There is a trope called lampshading that I constantly misuse. Apparently, proper lampshading is to intentionally call attention to the improbable, incongruent or cliched nature of an action, element or scenario in your writing. My use of it is to contextualize, or shade these moments to draw attention away from them. So I will apologize in advance if I misuse this term while writing this post. I’m trying my best not to.

At any rate, today I want to talk about idiosyncrasies and out of character behaviour. In an earlier post I did a brief explanation of verisimilitude and how our works of fiction attempt to portray a “sense” of heightened reality: situations are created to elevate drama while conflicts and tension will follow a progressive build until it peaks in a thrilling climax. There’s lots of elements of a good story that don’t follow real world behaviour. 

But that doesn’t mean we don’t pull some behaviours from reality into our work of fiction. One such behaviour that can be a touch tricky to navigate is the propensity for people to tell falsehoods. I’ll probably cover lying in another blog post. But one thing we’ll notice – as writers drawing inspiration from the real world – is that people rarely, if ever, act entirely within their character.

What I mean to say is that people will do the most surprising things. Your most trusted, valued friend might go behind your back. A hated enemy may extended an unexpected olive branch or reach out to you. People are constantly change, evolving and growing as time goes on and this impacts their outlook and behaviour. Obviously, a lot of storytelling is trying to capture this kind of personal growth in our main characters. And, as such, it is very, very common for us to establish the personality of a character only to have them do something later that goes against this nature.

And yet, so many times your reader will object with “This isn’t like them! Their behaviour is contrived just to forward the narrative!”

Quite frankly, the reader is probably right. Our characters are servants to our narratives. They dance exactly how we want them so any incongruencies to their personality isn’t due to the myriad of real life influences and factors changing how they would expectedly behave. No, their actions are always deliberately made with our careful consideration. 

However, this isn’t to say that they shouldn’t act unexpectedly. Quite the contrary, I think that idiosyncratic behaviour can be a huge boon to your writing. You just have to do it well.

This is where today’s lesson comes in. Any character can do any behaviour as long as you provide the proper context for your reader to understand. Pacifists can kill people. Tyrants can show mercy. Vegans can eat meat. Dog lovers might take in a stray cat. As writers, we are gods of our little narrative domains. But to take someone on even the most ludicrous journey requires providing the external pressures that direct a character away from their normal behaviour.

This is where the power of writing comes in. In real life, there’s way too many influences that determine our behaviours for anyone to really, truly understand why someone does anything. But in our written works we’ve the benefit of being about to cut through the noise and highlight the most impactful moments that leave last reverberations on our characters’ very souls. However, these moments require conscious setup in order to land this surprising payoff. However, if you do it properly, it will generate scenes that resonate powerfully with your readership. 

And we see this all the time in successful media. There’s Han Solo – the shoot Greedo first rogue who flies in to rescue Luke and the Rebels in the twilight hour despite great danger to himself. Or we have the turn from Frodo in the depths of Mount Mordor where he turns from casting the ring to its destruction falling to selfishness and temptation despite a harrowing journey resisting its siren call. But in both these situations, a large bulk of the story is setup to explain why these changes occur. Han Solo has the budding friendship between him and Luke Skywalker. Frodo has the slow sanity chipping lure of power whispering from the One Ring that tempts even the hearts of powerful wizards and elves with its promises. Thus, these heel turns make sense even if, in the moment, the characters themselves are taken by surprise.

So, when writing your characters in moments where they’re going against the nature and personality you’ve established for them, always ask yourself:

Has this moment been properly setup? Have I provided the context for why this character is betraying their nature? Will the reader understand and, possibly, even empathize with this action? Will they realize this turning point in the character’s development?

If not, then go back through your earlier chapters and make sure you plant those seeds of change in your earlier passages.