Writers in the Storm

by Tiffany Yates Martin

Imagine you’ve been given a fabulous vacation—a trip to Bali, a luxury cruise of the Nordic countries, an adventure vacation across Asia, an African safari. The only catch is that you have to go with a pre-selected travel companion, and you have to stay with that person the whole time. Oh—and she’s whiny. Or he’s completely passive and just wants to hang around in the hotel room and write in his journal. Or smug, or abrasive, or grandiosely self-absorbed, or always feeling victimized, or just plain dull. How much fun does that trip sound like now?

Authors sometimes assume that if they have an interesting enough setup and plot, readers will automatically be invested in their story. But no matter how spectacular the journey you promise them, readers don’t deeply care what’s happening unless they care who it’s happening to.

Barbara Linn Probst's Friday post about likeability and relatability showed why these traits matter in hooking your reader, and how incorporating the gray areas in both can create faceted, layered characters. Let's build on her insightful thoughts and talk about some specifics for creating characters that hook readers from the very beginning of your story.

That doesn’t mean your heroes have to be likable—although that’s one excellent way to make us want to take that journey. But they do need to be engaging and relatable enough from the very beginning of your story that we want to spend hours of our busy lives traveling with them, and there are a variety of ways to accomplish that.

#1 - Likability

This is definitely one of the most common ways to draw a reader into your protagonist, but making protagonists likable doesn’t mean making them uniformly good—that’s dull and results in flat characters who don’t feel real. It means there’s something inherently appealing to us about who they are—for instance:

• Humor
• Kindness, goodness
• Genuineness, sincerity
• Great passion for something, loyalty, love
• Great talent or skill at something
• Great effort or dedication to something
• Someone who is a plucky underdog

Story consultant Michael Hauge offers a perfect example from the movie Wedding Crashers—a story about two potentially repugnant characters: womanizers who invade strangers’ weddings. This film brilliantly uses almost all of the above techniques in its opening ten or fifteen minutes to make sure we like these two enough to invest in them.

Within the first few scenes we see them ingeniously brokering a peaceful divorce settlement between an exceptionally antagonistic couple (competence/skill) by reminding them what they once loved about each other (goodness/sweetness), and being completely hilarious while they do it (humor).

Then we see them excitedly preparing for wedding season (passion/effort), along with demonstrating their strong friendship (loyalty/love) with a sweet (and probably true) story of Vince Vaughn’s character's caretaking of Owen Wilson's as kids (kindness). After that we’d forgive these guys almost any outrageous behavior (and we do!) because it’s impossible not to like them.

And a great example of a plucky underdog? Frodo.

Traits that alienate readers

Conversely some traits may distance a reader too much to invest in a character, even if you have created other sympathetic or likable qualities in him—and even if overcoming these flaws is part of the protag’s journey:

• Casual thoughtlessness or cruelty (especially to those weaker or in a “punch down” position: animals, children, servers, clerks); abuse
• Extreme narcissism, self-focus, obliviousness of others’ feelings and desires
• Self-indulgence and self-pity—for instance, a character who milks a tragedy or sorrow or simply collapses or wallows. A protag who’s at least trying to be strong and persevere or fighting tears is infinitely more affecting and invests the reader more deeply than a character who sobs and wails his pain.
• Weakness or victimization without any effort or at least desire to be strong. Weakness in and of itself isn’t a negative—in fact it can make a character greatly sympathetic. But we have to see her fighting, trying—or at least aware of her inability to be strong at that moment for some reason, like depression or oppression (or handcuffs).

Making non-likeable characters engaging.

But, as the enduring popularity of stories like Lolita, American Psycho, or Catcher in the Rye shows (or shows like Breaking Bad and The Americans), protagonists don’t have to be likable to engage us as readers. You can create antiheroes or just reprehensible protagonists and still invest the reader in them using other techniques as well.

2. The hope of redemption

This plays on the common human urge to rescue and rehabilitate. The movie Leaving Las Vegas was built around this idea.

3. Righteousness

If a character’s motivation appeals to the almost universal human sense of justice or fairness, readers will be drawn into his cause even if he’s not a likable character, as with Tom Hanks’s ruthless mob enforcer who is seeking to avenge the vicious murders of his family in Road to Perdition.

4. The hope for comeuppance

This also plays on our craving for justice. Lady Macbeth taps into this desire in us, and Gillian Flynn created a riveting cat-and-mouse of it with both her unlikable protagonists in Gone Girl.

5. Lesser of evils

The book series (and TV show) Dexter is built on this premise: that the protagonist is bad, but those he’s working against (or who are working against him) are worse. (Dexter is also redeemed partly by his loyalty to his sister.)

6. Outcome trumps means

If the “bad guys” are fighting for good, for whatever reason, we root for them—as in the movie Suicide Squad (though notice that in this DC Comics movie each character is also given a sympathetic backstory to explain their “badness”).

7. Vicarious thrill/power

Humans are complicated, and even when we strive to be good there is a fascination with the dark side. Art allows us to indulge that. It can be exhilarating to see characters exercising freedom of bad behavior we feel strictures against. The TV show House of Cards traded on this guilty pleasure, as do The Godfather and The Sopranos.

8. Sheer charisma

If an antihero has enough élan, readers/audiences can’t help but be drawn in (this can actually play powerfully into the theme of the seductive, destructive lure of evil). Hannibal Lecter is a delicious example of a fascinating bad guy we may find ourselves drawn to. Sherlock Holmes is a moody, drug-addicted narcissist—but his uncanny genius for solving crimes makes him larger than life.

9. Sympathy/empathy/relatability/universal truth

These are powerful ways to invest readers in a protagonist, whether or not we like her. If we can relate to a character’s situation, struggle, challenges, pain, we will follow her journey.

Paula Hawkins took advantage of this in The Girl on the Train with her unpleasant alcoholic heroine in whom we nonetheless invest as she tries to seek justice, solve a mystery, right a wrong, all common human urges we can relate to.

In Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner, protagonist Amir can be entitled, cruel, dismissive, and resentful of Hassan, the disadvantaged son of his family’s caretaker who is raised almost as a brother with the privileged Amir and offers Amir nothing but unconditional love and support—and Amir commits an appalling betrayal of Hassan. Yet we can sympathize (perhaps empathize) with the lack of love Amir feels from the father he idolizes, his feeling that his father loves Hassan more, his inadequacy and pain, and we stay invested in his journey.

Ignatius J. Reilly in A Confederacy of Dunces is irascible, lazy, judgmental, and full of resentment for the world and its treatment of him—and yet many readers can sympathize or empathize with his grudges, even if we don’t let that worldview take us over, as Ignatius has. (We may also sympathize with author John Kennedy Toole’s story—falling into depression and alcoholism, he committed suicide at 31 and never saw his novels succeed, yet they were published after his death and Dunces won a Pulitzer. Though I don’t recommend this as a writing strategy.…)

10. Effort/striving/sacrifice

Even a “bad” character may invest us if we see him fighting his dark side or demons. For instance, spoiled, self-centered Darcy spends a lot of time in Emily Giffin’s Something Blue ranting about her former best friend who stole her fiancé, but also realizes her own part in her broken relationships and tries to do better. Kristin Bell’s character in the TV show The Good Place begins as a morally reprehensible soul mistakenly sent to heaven, but comes to genuinely want to learn to be a good person.

You can also show your character craving or fighting for something better for herself or others, like Katniss working for a better life for her family and to save her sister Prim in Hunger Games, or the father in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road who will do any terrible thing and make any sacrifice—including his soul—for his son.

Finally, you can hook readers by showing a character willing to give up or actually sacrificing a selfish goal for someone or something else, or for the greater good: like Gandalf falling to the Balrog in The Fellowship of the Ring to allow Frodo to escape with the One True Ring, or Cyrano de Bergerac sacrificing his own happiness for his love Roxanne’s, or Oskar Schindler risking his freedom and his life to save persecuted Jewish people.

Reader engagement hinges on character investment. The author’s job is to find reasons for us to buy in.

What techniques do you use to invest readers in your protagonists? What unlikeable protagonists do you love?

I’m excited to share that my book for authors to learn to self-edit their writing, Intuitive Editing: A Creative and Practical Guide to Revising Your Writing, releases May 5! You can learn more and preorder here.

Summary: Whether you’re writing fiction, narrative nonfiction, or memoir; whether this your first story or your fiftieth, Intuitive Editing will give you the tools you need to edit and revise your own writing with inspiration, motivation, and confidence.

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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. She's led workshops and seminars for conferences and writers' groups across the country and is a frequent contributor to writers' sites and publications.

Top photo: Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

by Barbara Linn Probst

The question of likability, especially for female protagonists, is a topic that’s sparked heated debate. Male protagonists have, traditionally, had an easier time of it. There have been rascals and rogues as well as knights. For every Atticus Finch, there’s a Rhett Butler. Female protagonists have had a more difficult history. Eccentricity is permitted (think of Elinor Oliphant). So too, anti-heroines are allowed in psychological thrillers like Flynn’s Gone Girl or Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train. Yet a truly unlikeable female protagonist is relatively rare.

Sometimes relatability is suggested as an alternative. “Your heroine doesn’t have to be perfect,” we’re told. “She can have weaknesses, make mistakes. That makes her someone we can connect with. It makes her relatable.”

Some have rejected both concepts. They point out that great characters in literature have been self-centered, self-deluding, ambitious, jealous, craven, angry, broken. As Mohsin Hamid notes in the New York Times (September 24, 2013), we can love a book without liking its protagonist. In fact, it’s often the “fatal flaw” and ensuing struggle that make us turn the pages.

So what is likability?

In simplest terms, likability is "the quality of being readily or easily liked." In his 2005 book, The Likability Factor, Tim Sanders parses the concept into four aspects: friendless, relevance (connecting with others’ wants and needs), empathy, and realness (integrity, authenticity).

That same year, psychologist Stephen Reysen developed an eleven-item likability scale, covering perceptions of warmth, friendliness, attractiveness, approachability, and similarity to oneself.

The assumption is that likability is intrinsic to the person—that is, it’s something that a reasonable person would feel about Mr. X or Ms. Y. The impact of factors like culture, gender, and temperament aren’t taken into account. Likability is assumed to be inherent, objective, and good.

It’s not surprising, then, that there are countless articles offering advice to writers about how to make our characters “likable” in five or six or twelve sure-fire ways. If we don’t like the protagonist, why would we care whether or not she achieves her goal?

On the other hand, there’s been a backlash against likability. In the January/February 2018 issue of The Literary Life, a publication of Poets & Writers, Stephen Almond writes “in praise of the unlikable.” Novelist Tara Burton also cautions against too much concern for likability. In her 2018 article for Vox, she minces no words in asserting that “talking about ‘likability’ in fiction ignores what the greatest literature does.”

It’s worth quoting her at length:

“A character who is portrayed as fully human— a frayed and interwoven tapestry of flaws, neuroses, aspirations, longings, yearnings, hatreds, envies — cannot be easily likable. To truly understand a person, we cannot simply engage with their surface good qualities. We must know their brokenness, too, the terrible things they think, say, and do. And, ideally — when the work is good and well told — we must care about them anyway. We must learn to become invested in the journeys of whole, complete people, who are, like all human beings, both likable and unlikable.”

What is relatability, and what is its role in literature?

When we say that someone is relatable, we mean that it’s easy to understand and feel connected to them. S/he’s like me, in some fundamental way. I can bond, empathize, identify. Relatability answers the question: likable to whom?

At first glance, this seems like an obvious “must have” for a protagonist. Yet here too, it’s more complicated.

What about those extraordinary, larger-than-life heroes or characters who live in circumstances that are nothing like ours?  At times, certainly, we read fiction to enlarge our world, not to confirm what we already know. Historical fiction, folklore, mythology, fairy tales, science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, magical realism—huge chunks of literature lie precisely outside the realm of the familiar and “relatable.” That’s why we like them!

Even for so-called “realistic” fiction, relatability has its limits. As Rebecca Mead asks, in her article on the “scourge” of relatability: Should characters in literature be people we can easily understand and assume we can relate to? 

In other words, should reading fiction be an easy, unambiguous experience?

Mead objects to the expectation that a book should reflect, conform to, and confirm what we already know, or think we know—that it ought to serve as a mirror in which the reader recognizes himself. “The notion of relatability implies that the work in question serves like a selfie: a flattering confirmation of an individual’s solipsism.”

She goes even further, decrying the laziness and passivity this implies. “To reject any work because we feel that it does not reflect us in a shape that we can easily recognize—because it does not exempt us from the active exercise of imagination or the effortful summoning of empathy—is our own failure.”

The unrelatability of a character, setting, or situation can stretch us to think in a new way—and make a story more interesting. Remember that unrelatable features are unusual, not intrinsically good or bad.

How can I assess the likability and relatability of my novel’s protagonist?

By way of example, I’ll use the protagonist of my own novel, QUEEN OF THE OWLS.

Elizabeth is likable because she’s smart, hard-working, and a loving mother. She tries to do the right thing and to meet needs of those she cares about. We can relate to her feeling for her children, her passion for her work, her longing for something more in a relationship, and her willingness to (finally) step outside her comfort zone.

On the other hand, there are aspects of Elizabeth’s life and character that many readers will not be able to “relate” to. Few readers are on track to get a PhD in Art History, and most would have difficulty imagining themselves posing nude in imitation of the iconic painter Georgia O’Keeffe.

Still, the feelings behind her actions—the deep yearning that draws her to Richard, a charismatic photographer—are psychological truths that we can relate to, even if we’ve never experienced exactly what Elizabeth has experienced. Externally, she may seem unrelatable; but internally, in her desires and emotional responses, she’s quite relatable.

In fact, it’s the combination of the relatable and unrelatable elements that makes Elizabeth an intriguing character. After all, we don’t want to read about someone who seems entirely known and familiar! We like motivations we can connect with, dressed in unfamiliar garb.

When a character is truly unlikeable

It’s a little trickier when a character is truly unlikable. We can accept an unlikable trait or two if it’s a weakness the protagonist must struggle with, and transform by the end of the book, perhaps after she realizes its cost and experiences true remorse. 

A character who starts out vain or proud becomes lovable when we can witness their growing awareness and wish to do better. The unlikable trait can also be a mask for insecurity or the result of an earlier wound. We can accept the unlikability because it has a reason and isn’t the whole of the person.

Many readers are suspicious of a protagonist who has no real flaws. Too much likability makes a character unrelatable. At the same time, it’s hard to craft a compelling story around someone who is fundamentally unlikable.

We’re drawn to complexity—to characters who seem real because they combine traits we like and traits that make us uncomfortable. The features we understand draw us in; the features we don’t understand keep us curious—and keep us reading. Without the latter, we’d be bored.

Questions to ask about your own protagonist:

• What are the aspects of my protagonist that I most admire and would like to embody or find in a friend? When I see her acting this way, I’m on her side. These are her likable features.

• What are the aspects that I feel comfortable with and feel I understand, as if I’ve been there myself (even if I haven’t been in that specific situation)? These are her relatable features.

• What are the traits that cause my character to make wrong decisions, compromise her sense of self, or alienate those who want to help her? When I see her acting this way, I want to wince or recoil—or run. These are her unlikable features.

• What are the traits that I’ve included, even though they’re probably outside the direct experience of most readers, because I feel they’re integral to my character or her story? These are her unrelatable features. 

Then consider the cast of other characters. Is there someone for each of the four categories above?

I don’t mean to suggest adding cliché villains, goodie-goodies, or eccentrics—only that each category should be represented in the story, in specific features if not in whole characters.

I’ll take another step and suggest that likability and relatability aren’t what make us keep reading. We keep reading for one reason only: we have to know what’s going to happen!

That engagement can happen for all sorts of reasons—a high-stakes plot, gorgeous writing, identification with the protagonist.  Likability alone won’t do it. But we do have to care.

As Tara Burton reminds us, our characters—like our friends, our family, and ourselves—don’t have to be likable to be lovable.

Do you have a main character who is unlikeable? Will you read a book with one? Name one unlikeable character that you love!

About Barbara

Barbara Linn Probst is the author of Queen of the Owls, coming in April 2020 from the visionary, award-winning She Writes Press. Queen of the Owls has been chosen by Working Mother as one of the twenty most anticipated books for 2020 and will be the May 2020 selection of the Pulpwood Queens, a network of more than 780 book clubs throughout the U.S. To pre-order or learn more, please visithttp://www.barbaralinnprobst.com/

A chance meeting with a charismatic photographer will forever change Elizabeth’s life.

This novel asks the question: How much is Elizabeth willing to risk to be truly seen and known?

Click here to read more, or to pre-order the book.

Top photo credit: Deposit Photos

An earlier version of this article appeared on Women Writers, Women’s Books in December 2018.

Before Christmas, someone at my day job sent around an article from Inc that I’ve been pondering ever since: “How Can You Be Sure Someone Has True Leadership Skills?” The article offered twenty examples for the corporate crowd, and several of them offer life-changing opportunities for writers to lead themselves right down the path to success.

According to the article, these skills and habits are quickly changing the game of leadership development. Effective leaders are encouraged to “break up positive leadership actions into bite-sized daily activities, or ‘micro-actions.’” Basically, they're proving that micro-actions have the power to make BIG change.

Dang, that sounds powerful, doesn’t it? We’ve got to get in on some of that!

Powerful Micro-Actions for Writers

1. Show, don't tell.

We know about Show Don’t Tell in our writing, but what about the all-powerful Butt In Chair? Isn't that the number one way you can show yourself that your writing is important?

Every Top 10 list I’ve ever posted here at WITS includes one thing a writer can’t get away from: we have to do the work.

2. Take a mindful moment.

Focused breathing calms your mind. Before jumping into your daily workload, take a step back and spend two minutes with your eyes closed, focusing on your breathing. .

If you have no idea how to take a moment with your body and your breath, there are at least 13 breathing apps for Android and iOS. I also like the Calm app but you have to pay about $3 for it.

3. Reflect on past challenges to confront new ones.

Our own Laura Drake loses her mind in the middle of every book. She falls flailing into the Pit of Despair and is positive, for minutes/hour/days, that she will never EVER climb out of it.

And then she remembers: this happens with every book.

She can climb out of the pit. She has tools and friends and experience. She remembers the last time the pit swallowed her up, and the many last times before that. Her past challenges, and subsequent successes, buoy her up and keep her afloat until she figures out how to see clearly past that murky middle. And then she loves her book again.

4. Keep your eye on the why.

Why did you become a writer? As very busy author-preneurs who often have day jobs, it's extremely easy to forget that early joy and purpose under the mountains of to-dos that surround every author.

Don't lose sight of this "why" as it is one of the most important keys to staying happy as a writer. Write your goals and your "why" down so you can see it visually, and so you don't lose sight of it.

As Neil Gaiman said:

Imagine where you want to be with your [writing] life. Imagine it is a distant mountain. When you are doing that something with your life, take a moment to stop and see whether it is taking you toward the mountain or away from the mountain.  If it is taking you away, don't do that thing. Only do things that move you closer to the mountain.

5. Replace a bad habit.

Consciously avoid a bad habit by doing something positive instead.

Example: I do my day job tasks first thing, before breakfast, to get the time-sensitive ones out of the way and carve out an hour for writing. I used to play games on my phone to relax while I ate breakfast. After several weeks, I realized that my 15-20 minutes usually turned into 30-40, and I was hopped up on competitive adrenaline, which made me want to do more day job work instead of creative work.

Now? I read with my breakfast. Even if I go over my 15-20 minutes, my brain is in the right place for writing. I'm still re-setting between tasks, but I'm doing it in a way that ensures a smooth transition to my writer self.

6. Bring new people into the decision-making process.

Ask for input on important decisions. Even if you don’t take every bit of advice you are given, the act of seeing input opens your mind for new solutions.

You don’t have to do every blessed thing yourself. Really, you don’t.

7. Seek out feedback.

To take #2 a step further...few of us can exist in a vacuum with our writing. Whether it's an editor or a critique partner, a brainstorming group or a writing class, fellow writers often make the difference between giving up and moving forward.

8. Show gratitude.

I tell my 9 year-old this all the time: people like to do nice things for others, but they also really like to be thanked. Handwritten notes still rule but email works too.

That gratitude feels good for us too. Many people, myself included, think gratitude and writing inspiration go hand in hand. A bestselling author told me she writes three things she's grateful for every day and that it helps her get to her happy place before she sits down to write.

9. Celebrate small wins.

Look for the small wins to congratulate yourself (and your writing team) for. After all, they're what build up to the big wins later on. Our stories take SO long to write. There have to be wins along the way to keep us pumped up.

10. Make small progress towards a commitment.

We all have commitments we've made -- to ourselves or a team member -- that we haven't made good on yet. Even 10 minutes of progress in honoring the commitment feels awesome. It's astonishing how those little blocks of time will add up to a finished goal, whether it's writing time or marketing time.

In last week’s Lines We Love, we shared the following thought:

Many writers struggle with self-doubt, with imposter syndrome, with anxiety. The conundrum is that before we ask others to believe in us and our writing, we must believe in ourselves and know that our words deserve to be heard.

Go ahead, my friends, be brave. Lead your own self into the writing career of your dreams.

Do you have some micro-actions to add to this list? Little habits that have paid off big for your writing. or your life? Do you have bad habits you have consciously replaced? Share your stories with us down in the comments section!

About Jenny

By day, Jenny provides training and social media marketing for an accounting firm. By night she writes humor, memoir, women’s fiction and short stories. After 18 years as a corporate software trainer, she’s delighted to sit down while she works.

When she’s not at her personal blog, More Cowbell, Jenny can be found on Facebook at JennyHansenAuthor or at Writers In The Storm.

Photo credits:

• Steps (top): Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
• Name tag: Image by Tumisu from Pixabay
• Finish line: Image by aumod from Pixabay