because some videos she posted online got some positive feedback. What if she lost that singing competition? Maybe one of the judges flat told her she would never amount to anything. Did this discourage her or push her to keep at it to prove him wrong?

So, I’ll end on repeating those two questions because they’re so important when it comes to writing successful narratives:

What does my character want? What is stopping them from getting it?