The antagonist is a character that many readers love and many writers hate. In fact, one of my author friends told me that writing her antagonist was a painful experience. “It was a really hard book to write. I had nightmares when I was writing about this character. It was one of the best feelings in the world when I finished writing this.”
In writing my current book, The Hobo Code, I learned
what she meant. The book’s main antagonist is a psychopath. To capture the
essence of the character, I picked the brain of a retired forensic psychologist
and her suggestions surprised me. For example, she recommended I not
write chapters from that antagonist’s perspective. “You don’t want to go there,”
she said vehemently. “It will give you nightmares.”
I wonder how many forensic psychologists have PTSD by the
time they retire.
The Delicate Balance Between Hero and Antagonist
As in all life, there must be balance. Your protagonist needs
someone or something, to push against, overcome, or to come to terms with. Some
examples:
Nature: Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm
An institution: Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games
Disease: Stephen King’s The Stand
The supernatural: Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight
Note: Twilight is an interesting case as Bella’s humanity
might be considered one of the story’s antagonists. Her humanity conflicts with
her desire to become a vampire.
Observation and various discussions have led me to the
conclusion that most people feel they are the heroes of their own life story.
People in power who we believe are in the wrong likely feel that their reasons
are good and just—merely not understood by the average person. Antagonists feel
the same.
No matter how horrific the means are to the ends, the
antagonist believes his or her actions are justifiable.
Give Your Antagonist Some Depth
The antagonist needs a story arc. This character must grow
and change, even if it’s only into a more heinous monster. At the same time, he
should have qualities the reader can empathize with, such as liking dogs, enjoying
cake baking, or taking time to teach children how to make a homemade fishing
rod.
House-sit your evil one. Spend time with him. Learn his motivation.
Flesh out his backstory to know why he acts as he does. The more you know, the easier it will be to determine what makes him tick. How does he react to triggers? People are truly the sum of their experiences. What life choices or chance encounters have helped make your antagonist what he is?
Different types of antagonists create different kinds of conflict.
Psychopaths have an inherited condition, often related to under-developed impulse control centers of the brain. They can make interesting antagonists. In Jeff Lindsay’s Darkly Dreaming Dexter, the Dexter character is a psychopathic protagonist with charm—an anti-hero. Dexter’s main antagonist is a copycat serial killer. Both have strong anti-social tendencies but we find ourselves rooting for one and detesting the other.
The antagonist doesn’t have to be evil. He may cause
conflict by acting in opposition to the protagonist, erecting barriers against
the protagonist’s goals. Samuel Gerard, in D.J. Manly’s The Fugitive: A
Novel is an antagonist. He stands in opposition to Richard Kimble and is
definitely not evil. In this case, the protagonist understands this antagonist
is just doing his job.
An antagonist may be a good person who has become corrupt
due to life circumstances. Something pushed him over the edge. Most of the
royal characters in George R. R.
Martin’s “A Song of Fire and Ice”
are corrupt. Did the position of power cause corruption? Perhaps there was childhood
trauma? The Cersei Lannister character is ruthless, yet still has love for her
children. She has some softness in her character to put a dent in her emotional
armor. Lord Voldemort of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series was once Tom
Riddle. He wasn’t always someone to be feared.
Your protagonist may have an internal antagonist in the
form of character flaw, like Bella’s humanity (according to Bella) in
Twilight. Sometimes desires are in the way of needs. There might be fear or
regret to overcome before tackling the primary antagonist.
What if you have more than one antagonist?
Some stories have secondary antagonists to give your
protagonist trouble, a warm-up of sorts. Here are some ideas for handling
multiple antagonists:
Deal with something small before taking on the major issues.
Give your protagonist plenty to work on to reach his goal.
Your secondary antagonist stirs up trouble for your primary antagonist and your protagonist.
Digging deep into the dark, dredging up fearful situations,
pains the mind. I don’t know anyone who enjoys revisiting demons from the past,
but getting to know your antagonist well will make for a better, more balanced
story.
Have you
delved into your antagonist’s backstory? What motivates your antagonist?
About Ellen
Author, speaker, and former teacher, Ellen L. Buikema has written non-fiction for parents and a series of chapter books for children with stories encouraging the development of empathy—sprinkling humor wherever possible. Her Work In Progress, The Hobo Code, is YA historical fiction.
It sounds like a writer's dream: hours of time at home, no expectations to go anywhere or do anything outside your house. You can really dedicate the time to better your writing, right? But what if you don't feel like writing? Many writers have experienced a short-circuiting of their creative energy during this quarantine, with everyone stuck at home.
Maybe your creative space and time have been crowded out. Maybe worry, uncertainty, and even fear make it hard to concentrate on your craft. Perhaps the very sensitivity that makes artists artists might be working against your ability to create your art in such unsettled times.
But
even if all you’re able to manage right now is curling up on the sofa with a
book or the remote control, taking in other people’s stories can actually be a
wonderful opportunity to learn to objectively assess your own and hone your
skills.
So don’t worry if you just can’t find your creative spark at the moment. Trust me, it’s there—like a pilot light that never goes out—and you can feed it no matter where you are mentally at the moment.
The Beauty of Passive Intake
“I just want to curl up and couch surf.”
If you’re finding you simply can’t get off the sofa and all you’ve got in you right now is binge-watching and binge-reading, that’s fine. Stay right where you are and carry on—what I call “passive” intake of story is still an effective way to develop your storytelling skills. There’s no need to actively analyze; just relax and let it wash over you, allowing yourself to osmose it.
Did you like the story? Did it draw you in? Were you invested in the
characters? Was there a sense of urgency or momentum that kept you
watching/turning pages (or not)? Did the emotional moments affect you? Did the
plot hold together and feel complete, the end satisfying? Don’t think; just feel the story.
The beauty of passive intake is that there are no right answers; you're observing you and your reactions, just noticing, as in meditation.
Did something make you cry? Why? Can you pinpoint it?
Were you on the edge of your seat at any point? How come...can you trace it back?
Don’t try too hard; just gently see if the reasons jump out at you. For instance, “I really cared about Vivian and she wanted to shop so badly” or “Dammit, I know Carole did it and got away with it.” Whatever raised a reaction in you, just tease out that thread a little bit.
This kind of passive reading/watching
is the equivalent of the initial cold read editors do to orient ourselves to a
story—and it’s the first step I suggest to authors in editing their own work
with an objective eye. In the examples above, for instance, you’ve noticed very
concretely how making the viewer care about the protagonist and then making her
care passionately about something is how you create a visceral reaction. In the
second, you’ve seen that tapping into a viewer’s sense of injustice can evince
a visceral sense of outrage. You’re learning how to deeply and directly invest
your readers.
So if this is all you have in you at the moment, it’s still valuable training in storytelling techniques when the time comes to write or revise. (But no rush! For now just sit back and start that next episode of Ozark….)
When Creativity Is Elusive
“I’ve got a little bit of juice in me, but my creative side is comatose.”
No worries. You can still serve your writing from under the covers while you stay up all night reading (why not? who can sleep?). If your brain is working but you’re not in creation mode, you’re in a great position to dig a little deeper and let yourself start to analyze a bit.
Start asking yourself the kind of questions editors ask as they begin to assess a story—in parentheses after some of the ones I suggest below are the storytelling elements you’re enhancing your understanding of:
Is there a central story question? Can you sum up what it is? (Plot, character, stakes)
Who were the protagonists, and were they the engine of the story—meaning did they directly drive the action? (Character, plot, stakes)
Did you feel you knew them—that they were real people? In what way? (Character)
Did you care about them? Why or why not? (Character, stakes, point of view, voice)
Did the story keep propelling you forward? If not, where did your focus lag? (Stakes, character, plot, momentum and pace, suspense and tension)
Were the story events believable? (Plot)
Were there extraneous story events, or loose ends? (Plot, character)
Did it all tie together cohesively? (Plot)
Did the story take you on a clear journey? Were the characters changed somehow by the end of the story? Was that change a direct result of the story events? (Character, plot, story arc)
If this is all you do, you’re still helping your own writing and storytelling by learning to actively and objectively analyze what makes an effective, engaging story—or what hampers it. You’re an animal behaviorist patiently observing your subject and learning how they behave, what makes them tick, and that understanding becomes part of your own creative process, making you a more deliberate, knowledgeable writer.
When Motivation Is Elusive
“I’m still sharp as a tack, but couldn’t feel less like writing.”
This is when you can switch to a more active type of art intake—you’re not just watching your subjects; now you’re going to dissect them to really find out how they work.
For this deep-dive approach I recommend using a book, movie, or show you’ve already seen and re-watching or re-reading. When you’re no longer taking it in for the first time you can be more analytical. This is the equivalent of the editor’s main edit pass, when we immerse ourselves fully in the manuscript and really start digging down.
Now you’ll more deeply examine the answers to some of the questions I suggest asking. This isn’t an exhaustive or prescriptive list, just suggestions to get your mind jump-started on the kinds of things you might investigate. When you find yourself reacting to something in a story, that’s when to pith the subject—press pause or stop reading—and go back and start dissecting.
I’ve made some book or movie suggestions with each question, but literally any story can be analyzed this way.
Do I really care about this character—or am I somewhat indifferent? In either case, why? (Examine specifically the ways the author/filmmaker made you invest in the central characters, or didn’t, for example Marriage Story, or Hitch, or The Hate U Give.)
Am I hooked—do I have to turn the page or watch the next episode? Why? (Analyze anything you ever binged, in any genre: Big Little Lies, The L-Word, The Americans. Thumb through first and last lines of chapters/sections, or episode ends, or scene transitions, and pinpoint exactly what made you keep going: for instance, unresolved tension, an unanswered question, a mystery, a cliffhanger?)
Am I surprised…or can I figure out the plot? How did the author/writer keep me guessing, exactly—and if they didn’t, what telegraphed the plot? (Dissect a story where you were or weren’t surprised and parse out what gave it away or set it up, or alternatively, how the storyteller misdirected you or created uncertainty: Ozark, The Good Place, Fight Club, etc.)
Is every scene essential in moving the story forward? If so, how—what does each one accomplish? (Analyze scene by scene stories with great momentum, and those where your attention lagged: The Princess Bride; Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri; Little Fires Everywhere.)
Am I on the edge of my seat, heart pounding? What specific elements created that in me? (Dissect how a storyteller created suspense and tension, paying extra attention to places where you’re especially hooked: Get Out, The Kite Runner, Finding Nemo.)
Is the story multitasking—working on various levels and accomplishing more than one thing with each scene? Specifically what, and how? (Pick a scene you loved, for any reason, and parse out what it accomplishes as far as storytelling, like character development, moving the story forward, emotional layers, motivations, etc.—and how: Crazy, Stupid, Love, Walk on the Moon, An American Marriage.)
Does the end satisfy me? If so, how? If not, why not? (With so many shows ending right now, it’s a great chance to analyze this storytelling element and what does or doesn’t create satisfying story resolution: Will and Grace, Schitt’s Creek, Modern Family.)
This is a fraction of the kind of questions you can ask, the areas of story you can dissect. Once you’ve noticed your own reactions during the passive-intake first watch or read, reverse-engineer the story as you re-watch or re-read those sections and parse out exactly what created those reactions in you:
Did you get bogged down in backstory? Why?
Did the characters seem flat to you? How come?
Did you lose interest anywhere? Where and why, exactly?
You can also consciously dissect how authors, actors, or directors convey emotion, state of mind, reaction, interaction and dynamics—the “non-verbals” and subtexts of story that create depth and nuance.
Replay a scene with your eyes closed, for instance; then watch it again with the sound off. Notice how an author describes physicality, reaction, expression, emotion—or what those traits look like in an actor when those feelings are evoked.
You can dissect how skilled writers effectively use show and tell by listing out everything you know about the characters and plot in the scene based on what you read or saw—and see if you can pinpoint exactly what let you know it.
Or see if you can define how the author/filmmaker created their unique voice. Is it the language—the words or phrasing the author uses? Is it some identifiable orientation toward the world or the subject that feels distinctive to you? Is it the author’s or screenwriter’s personality or aesthetic or worldview that shines through? A Phoebe Waller-Bridge show is very different from a Shonda Rimes one, for instance—can you verbalize why, exactly?
If an author’s style or a certain passage delights you (or disgusts you), stop and break it down to figure out specifically why.
It’s equally valuable to do this with stories you didn’t like as much as those you did. Notice or analyze why they didn’t work for you.
These observation and analysis techniques work with anything story-based, which is almost everything: books, TV shows, and movies, but I’ve also learned loads about storytelling from magazine profiles, from investigative journalism and provocative think-pieces, from Bernie Taupin lyrics, even from especially effective commercials. As this kind of analytical thinking about story becomes habit, you can glean a wealth of knowledge about effective storytelling every single day of your life, whether your muse is dancing nearby or not.
Be kind to yourself, artists. Take the pressure off yourself to write or create during these unprecedented times, and let yourself just be still and take in for now. You’re still serving your craft, and I promise the creative spark is still burning—and the flame will flare up again.
About Tiffany
Tiffany Yates Martin has spent nearly thirty years as an editor in the publishing industry, working with major publishers and bestselling authors as well as newer writers, and is the author of Intuitive Editing: A Creative and Practical Guide to Revising Your Writing. She's led workshops and seminars for conferences and writers' groups across the country and is a frequent contributor to writers' sites and publications. Visit her at www.foxprinteditorial.com, and connect on Facebook and Twitter.
"I trust Tiffany Yates Martin with the editing process even more than I trust myself. Read this book and steal her secrets!"—Kelly Harms, Washington Post–bestselling author of The Overdue Life of Amy Byler
"Tiffany Yates Martin is
an exceptional editor, so of course her advice and counsel in Intuitive Editing is exceptional as
well. Whether you're a seasoned author looking to fine-tune your craft, pacing,
or tension or just starting out and looking for guidance on building overall
structure and engaging characters, this book is a must-read that will take you
from idea to finished manuscript."—New York Times–bestselling author Allison
Winn Scotch
"This
book is a must have tool every author needs in their toolkit. When you are
ready to go deeper, to dig into the revision process, using Tiffany's Intuitive Editing strategies will help
you take your writing to the next level."—New York Times– and USA Today–bestselling author Steena Holmes
"Authors,
if you can't be lucky enough to have Tiffany as your editor, then Intuitive Editing is the next-best
thing. Her advice is sound, thoughtful, no-nonsense and given with the
compassion that every author and their book deserves."—Elisabeth Weed, literary agent, the Book Group
One of the things that's surprised me the most as I’ve advanced in this writing journey is how many people change agents, editors, publishing houses. It’s not something that is discussed widely on the internet, but it happens. A LOT.
Why do these changes happen?
Part of the problem is that writers forget
they are allowed to have questions, and they will have questions – questions about
something related to publishing, something that their agent or editor might
know, but for reasons including mental health issues, insecurity about writing,
or a desire to not be that client, they have each paused and let the
stress fester a little.
It can be a very scary thing to send an email
to someone who you respect, but with whom you have some feelings of
frustration, whether it be something that you don’t understand as well as you
should, feedback that wasn’t provided when you thought it would be, or writerly
imposter syndrome in general.
For these kinds of situations (and so many others in my life) I reach into the vault of brilliance provided by Brené Brown – this time from her book Rising Strong. In it, she states repeatedly about the importance of acknowledging the story we are telling ourselves. Please note that this isn’t the story that is true or the story that is rational – it is the story we are telling ourselves.
For example, I endure depression. I don’t like to say I suffer from it, though sometimes I do. So, the voices that tend to visit me circulate around being enough of whatever the flavor is of the day. I talk to myself as I’m getting ready for the day, greeting those thoughts when I am able to recognize as depression thoughts by their name (our theme song for this meeting is “The Sound of Silence.” The Disturbed version is best for me).
If I am able to tell when I’m in a depression cyclone and when I am having valid concerns, it helps. Then, I choose key moments to share this reality with the professionals I work with.
I do NOT recommend this conversation take place at the beginning of the relationship. I DO think it is something that I think should be shared in close partnerships, and a quality agent or editor relationship should be a close partnership.
5 Key Reminders for Starting the Conversation
With
that out of the way, the courage comes in. There are some key things to keep in
mind when starting such a conversation:
1. Do NOT write/call when you are on an emotional rollercoaster.
There are going to be times when the initial response to something sends your thoughts and feelings on unpredictable loops and that is not the time to talk.
I have a colleague who has a sticky note on her computer that says “24 hours.” As soon as she has an email/voicemail/hears of a conversation that gets her heart racing, she looks at it and waits. This wisdom works for many situations. Practice it often and even in excess.
2. Always, always, start with a humane greeting.
A sincere inquiry into how things are going,
an expression of gratitude for what has been done. Agents and editors work very
hard for a lot of people, and you have the opportunity to be part of that.
That’s amazing. Express your gratitude often.
3. Lay the foundation for where you are coming from.
Some examples:
“One of the things that I was wondering . . .”
“I’ve always been the kind of person who . . .”
“A question that I have had for a while is . . . “
One of the things to remember with this step is that you can come across as accusatory VERY easily. That is not what you want to do.
This is where Brené Brown comes in. You have to convey the story you are telling yourself. It can be incredibly scary. It can feel terrifying. But honest, true expression wins over and over and over.
4. Present options for resolving the issues you feel need to be addressed.
This can be asking for some particular
document that you have heard about but not seen. This can be a request to talk
more in-depth in the future. This can even be an estimated timeline to receive
feedback.
Some candid advice about this kind of openness: one big course correction every once in a while is necessary but equally necessary is that you, as the author, do everything in your power to make any necessary minor modifications as the journey toward your publication goals continues.
It is not healthy for individuals within the relationship, or for the relationship in general, to lock everything up, let it build, send an email full of courage and vulnerability, and then start over.
5. Recognize you may not get a response that has concrete answers.
There is so much uncertainty within the world of publication – the relationship you have with the people who are interested in helping you meet your goals should not have that uncertainty.
While no one can predict how the world of publishing will continue through 2020 and what it will look like when it emerges, YOU still have the right to know what these people are feeling in regards to your writing. And if you aren’t certain if what you are sharing has the appropriate tone, ask a trusted confidant/friend/spouse to do a read-through for you.
For many writers, these kinds of moments have made them realize that the relationship they have with their agent or editor isn’t what they thought it was. That is a whole other blog post for another time.
But remember, you and your writing support team are working together in a professional partnership. If the relationship you have with your agent/editor is as strong as you’d like it to be, vulnerability and courage will reward you with peace of mind, and that is priceless.
How have you approached tricky conversations with your agents, editors, or critique partners?
About Tasha
Tasha Seegmiller believes in the magic of love and hope, which she weaves into every story she creates. She is an MFA candidate in the Writing Program at Pacific University and teaches composition courses at Southern Utah University. Tasha married a guy she’s known since she was seven, is the mom of three teens, and co-owner of a soda shack and cotton candy company. She is represented by Annelise Robey of Jane Rotrosen Agency.
