Ever wished you could have a do-over?
Join the club. We’re all members—including your characters.
Our longing to rewind time can range from the frivolous (I may have once backed my car into something incredibly loud right in front of a guy I had a crush on—and the loud thing may have been a “Watch Children” sign) to the torturous (if only, if only, if only you’d asked if your neighbor kept guns in the house before letting your child go over to play).
Highly motivated characters are often driven by an intense yearning or longing—this is paramount in the teachings of David Corbett, one of my favorite writers on the subject of character (who wrote the fine book The Art of Character, and who I made quick work of adding to our stable of contributing editors at Writer’s Digest). Corbett delves into thoughtful detail to show that such longings, to minor degrees or major extremes, can define who our characters are, motivate what they do (or don’t do), and make them more relatable to the reader.
As I make my own way as a novelist, in part because of the sorts of stories that have called me to write them, I’ve discovered that when it comes to yearning, the desire for a do-over is tops among the most agonizing, unshakeable, and all too familiar.
We might sometimes get second chances, but an actual do-over is simply not possible—unless, in your story world, it is: Behold, the success of the Back to the Future franchise and some of my favorite fantastical novels, including Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife and Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life. In those cases, the do-over is the story, and that’s exactly what draws us in.
For characters who do not have access to a DeLorean, this type of yearning comes in two flavors:
(As with soft serve, you can also serve up do-overs in swirl.)
The key difference here relates to the level of control the character had over the outcome. Cursing the fact that the universe did not smile upon you is a different thing from holding oneself responsible for disaster: a mistake, a bad decision, an err in judgment, a thoughtless word.
Getting Caught in a Storm
Countless stories are fueled by characters who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. In Jacquelyn Mitchard’s Two If By Sea, the protagonist has, by a freakish stroke of luck (if you could call it that), survived a tsunami that washed away his family. He wishes he hadn’t been staying at that seaside resort on that night, wishes they’d been with him when he happened up to higher ground, wishes anything about that day had transpired differently, but it’s no use wishing. He cannot go back; he has to find a forward.
This kind of longing need not drive your entire plot, or even your protagonist. A backstory along these lines can add complexity to any subplot or character. And you can exploit it to your story’s advantage.
What might happen if you:
Beating Yourself Up
Ah, but it was your character’s fault. Or at least, it feels that way. Will she ever forgive herself?
If your plot needs a twist or a character needs dimension, consider these possibilities for the backstory or the present action:
Remember: Chocolate and vanilla can be deliciously intertwined. Two out of three of these ideas factor into Almost Missed You, which is all about fate, and choices—and my next novel plays with some from Column A and some from Column B too.
Do it now: Ask your characters what they’d do over if they could.
How might they surprise you?
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Jessica Strawser is the editorial director of Writer’s Digest, North America’s leading publication for aspiring and working writers since 1920. Her debut novel, Almost Missed You, is forthcoming from St. Martin’s Press releases on March 28, and has garnered accolades from Chris Bohjalian, Adriana Trigiani, Garth Stein and others.
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