Tag: character (page 3 of 4)

Arc Trails

Courtesy Scott Free Films
Not historically accurate, but Balian’s got a good arc, too.

The hero is introduced to us in a relatable fashion. He may be flawed, but his heart or his mind is in the right place for the journey about to take place. It begins when he is presented with a dramatic question. His journey takes him through the wilds unknown both without and within, and in pursuit of the answer to the dramatic question he will learn something about himself. By story’s end, he has not only answered the dramatic question, he has changed, grown or even evolved.

This is your standard character arc, the sort of thing Campbell explores in detail and tale after tale emulates. The protagonist can be male or female, young or old, initially naive or villainous, but an arc like this keeps the character from stagnating. It takes the reader as well as the character from beginning to end without making things too boring.

This is remarkable to us, I think, because it’s rare for us to have this sort of coherency in our own lives.

Stories begin and end around us every day. If all of these starts presented the sort of dramatic questions we remember from our favorite tales, Seth Godin wouldn’t have needed to write Poke the Box[1]. Unfortunately, not every day or situation launches a clear arc that leads to significant change, be it in ourselves or the world around us. When those changes do come, it’s only in retrospect that we trace the journey and know in full what we’ve learned and how to use that knowledge in the future.

Campbellian arcs show us the potential of the human spirit. Take a look at Luke Skywalker, or Harry Potter, or Frodo Baggins, or John McClaine, or Marty McFly… quite a few of the heroes we enjoy reading about or watching follow these patterns. In each instance, the characters grow beyond their origins to achieve something greater, either for themselves or beyond themselves. It’s a tried, true and oft repeated pattern because not only does it work, but it also inspire.

This doesn’t mean that said arcs can’t be played with. Relating this sort of growth to modern characters can be difficult and can require modification or outright subversion, e.g. the characters in Clerks. Plots can also twist and play with our expectations – see Memento or The Sixth Sense. Finally, a writer might take a character on this arc and push them in another direction, throwing their journey into conflict with itself, the way Scott Pilgrim must confront his immature behavior to overcome the obstacles before him.

I know I just threw a lot of examples at you, but I’m sure you can come up with more. That’s what the comments are for, folks. Fill ’em up.


1. Yes, I know, I harp on this a lot, but it’s a really good book if you’ve got a creative mind and want to make a living with what that mind provides you. Read my Amazon review here.

The Curious Case of Randal Graves

Courtesy View Askew

On Saturday, I watched both Clerks films, back to back, which I highly recommend for any fan of Kevin Smith. There was something I hadn’t noticed before, but was pointed out to me and I’ve taken some time to consider it. There’s also the fact I wanted to break in my revamped PC with some gaming, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s important for characters to change over the course of a narrative. This is a given rule in creating good fiction. Characters that stagnate, that do not evolve, usually don’t make for good stories. It is odd, then, that a character in the most iconic of the works of Kevin Smith, held by some as a premier storyteller of our generation, does not evolve. In fact, it’s been observed that, if aything, he gets dumber.

I’m speaking of Randal Graves.

We first meet Randal in Clerks, tasked with minding the video store next to the Quick Stop grudgingly run by his best friend Dante. Randal is Dante’s enabler, keeping him sane through his shift with thoroughly irreverent humor and pontifications on pop culture. Through Smith’s black and white lens, we see clearly how the dynamics of this friendship work and continue to evolve.

When Clerks II takes place, Dante has changed. Sure, he and Randal are still working dead-end jobs, but Dante’s taken steps to change that. He’s on the verge of taking the biggest one as the film opens. Yet Randal hasn’t. Years have passed but Randal has not evolved. Even the dealers that hang out on the sidewalk have changed and grown somewhat, but not Randal. He simply never bothered to grow up.

As much as this might seem as a knock against the character at first, there’s a reason his behavior is manifesting in this way. For those of you who’ve refrained from seeing Clearks II, I’ll encapsulate this examination in spoiler tags.

Spoiler

When Dante and Randal are in jail, Dante vents his frustrations at Randal and his apparent lack of initiative and desire to move beyond their jobs. Randal responds by saying, in essence, it doesn’t matter where he works as long as he’s working with Dante. The prospect of Dante leaving is terrifying to him, and he’s been acting out of that fear and a stubborn desire to hold onto his best friend. But as much as the emotional causes are apparent, especially on repeat viewing, there’s something else at work that, to me, shows Randal is just as smart as he was in Clerks.

In that original story, Randal confronted Veronica about Dante’s feelings because he felt Dante wouldn’t do it on his own. As much as it upset Dante to the point of physical violence, Dante did appreciate the act and ten years later is still confiding in his best friend. There’s a line in Clerks II that indicates Randal is aware of the controlling nature of the future Mrs Hicks, and while part of him doesn’t want to see Dante under this woman’s thumb, there’s got to be part of him screaming “HEY! THAT’S MY JOB!”

Still, for all of his shenanigans, Randal has been a good influence on Dante overall, and in the second film Dante does make more decisions on his own. That’s one of the things I appreciate about Kevin Smith’s writing and characterization, even if it seems one of those characters hasn’t evolved. These young men are both intelligent and, on at least some level, in touch with their emotions enough to understand the whys and wherefores of their feelings.

This is a rare case. But it’s still proof positive that just because good characterization does not necessarily mean constant evolution. There are exceptions to every rule, especially in creative endeavors like writing, with the important part being how those rules are broken.

The Reality of Fantasy

Courtesy HBO

Fair warning, would-be writers: if you’re good at what you do, somebody somewhere’s going to want to hurt you.

Having finished George RR Martin’s A Storm of Swords last night, more than once I wanted to reach through the pages, grab the man by the beard and give him a couple of shakes for what he was doing to his characters. At the same time, though, I understood why I felt this way and why it was a good thing. He’s introduced and developed these people in such a way that we can’t help but care about them. He also knows that tragedy is nothing without comedy, and balances the beard-throttling moments with ones that nearly had me in tears, either from heartwarming relief or genuine laughter.

This is, honestly, something toward which every author of fiction should aspire. Especially in a genre like fantasy.

The entire series of A Song of Ice and Fire is an evolving ur-example of several things writers should do, and at least one they should avoid. The problem with a lot of fantasy books and stories is that the fantastical elements take center stage. If your hero is only interesting because he’s “the chosen one” meaning he’ll be riding dragons, overthrowing evil sorcerer-dictators and making out with hot elf chicks (because every fantasy protagonist needs a hot elf chick, right?), he’s not all that interesting. Now, if he’s a disenfranchised son of a noble jerkass who didn’t raise him entirely right, or if the dragon he’s ‘destined’ to ride doesn’t want anything to do with him beyond perhaps eating him, or if he is, in fact, a she… that changes things.

I firmly believe that characters are the foundation of any good story. Sure, you might have a neat premise or background for your narrative, the idea of turning genres on their ears or taking an old story in a new direction, but without good, solid characters it’s going to be a lot of sound and fury. When you’re getting ready to start down the track of telling a story, take the time to develop your characters beforehand. Give them backgrounds, envision their family lives before the story begins, draw their connections to one another. As the story proceeds, let them develop on their own. Rather than determining every single reaction beforehand, try letting the reactions grow out of the action as you write it. I think you’ll find the results surprising, and it will let the narrative become its own creature, free of the expectations of whatever genre you happen to be in.

Of course, this could be an entirely backwards way to do things. I still don’t think fantasy should be all about the sword and sorcery. The story’s true power and magic come from the people weilding those swords, and casting those spells.

If you want to cast a spell of your own, look to your characters first.

Characters, Corpses & Kittens

Courtesy Chuck Motherfucking Wendig

As you create your characters, whatever your ultimate purpose in doing so might be, it’s likely they’re going to have an emotional response to something sooner or later. Unless they are coming into contact with our world from an entirely alien, outside perspective (which in and of itself can make for a good story), they’re going to experience emotions the way human beings do. As you consider this, also consider the fact that no emotion exists in a vacuum.

Unless you’re spiralling alone through the void of space.

What I mean is, our emotions come from somewhere. Our psyches, histories and experiences shape the way we react to things, and act on those reaction. A middle-management office worker is going to react to a corpse differently from a battle-hardened veteran. A schoolteacher’s going to take comfort in different things than a member of a biker gang – lets say she likes kittens. It’s important to keep in mind where the character’s been, how they’ve been raised and what brought them to their current state of being when you set out to describe a scene in which they need to feel something – which is most of them.

Now, there are always exceptions. The middle-management officer worker might *be* a battle-hardened veteran. A hardcore biker might have no problem whatsoever finding the sight of week-old kittens adorable and decorating his home or even his bike in such a motif. These characters may lend themselves to be more interesting than those who have only a single mode of existence or thought, but don’t discount those ‘simple’ characters as being uninteresting or dull. As long as they speak, feel and think like human beings (or whatever their species happens to be), they can be interesting.

A great and recent example of characters showing emotion, and establishing those feelings in a short period of time, is Chuck Wendig’s Irregular Creatures. Seriously, read it again, and watch how the characters feel, grow and change. Take in how they react to the weird stuff that happens. Put yourself in their shoes, which Chuck’s writing makes very easy.

What? You don’t have it yet?

Well, lucky you. It’s on sale.

Go get it.

Cultivating Characters

Courtesy New Line Cinema

This is related to a post I made a few months ago regarding expository writing but it’s on my mind since my wife and I just finished watching (or rather re-watching) the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I’d borrowed the extended editions from my mother, as my copies are elsewhere.

Anyway, this if Faramir. In the books, he’s markedly different from his brother, Boromir, in that he does not fall into the sway of the One Ring. Throughout the narrative, he remains completely uncorrupted, unlike most other characters who encounter the ring. Even Galadriel, one of the oldest, fairest and most powerful elves in all of Middle-Earth, is tempted by this prize, but Faramir says he wouldn’t take it even if he found it on the side of the road.

In the films, Faramir is briefly tempted. He gets as far as Osgiliath with the hobbits, but Sam breaking the truth to the Gondorian about how his big brother died coupled with watching Frodo very nearly get scooped up by a Nazg&#0251l shakes him out of it and moves him closer to the original text. Not enough for some fans, mind you, but you can’t please everybody.

Similarly, Aragorn doesn’t jump at the chance to become king in the movie. Instead of carting around Narsil in his back pocket waiting for the time to be right to reforge that sucker, in the films he shrinks back from the prospect of being king. He knows his family has a history of corruption and failure, having declined ever since the heroic death of Elendil and the utter undoing of Isildur because of the Ring. It’s only after many trials, many adventures, brushes with death and nearly losing the love of his life that Aragorn steps up and takes the noble legacy that’s been waiting for him all along.

As much as I’m a fan of the books, I like these takes on these characters a lot more. It shows growth, the development of the characters from an origin point to a final destiny. Aragorn doesn’t kick around in the North as Strider just to hide from Sauron as he does in the books; he also does it to hide from his own destiny, and the corruption he feels has eaten away at his lineage. Faramir’s line of not using the Ring even if he alone could save Gondor carries far more weight after his experiences with the Hobbits. It might not have been exactly what Tolkien intended, but along with expository writing, the man seemed to like birthing characters fully-formed from his mind.

Tolkien

Let me reiterate that this man’s brilliant. He builds fantastic worlds with rich history and it’s something that gives his narrative weight. But there are two things in his works that bother me a bit as a writer. In addition to the aforementioned exposition, a few of his characters don’t develop a great deal. They’re not grown through their experiences as the story unfolds, they simply are whatever Tolkien needs them to be.

It’s not true for all of his characters, certainly. Both Bilbo and Frodo are very different Hobbits from when they start out in the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring. Even moreso, Bilbo changes because of his experiences in The Hobbit and when we catch up with him on his 111th birthday, he’s no longer the respectable bachelor of Bag End, but seen as something of a recluse and troublemaker. Given, these are the main protagonists of two narratives we’re talking about, while Aragorn and Faramir are somewhat less prominent. They’re no less important, however, given the structure and flow of the story.

While not every character in a story necessarily has to become changed by the events that unfold, the characters that directly impact those events should be cultivated in such a way that they do change. Otherwise, they quickly become static, even boring. I’d like to think that, in the way that Aragorn and Faramir were cultivated in the films to show their nobility and generosity of spirit through action and circumstance rather than telling us how noble they are, Tolkien would have approved.

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