Character Change, or Discovery?

I was talking recently to Domey about one of his stories, and we were discussing the idea of character change. It occurred to me that, possibly, I don't actually believe in change. I don't believe in "developing characters." I know, this flies in the face of conventional wisdom, but bear with me. This isn't a revolution; I'm not offering to throw out character arcs, but I have maybe a different way to think about character arcs.

So there's a general expectation for a lot of fiction that the protagonist will have a different worldview at the end of the story than he has at the start of the story. The protagonist will have changed. Usually in genre fiction this is couched in terms of character growth. Often in literary fiction this is couched in terms of the character learning a bitter lesson about life. Either way, external forces come to bear upon the protagonist and he seems to change.

The character in question in Domey's story was not the protagonist, but Domey still needed to find a way to justify what looked like a dramatic shift in his behavior. Which got me thinking about the idea of character change.

My current theory is that characters don't actually change. The way they are at the end of the story--the endpoint of the character arc to which we're moving--is actually no more and no less than how the character really is, already. His true self, if you will, is already there, but it is hidden or repressed somehow. The dramatic action, the primary conflict of the story, is created because the protagonist is unable to express that true self. Or, it can only be resolved once the protagonist expresses that true self.

Yeah, this sounds very much like new-age bullshit, but I think it's a useful intellectual construct. Let's attempt to illustrate what I mean by falling back upon that ancient tale of the hero's transformative journey: George Lucas' Star Wars.

Star Wars (by which I mean the original film, not any of the five awful sequels/prequels) tells the story of Luke Skywalker. Luke does not know it, but his true self is a Jedi Knight, a guy who is attuned to the primal energies of the universe and a force for good. Hey, that's pretty cool. The trouble is, Luke's true self is wrapped in layers of adolescent snottiness and annoying low self-esteem and a kind of general stupidity about life. The character arc of Star Wars is Luke learning to shut the hell up and accept that some folks are smarter and more experienced than he is and that life is about more than his desire to go fly rocket fighters. He is only able to destroy the Death Star at the end of the film (and resolve the outer dramatic arc of the story) when he listens to the disembodied voice of Sir Alec Guinness: "Let go your conscious self; trust your feelings." Luke lets the Force take over, becomes a Jedi and blows up the bad guys. The end. He has not changed at all; his behavior has changed. Luke has stopped acting like someone who he is not.

I sidestep the entire Aristotelian debate about whether action is in fact character and say that "we are what we do" is not as true as "we are why we do." Motivation is everything, and what motivates a character is her true self.

So think about that and see if it's helpful with your own stories. Let me know if you think this is a Bad Idea or just completely off-base and nutty.

When My Characters Talk to Each Other...

...they sometimes don't say what they're supposed to say. And that really annoys me. It goes like this:

I'm writing a scene. This scene has a specific purpose. I need to convey to the reader that there is conflict between the two characters in the scene, and I need to show that conflict and what's behind it. I also need to set up the next scene. This scene also has to be structured so that my protagonist is active in it, making a forward move with his life. So I put my protagonist in a hallway with the other character, and tell them to talk.

They do not, however, discuss the point of contention between them. No, they chat about all sorts of stuff that's really pointless. Shut up and get on with it, I say to them, striking out all of the things they've just said.

Let's try it again, shall we, boys? Off my pen goes, skipping across the page, quotation marks and attributions left and right, and when I stop to read what I have wrought, I see that once more my two characters are chattering away about pleasant things that have nothing to do with this scene.

One basic problem, of course, is that I'm trying to have my characters speak like real people, who rarely (if ever) get to the point. Real conversations are almost never direct, and real people almost never bring up actual conflict. Why? Because they're real people, and conflict is really unpleasant.

A more clever writer than I could show the conflict in the spaces between the pleasantries (there's some very nice dialog between Charles Darnay and his uncle in "A Tale of Two Cities" that speaks volumes through what remains unsaid), but I'm stuck with my own level of cleverness and so I'd like to twist my characters' arms and just have them say the words I have planned for them.

What they keep saying is stuff like:

"Oh, that Gary isn't such a bad guy, once you get to know him. You should give him a break. I've known him for years."

"Really, well, if you can vouch for him, that's saying something."

"He likes you okay, I think. Hey, are you hungry? Wanna grab a bite?"

when what I really need them to say is more like:

"What's with you and Gary?"

"I hate that guy. I don't trust him."

"Why? He's one of my best friends."

"I don't trust you, either."

That's more like it. Though an even better (and far less "real world" realistic) way to do it would be for my protagonist to grab the other guy's arm and say, "I don't trust you or Gary." It's quicker, it's got physical action (way better than dialogue for showing character) and it gets to the heart of the conflict. It seems so obvious, too.

I have a theory that I write this kind of dialogue-that-goes-nowhere whenever I'm uncomfortable with the conflict between characters. I don't want them talking about this stuff. Which, perversely enough, means that the conflict is something I should have more of in the book.

Which brings me to the real point of this post: Are there ideas you shy away from in your stories? Do you think your stories would be better or worse if you pursued those ideas instead of avoiding them?

Contrast

Lois Moss posted about contrast in this post, which I like so much that I'm going to expand upon it here because I think it's an important aspect of storytelling.

What Lois essentially says is that contrast increases depth. Characters who are completely good are flat, as are characters who are completely evil. The same can be said of characters who are neither good nor evil. Without contrasting traits, characters lack depth. A flawed hero is more compelling than an invulnerable, unflappable superhero, and a villain who also has real human weaknesses and needs is more compelling than a purely black-hearted monster.

Why is this? I think it's because good and evil which arise out of each other (for example, a heroic act by someone who is afraid or petty or not truly likeable, or an act of treachery by a person acting out of fear or love or some other need) are more clearly visible, standing out just as a lighted surface is brighter when seen against shadows. "Good and evil" is of course an oversimplification, a generalization, and you could as easily stay "strengths and weaknesses" or any other pair of opposing/contrasting forces. Contrast heightens intensity.

This same concept holds for plot. If it's all one sort of action at the same pace, it becomes the status quo, eventually exhausting or inuring the reader and turning into a static background. Moments of quiet make the action scenes speak more loudly, and vice versa. This isn't limited to action/rest in terms of pacing; you should also think about the contrast of mood in your story, of emotional intensity. Is there variety in all your story elements? Variety is contrast. Contrast heightens intensity.

Contrast=depth=conflict=drama.

Drama is the essence of storytelling. If your hero is a spotless "white hat" and your villain is a heartless "black hat" and your plot never varies in its pacing, you don't have drama, you have melodrama. Melodrama is to be avoided. Just take my word on it. Certainly in melodrama you're contrasting one flat character against another, but that doesn't hold reader interest. Nor am I necessarily arguing in favor of moral ambiguity; I'm just saying that flat characters/stories are flat because they lack depth, and that to add depth you should consider adding contrasting elements to your characters/stories.

Give your protagonists weaknesses. Give your antagonist human feelings and needs (remember that your story isn't just your protagonist's story; it's your antagonist's as well). Give your subordinate characters needs and depth. Vary mood and pacing for contrast and effect. Your story will be more engaging, more interesting and more rewarding for your reader.