First, let me clarify.

I’m not talking about literary-device ignorant characters – the ones who are ignorant enough of the world that they can ask questions, and answers can be given to readers without being a complete infodump.

I’m not talking about literally stupid characters – Dudley Dursley, prime example.

I’m not even talking about the improper use of the backstory iceberg principle – which says that most of a character’s backstory should be below the water.

I’m talking about obnoxiously dense main characters. These are the main characters who, despite all evidence, have no clue what’s going on until the climax. For example, if Harry Potter had all of the clues he was given to find the Chamber of Secrets, and didn’t figure it out until the basilisk slithered out of the sink in the girl’s bathroom, he would be a dense character.

So your character’s stupid? What’s the problem?

The problem is that they cannot be more stupid than the reader.

One of the most frustrating books to read is one where all of the clues are there, glowing with neon lights, and not a single person figures it out. (I’m looking at you, Cassandra Clare!) Now, your readers may be Young Adult, but that doesn’t mean they’re stupid. Give them a little credit, and a real mystery to figure out. They’ll be much more likely to read more of your books.

As those of you who follow me on Twitter already know, my roommates and I had an interesting house guest on Saturday. He walked straight into our house and chilled with us for a few hours until we could find his owners – and I’m so glad we did!

And because I’m geeky, I’m giving you the story in story structure format:

The Hook: Strange white cat walks into our house and decides he wants to stay.

The Inciting Incident: We decide to let him, since we can’t very well throw a collar-less cat out into the street. He’s liable to get run over.

Leading up the Midpoint: This is where we react to a strange cat in our house. I’m left all alone with the thing, since both of my roommates are out. I’ve never had a cat before in my life, let alone taken care of one. So of course he gets sick and I start panicking. I give him milk, because cats love milk, right!* I give him attention, because everybody loves attention when they’re sick. I call up my parents to laugh about it and/or get instructions on taking care of cats. I researched how to tell if it was a boy or girl, and I decided it was a girl!**

Midpoint: One of my cat-savvy roommates came home with some cat food and a litter box. She scolded me for giving the cat milk. Then we sat about trying to figure out what to do with the cat, and what to name him (Xander). Because, clearly, you should name strange animals that you know belong to somebody else!*** One of us put up posters, the other called around at vets and shelters to figure out where to take him, and I cuddled with Xander while I did my homework.*****

Lead up to Climax: After cursing various shelters and vets for being closed so early on a Saturday, we found one that had a person on-call and arranged for our carride over there. Not fun. Xander hates cars, fyi. He started drooling all over the place like when he got sick earlier, and meowing his head off.

Climax: A few minutes from the house someone called! They were missing a white cat! So we turned around and brought back the unhappy camper to be reunited with his mommy. His real name is Wheezer, I was disappointed to learn. His family was visiting family in our neighborhood, and he must have leapt from the unholy car of doom as soon as it stopped.

Resolution: Despite the allergies of one of the roomies, we are now getting a cat of our own. He may or may not be named Xander…

*Wrong.
**Definitely a boy.
***I promise you won’t get attached to them.****
****I lied.
*****Read: tried to do my homework.

In honor of Mother’s Day on Sunday, I thought I’d do a special post dedicated to them.

Now of course, if your mother is like those in fairy tales, she:

  • Routinely locks you up in the cellar and/or attic (Cinderella);
  • Hired a hunter to cut out your heart (Snow White);
  • Let your dad abandon you in witch-infested woods (Hansel & Gretel);
  • Is a queen/witch/evil stepmother/all of the above.

Doesn’t sound like your mom? Okay, how about a mom from Harry Potter? Maybe she:

  • Gave her life to protect you from Voldemort (Lily Potter);
  • Is an overprotective mollycoddler (Molly Weasley);
  • Let you work for Voldemort (Narcissa Malfoy);
  • Has no clue who you are (Mrs. Granger and Alice Longbottom).

Hmmm, mothers are getting a bit of a bad rep. There’s got to be a good mom somewhere! Jane Austen?

  • Pride and Prejudice? Obsessed with marriage and her nerves;
  • Emma? Dead;
  • Persuasion? Dead;
  • Mansfield Park? Completely forgot about you;
  • Sense and Sensibility? Nice, but still a bit ditzy.

Jeez. Okay, Tamora Pierce?

  • Alanna’s? Dead.
  • Daine’s? Dead.
  • Circle of Magic? Dead, dead, dead, abandoned you.
  • Beka’s? Dead.
  • Aly’s? Disappointment on both sides.
  • Kel’s? Supportive and a kick-a** warrior to boot! There we go!

Okay Kel, get ready to share. We gotta spread the love by splitting your mother five gazillion ways.

Less, actually. My mom’s already awesome. :D

You’ll probably want your main characters to win – eventually. But if they win every battle, every contest, every parlor game, your readers are going to be very very bored.

One of the problems with Mary Sues is that they are perfect – and win everything. I know you don’t want to write Mary Sues. So let’s remember this, shall we?

In my first two drafts of Narrator, I made my characters too successful. They certainly didn’t win every battle, but their plans worked out more often than not. There was probably tension and suspense and all that in those scenes, but definitely not as much as there could be.

For example, Calder and gang get taken prisoner and stuffed in a basement until they can be killed. One of them picks the lock, they all bust out, and quickly take down the bad guys.

In the third draft, I’m changing this. They won’t be able to pick the lock, or bust out. Instead, they’ll be marched to their execution, and one of them is going to be a knife-prick away from dying.

Much headier stuff. Compared to this, that first scene is just plain boring.

So which do you want to write? Constant winners, or those who only win when it counts (and sometimes not even then)?

You pass under a huge sign that screams “AUDITIONS TODAY.” Clutching the instructions and room layout to your chest, you decide to start with the obvious: the leading role.

A quick glance and it’s clear it’s not for you. Who wants to deal with that much crap?

But everyone remembers a good villain. You move to the next table. Oh ick. This one’s not even half-way decent. Clearly the author prefers black-and-white conflicts. And every word out of your mouth would be a pun.

Okay, comic relief. The best friend character who everyone loves. You check out the massive crowd around the third table. People are juggling bicycles and testing new jokes. Too much competition for that one. You can’t possibly be funny enough for the role.

With frightening rapidity, you cross off love interest, important family, unimportant family, cryptic mentor, and even crazy old fatalist. There just doesn’t seem to be a good fit for you in this story.

You turn. There. A lonely table in the corner. You rush over and snatch up the description. It’s only a minor character, but it has potential. It could easily be a key character in the next book. Or the main character in an off-shoot or completely new world.

This is your role. You take it.

Sylvia: Wait, Austen meant Charlotte to be gay, or Charlotte is gay and Austen is not aware of it.

Bernadette: I just love the idea of a character having a secret life that the author doesn’t even know about.

Thinking about Jane Austen Book Club the other day, I remembered this scene. One of the characters thinks Charlotte Lucas, from the ever popular Pride and Prejudice, is gay because she tells Lizzy that she’s not as “romantic” as she is. Obviously, this raises some questions.

Can characters have secret lives separate from their authors’ wishes and intents? I know many fanfiction writers believe so. Just look at the number of Harry/Draco fics that exist.

But I’m not talking about Alternate Universe scenarios, or wishful thinking. If a character’s secret life fits within the context of the original novel, does that mean it could exist? That it does exist? Or is the text itself the final word?

And even if it is possible, is it right to usurp the author (especially when they can no longer defend their work, like Austen) by deciding for them if a character has a secret life?

I think it’s an interesting idea to have characters hiding things from their authors, though I’m not sure how I would feel if I were to find out ten years from now that Pennington is Saydie’s father or whatever. That would definitely put a new light on their relationship.

I put these questions to you. Do you think characters have secret lives?


The cast of Dawn Treader, with no Peter or Susan

I’m going to do an official discussion on the new Narnia movie, Voyage of the Dawn Treader, next week. But today, I wanted to remind you that fanfiction isn’t the only place your characters can act Out Of Character (OOC).

When the monarchs of Narnia arrive at a barren island, they decide the natural thing to do is crawl into an underground cave. There they find a pool that turns everything it touches to gold.

Edmund, who we’ve seen jealous of Peter and willing to turn in his siblings for Turkish delights and wanting to be king of Narnia again, suddenly wants to become the richest man in England.

Why, C. S. Lewis / screenwriters? Why? Edmund has never been concerned about money before. You can’t make him greedy just to add some random – and boring, overused – conflict.

Writers, please do not fall into this trap. Do not force your characters to care about something just because you think it will make the story more interesting. Everything your characters do should stem from their wants, not yours.

Have you seen this OOC problem before in original fiction? Are you guilty of it yourself? How did you fix it?

I saw Tangled on opening night and wow. Instant classic. But as I watched the story unfold, I thought I could see how the script writers came up with their ideas, adapted the original.

Now, if you’re a Spoilers Nazi, don’t read any further. Granted, you’ll learn most of this in the beginning narration of the film, but I don’t want to be stepping on any purists’ toes. (This means you, brother!)

Are they gone? Awesome.

Now, when you’re re-telling something as familiar as a fairy tale, you need to be able to add your own twists. And I like that Disney actually gave this one some thought. You can almost see them asking: why on earth does Rapunzel have such long hair? Sure, the witch who imprisoned her uses it to climb up and down from the tower, but so could a rope. Or stairs. Why the hair?

The answer? Because the hair has magic. And it loses that magic if it gets cut.

Boom. Instant reasoning. What witch in her right mind is going to risk losing a source of magic because a girl may have somewhat freakishly long hair?

But what magic to give her? None of the other princesses had magic, there certainly isn’t any precedent. If you look at the original story, the prince is blinded and Rapunzel cries on him (yeah, lame, but what can you do?). He’s healed, they live happily ever after, etc.

Boom. Magic healing hair. So many ways to go with that right there.

This may not be the reasoning the Disney team used to arrive at their version of Rapunzel, but I certainly enjoyed tracing it back. Of course, it’s harder than it looks. I tried to do something similar with other fairy tales and couldn’t come up with anything as brilliant as magical healing hair for Rapunzel. Then again, they worked on this for how many years? I think I’ve got some time.

So when you’re working on re-telling a story, and trying to think of twists, try to answer these types of questions logically. (For example, I’m still trying to figure out why there’s a cursed prince (the Beast) living in the middle of the woods and nobody knows about him. He’s a freaking prince.) It can really help move your story along paths you’d never have dreamed of otherwise.

P.S. Go see Tangled!

A great way to raise the stakes of your story is to make your main character sacrifice something. The Little Mermaid‘s Ariel is a memorable example, where she gives up her voice for the chance to be with the human she loves.

You want your story to offer obstacles to your main character, to make him or her struggle. Sacrifice isn’t the only way to do this, but it is very compelling.

There are two types of conflict, external and internal. External conflict is Harry Potter figuring out the Chamber of Secrets and fighting the basilisk; internal conflict is him unsure if he is the heir of Slytherin. When the internal conflict is on the same wavelength of the external, the stakes are raised considerably. If your main character fails to beat the external conflict, it makes all of their struggles and successes against the internal conflict for naught. And they fall twice as hard.

Sacrifice is also a good tool for character development. Take Syaoran in Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle. In order to save the amnesic girl he loves, he sacrifices his relationship with her: no matter how many memories she recovers, she will never remember him. As the story continues, you see the contrast between how they used to be as childhood friends and how they are now as seeming strangers. It’s sad, and offers many internal difficulties for Syaoran to overcome.

Sacrifice can also help keep your readers glued to the page. Readers can’t help rooting for characters who sacrifice so much for the ones they love.

Many authors find dialogue to be one of the most challenging things to write. Maybe they have trouble making it realistic, or making each character distinctive. How does one person, in effect, give voice to a hundred others?

While this may sound like common sense, a character’s voice will naturally flow from their personality. If she’s an egotistical narcissist, insults and disgust will drop from her lips like honey. If he’s an innocent little boy who thinks the best of everyone, his very language is going to be optimistic and cheerful.

Don’t force it. Possibly one of the easiest – and most annoying – ways of defining voice is to give a character an accent. The dialogue becomes hard to read, if not nigh incomprehensible, and the reader gets fed up. (Remember, readers are a species with short attention spans.)

Instead, think of smaller cues you can use. They can be obvious, like the stereotypical Valley Girl “like” and Canadian “eh,” or subtle, like always ending with a question or boasting whenever they get nervous. The trick is to only have one character with that dialogue trait; that’s how they make their impression on the reader.

If you find your dialogue to be unrealistic, don’t panic. Snag a seat at the coffee shop and open your ears. Listen to how the people around you talk. Maybe they don’t say “arr matey” like the pirates in your book, but they’ll give you a good baseline to work with.

How do your characters use dialogue to distinguish themselves?

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  • Welcome

    new haircut

    Hi, I'm Jenn, new grad student and old YA fantasy writer. I've long dreamed of being a novelist, and I bet you have too. I hope you find my blog helpful, inspiring, and maybe just a little bit fun. (But not too much fun. Writing is serious business, you know.)

    You can follow me on Twitter or Facebook, or email me at:
    jennifer.a.johnson7 at gmail dot com

  • Official Progress


    4/21 segments

    A narrator hijacks a cliche fantasy story, much to the chagrin of its characters.

    Status: Second revision



    1,639/70,000 words
    A young noblewoman with strange powers must choose: her king or her soul.

    Status: First draft



    1,087/70,000 words
    When a girl's heart is stolen, she's plunged into a world of magic and shadows - but can she get her heart back before she loses it completely?

    Status: First draft





  • All writing, unless otherwise specified, is the property of
    Jennifer Johnson © 2010