How to Write Women

Opposite SidesThe most common mistake I see male writers make when writing women is to write every woman the same. All women are written as stereotypical women who are good at cooking and cleaning and staying at home and not having an opinion. Then there’s other male writers who, trying not to seem sexist, go in the complete opposite direction and write all women as aggressive, leather-bound power bitches who are really good at fighting and making witty comebacks.

Neither approach works, because in either case the writer is painting all women the same. Now here’s the thing, some women are stereotypical, and some women are tomboys. And neither of them feel that they need to be anything different, because they don’t. That’s who they are. They’re individuals. Every woman is different. The problem comes when we write all women as being one way or another. It’s unrealistic because that’s not the world we live in. It’s like how in comic books every woman has the same measurements. Nobody believes that.

Ladies, the same goes for you. Whenever I’m watching something where every guy has a muscular build and the same dark-brunette haircut, and the only difference between them is their jobs and how much money they make, I start to feel like my only purpose in the world is to give you kids. Let’s both try and employ more variety in our characters of the opposite sex.

Storytelling. How To Write Women. Writing Women.

So what’s the solution? The easiest way to avoid coming across as sexist is to have multiple women in your story and paint some of them one way, and others a different way. And try to avoid making comments about what’s stereotypical and what isn’t. Women don’t care, so they wouldn’t bring it up. Women want to be known, they don’t want to be categorized. If it requires explaining then it’s not true femininity.

It gets trickier when you have only one prominent female character in your entire story. But in that case, the lack of variety is understandable, and the audience knows that. I would recommend mixing both stereotypes and non-stereotypes into the one character. This seems to have worked for me. Nevaeh likes long flowing dresses, and she also fishes. Women aren’t often portrayed as fishers. I made Cary a mechanic with a working knowledge of hi-tech computers, who dances in her pajamas to various pop songs. She likes to talk about relationships, but she’s unsure whether or not she wants children. Most women are pretty darn sure whether or not they want to have a child, so this matter was something that made her feel more like an individual rather than a stereotype.

If this area is a challenge for you, a book that I strongly recommend reading is Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge. It does an excellent job of saying “here are some common themes we’ve noticed in the hearts of women” without saying “you need to do all these things in order to be a woman”. You will find plenty of variety in there, in terms of how women are portrayed, while seeing how it all fits together with the feminine heart.

Storytelling. How To Write Women. Writing Women.

The next post will be my last on Storytelling for a while. We’ll talk about one of the more complicated themes to work into your tale – Love Stories.

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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Writing Villains (Part 3 – The Doosh)

Dwight Schrute. The Office image by "LLC LL", Dooshes sometimes end up in the good guy category, but they are generally some sort of antagonist toward whoever the protagonist is, which in its own sense kind of makes them a villain anyway.

Though their roles in fiction tend to be obvious, most people run into dooshes on a regular basis in real life. And friends have asked me to explain what a “doosh” is in real life. The exact definition changes slightly depending on circumstances, but generally a doosh is a person who “everyone” thinks of as being awesome and righteous when to the discerning it is clear that they are full of themselves and doing everything out of selfish motives. I say “everyone” in quotation marks because obviously not literally everyone is deceived by them if the discerning people can tell that they’re dooshes, but it tends to feel like they’re fooling everyone. In fiction, certainly, the “everyone” can be slightly more complete, however your protagonist at least should be able to see past it even if nobody else can.

That’s one type of Doosh, which I’ll call the Self-Satisfied Doosh. But there’s another type of character that seems to fall under the title of Doosh, and that’s what I’m labeling as the Obsessive Doosh.

An Obsessive Doosh is anybody who is unreasonably antagonistic toward the main character – going out of their way to cause problems and annoyance, even if they’re not actually that smart about it.

Then there are some characters who check both boxes on the Doosh list, who are loved by almost every other character and who seem to go out of their way to cause problems for the protagonist. A common introduction for a Doosh would go like this: “I’m awesome. But you’re new here and I find that intimidating. I DON’T LIKE YOU.” *Shove*

If you happen to spot a character doing that to the protagonist in a story, odds are they’re the Doosh.

Dooshes are also very often the guy in a romantic comedy who the girl is with but should NOT marry. But she’s thinking about marrying him because everybody apparently loves him.

Storytelling. The Doosh. Writing Villains.


Examples of Self-Satisfied Dooshes…


Belloq from Raiders Of The Lost Ark

Carter Burke from Aliens

Cyclops from X-Men

Obi-Wan Kenobi in Revenge of the Sith (in the other films he was fine but in the third prequel he suddenly turned Doosh)

The Trivago Guy


Examples of Obsessive Dooshes…


Chuck Hansen from Pacific Rim

Dwight Schrute from The Office

In something of a role-reversal, MacGruber is this kind of Doosh to his partner for most of the film


Examples of both…


Q from Star Trek: The Next Generation

Tad McKowsky from the South Park episode ‘Asspen’


Photo ‘Schrute Facts memetoaudio’ credit “LLC LL” (that was the English translation they gave me) under Creative Commons


We’re nearing the end of my posts on the art of Storytelling. My next post will be about how to write Women. (And no, it’s not Part 4 of writing Villains, it’s a separate post of its own. That’s just the order in which I happened to put these posts together.) :p

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.

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Writing Villains (Part 2 – Sympathetic Villains and Monsters)

Sympathetic Villains

These can be interesting if done right, but you have to be very careful. Sympathetic Villains, as mentioned in the last post, are usually villains who hate themselves, or hate what they’ve become, but they don’t see a way to change. The change usually comes through some intervention on the part of a hero, but not always.

There are right and wrong ways of doing this, and what is right or wrong to you will depend on what fundamental views you hold on the nature of evil. I can only give you advice based on what my views are, but ultimately, tell the story you want to tell as it makes sense in your mind.

The Sympathetic Villain is a pattern in storytelling these days where we see someone we would hold as being inherently evil, but they are not what they seem. They do unspeakable things to innocent people and seem to feel no remorse for it, or they actually feel joy from it, and we as the audience tend to hate them and want to see them punished.

Then the storyteller flips it around on us and shows us something the character had been through sometime before, some sort of horrible childhood or even a single experience or years of experience that desensitized them to those horrors and now, as a direct result, they inflict suffering on others without a twinge of conscience. The audience is then left wondering what real evil is, or if there even is such a thing, if apparently anybody can be turned.

Personally, I disagree with any story that implies that a person is evil only because of what’s been done to them. Feel free to disagree with me – this is just my own personal take. There may be historically documented accounts of that principle at work, and I won’t discount that, but I also don’t think we hear often enough about the accounts of men and women who have been put through tremendous suffering and persecution just because of their beliefs, and have refused to change into what their enemy wanted. I’m thinking of course of missionary martyrs, but I know there are other examples. I’m not denying that people have breaking points, but breaking is not the same as conforming.

As I see it, there are two kinds of people in the world, when it comes to suffering and how they respond to it: There are those who experience intense suffering and then try to bring balance to their world by doing whatever they can to inflict the same suffering on others, and there are those who experience intense suffering and try to bring balance to the world by doing whatever they can to avoid others having to go through the same kind of suffering.

Obviously, intentional jerks are the first kind. Life screwed them over, so now they screw over everyone else, which in their minds is what everyone else deserves after what’s happened to them. Then there are all the people (both real and fictional) who excuse the fact that they’re rapists by saying that they were sexually abused as a child. Some people are sexually abused as children and don’t grow up to be rapists – they grow up to work for Child Protection Services. They take preventative measures instead of spreading the suffering.

So how to properly write a sympathetic villain? I would say the best examples are those who do something wrong without realizing how much they will come to hate themselves as a result of the path they’ve chosen. This is the case with Gollum. He murdered his friend for a ring. There is no excusing that. He deserves some kind of punishment. But to become a slave to the ring for hundreds of years (a little under a millennium if I remember correctly) cut off from the sun and eating dirty fish and goblins, sounds like possibly a worse fate than even what he deserved. The death sentence may have been more merciful had he been caught, but the ring enabled him to hide and thereby prolong his suffering.




Monsters are a different kind of character than simply a Villain, because Villains are generally held responsible for the damage they cause because of the choices they make. But Monsters, traditionally speaking, are simply the way they are, naturally, instinctively, without any choices to make on the matter. They do not do what they do out of evil intent or misguided beliefs, they simply do it because it’s what they are, and nobody blames them for it. This is the case with King Kong and Godzilla. It’s like a force of nature.

It’s like in a disaster movie where nature has gone haywire and sends earthquakes and tornadoes to destroy cities. The people in the film hardly blame the storm for doing what a storm naturally does. Nature is not the villain. But in some disaster movies the storm is “caused” by the unnatural work of scientists prioritizing business and profit over safety, and those people are considered the real villains. The storm is just a result of the villains’ actions. Godzilla was created by nuclear explosions, so the real villain is man.

In some cases the Monster makes a connection with a child or something, and then chooses to fight the villains in order to protect civilians. So it is possible for monsters to become heroes. Many Monsters are considered pure-hearted anyway, especially if they’re simply animals.

Storytelling. Monsters. Writing Villains.


Other examples of Monsters…


The Terminator


Frankenstein’s Monster


My next post will talk about one of the most hated (or loved) villain types of all – The Doosh.


Godzilla photo Attribution: Bandai Namco Entertainment America under Creative Commons


For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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Writing Villains (Part 1 – Personal Villains and Obstacle Villains)

To be clear, when I say “villain” I do not exclusively mean “the antagonist”. Most stories have only one antagonist, but many stories have several villains. In classical literary terms, the Antagonist is generally the primary character (or thing) that gets in the way of what the Protagonist wants most in the story. If the most important thing to the Protagonist is his family, the Antagonist will be someone threatening his family. If the Protagonist wants to win a competition, the Antagonist will be his final opponent. But in a story where the Protagonist has several obstacles to face, the Antagonist will be the one most directly responsible for those obstacles. For example, if the hero is fighting a terrorist group, there will be several villains to face off against, but not all of them are ‘the Antagonist’, the Antagonist will be the one leading the group. In some competition stories, the Antagonist may not necessarily be the final opponent, but the one coaching the opposing side.

I’m gonna talk about a few different types of villains over the next few posts. But I wanted to start off by addressing one of the most central elements to writing believable villains in the first place – the difference between Personal Villains and Obstacle Villains.


Personal Villains and Obstacle Villains

The Antagonist is there to create tension. The hero wants something, and the Antagonist gets in the way or causes a disruption. This is a normal part of story-telling. Where I see writers stumble in this area is when villains are written purely as obstacles and not as people, and I’ll explain why this is troublesome. In stories, obstacles exist for one reason – to be overcome. People exist for countless reasons. The reader knows this, so whenever a character is written as little more than an obstacle, a thing to be hated and overthrown, the reader quickly gets a sense of where the story is going and how it will end up. But when the villain is written as a person, meaning when the character feels like a living, breathing human being with emotions and history and dreams, then suddenly the possibilities become a lot more complex, and the reader has a greater sense of wonder for how things will turn out. There’s more tension.

I’m not saying that every villain needs to be sympathetic (as in, they’re only villains because life circumstances brought them to that), which is a different issue that I’ll address in the next post. I’m just saying that the villain needs to at least seem like they have some kind of conscience, even if it’s a messed up conscience.

Storytelling. Personal Villains and Obstacle Villains. Writing Villains.

I find it difficult to put into words, because if I simply say “no one wants to be a jerk just for the sake of being a jerk” then a lot of people would say “I’ve met people like that” or “I used to date that” or “I am that”. And if I simply say “in their own mind, everyone is the hero of their own story”, then it will leave some people asking “then is there such a thing as intentional evil?”

So far, the best way that I know how to put it into words is this: Nobody wants to hate themselves.

There are plenty of people who hate themselves, but they all have a desire to change without knowing how. (Those are Sympathetic Villains, which I’ll get to in the next post.) And people very often do things that cause them to hate themselves, but they usually find themselves in that place because of an oversight. They know something is wrong, but they do it anyway believing they can handle the outcome, underestimating the depth of self-loathing their actions will eventually lead to. But nobody wakes up in the morning, looks Classic Villainthemselves in the mirror and says “I hate what I am – precisely as planned. (maniacal laugh) Let’s try and do even worse things today so that I’ll hate myself even more.”

And this is what most Obstacle Villains sound like in my head. They don’t even bother to justify their actions by thinking “This is ugly, but it’s for the greater good.” It’s like they know they’re in a story and that their whole purpose for existence is to make the audience hate them, so they only do things that they know will cause the audience to hate them so that it feels so much better when the hero finally takes them down. This is the kind of writing that pulls audiences out of the feeling of immersion, because it reminds them that they’re looking at a work of fiction focused on getting an emotion out of them. The villains do not feel like real people. Nobody intentionally lives their life that way, so neither should your villains.

Personal Villains justify their actions. They need to, because they’re people and they have a conscience. Even if the justification makes no sense to the audience, it should at least seem like it makes sense to the villain. It can be partly because of the way they were raised, depending on the message you want to communicate. It doesn’t even necessarily have to be that they think they’re doing what’s best for others. As I’ve had to correct myself, some people are in fact jerks just for the sake of being a jerk. But they love themselves for it rather than hate themselves. Why? Because they have reached a point of reasoning that says “The most honourable thing I can do for myself is just take care of my own needs and my own happiness. I owe it to myself to accumulate as much happiness as I can, regardless of how it makes others feel. Others should do the same, but those who are not capable will suffer, but that’s not my problem. Everyone should look out for themselves.” They are able to justify it in their own mind as ‘every man for himself’ mentality. They know they’re jerks, but they believe it is the ‘right’ way to approach life so they don’t look down on themselves for it.

You can definitely write your villain that way. Just don’t write your villain so that he actually goes out of his way to do things just for the sake of being hated by the audience. A question you need to ask yourself as the writer is “What is this character’s focus?” What is their goal? What is their dream? What do they care about? What is their motivation? Whatever it is, it needs to somehow connect with what they’re doing. They need to believe that their actions lead toward that goal, and are related to their focus. That’s the difference between a villain who is personal and a villain who is just an obstacle to be hated and overcome.


Moustache Villain image Attribution: J.J. at the English language Wikipedia and used under Creative Commons


For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.

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Writing Heroes (Part 3 – Symbolic Heroes)

Female Super Hero

Symbolic Heroes can be among the most difficult types of heroes to write, at least in a way that makes them likeable, and I personally avoid them like the plague. The reason is because these characters are intended to represent or symbolize a particular thing by their actions, powers, strength of character and so on. When a character represents something they therefore don’t have permission to do anything that goes against whatever it is they represent. The common results are characters who have no personality. They have no flaws. They make no mistakes. They have no bad days. In other words – they’re unrelatable.

The biggest examples of these kinds of heroes are types like Superman, Captain America and Wonder Woman. In recent films, Captain America has been given a lot more room to be himself (himself being Steve Rogers) but back in the day he wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. Superman has had this issue throughout his whole career.

Wonder Woman’s issues are different. Because she is supposed to represent all of womankind, she is therefore not allowed to do or be anything contrary to what women are like. The problem is, every woman is different. So fans complain about Wonder Woman not being accurate to the way real women are, and then when the writers change her according to what half the fans say, they get complaints from the other half saying “That’s not the way women are either.” As a result, Wonder Woman has gone through so many changes over the years that it’s actually laughable. Does anybody even know who Diana really is?

(I speak from what I’ve seen so far in television and films. I haven’t yet seen the new Wonder Woman movie or heard any reviews on it, so I can’t yet speak to whether or not the writers were successful with this latest version of the character.)

One (of many) reasons why Batman tends to be more popular than Superman with modern audiences is because Batman doesn’t have to represent anything other than Batman. If it’s what Batman would do, then it’s what Batman does. The only complaints from fans are due to writers not having a firm grasp on who Batman is as a person, and even that happens often enough.

Storytelling. Symbolic Heroes. Writing Heroes.

Is there a solution? I think there is at least one – possibly more.


I think one solution is this: just give the character some flaws and get it over with. Even representative characters still have to be characters, and characters are people, and people – if they’re true to life – are flawed. Bring their quirks out into the open as quickly as possible. The sooner the audience comes to recognize the character’s flaws, the less bothered they will be by building up expectations of perfection and then having those expectations broken later on.

When I wrote ‘The Kingdom’ I was very intentional about bringing the princess’s character flaws out into the open long before her symbolism becomes apparent. That way she’s a person first, and a representative second. Her flaws stay with her throughout the story, even after readers begin to feel that she represents something; but by that point it’s okay in the reader’s mind, because Nevaeh is not that thing, she is just a character who has some symbolic similarities with that thing.

Storytelling. Symbolic Heroes. Writing Heroes.

In my next post we’ll start discussing how to write Villains, starting with how to make sure your villain is believable.

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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Writing Heroes (Part 2 – Reluctant Heroes and Anti-Heroes)

Hugh Jackman. ‘Wolverine X-men 3’ credit BlackCat Nala Heroes

Another relatable type of hero is the Reluctant Hero. In fact, these sometimes go hand in hand with Unlikely Heroes to make them even more relatable. It is a character who senses they have the option of doing something heroic but they spend considerable time in the story trying to avoid it.

Sometimes the reason is because they feel they don’t have the power to do anything significant (although if you go that route then you’ll need some explanation as to why the thought of doing something has even occurred to them in the first place). Sometimes it is a character who has little or no power and then enters a situation where they are being offered the power to make a difference. They are afraid of the responsibility, their own character flaws, what it might cost them, or any number of other things. Generally a fear is in place, and it is a fear that they will have to overcome if they are to become the hero that the story needs.

Sometimes it is a character who already has the power to do great things, but they have been focusing on selfish ambitions, or they have been afraid of what becoming a hero might mean, or they are afraid their power will cause more damage than good.

A prime example of a reluctant hero is Frodo Baggins. It’s just not in Hobbit blood to do much of anything adventurous. In the end his desire to protect his homeland overcomes his fears and feelings of inadequacy.

Luke Skywalker is a reluctant hero at first. He longs for adventure but when it falls into his lap he’s like “It’s such a long way from here.” Unfortunately it takes the loss of the life he’s known for him to be willing to step up.

Storytelling. Reluctant Heroes. Writing Heroes.


Other examples of Reluctant Heroes…


Strider in the film version of The Lord Of The Rings

Sarah Conner from The Terminator

Simba from The Lion King

Rapunzel from Tangled

Wolverine from X-Men

James Edwards from Men In Black

Bruce Banner from The Incredible Hulk

Nathan Algren from The Last Samurai

Jack Shephard from Lost




I would describe an Anti-Hero as a villain who you want to see succeed because their goals in some way end up benefiting people you care about. I think there are exceptions, but that’s generally what it comes to. Most fictional jerks that people love, like House for example, don’t start off being likeable for who they are but they are able to help people the audience does care about, and so the audience wants to see them succeed by proxy.

Jack Sparrow is a pirate. He steals things – at the very least. For all we know he’s also murdered several innocent people, but we don’t know much about his history. Regardless, in the first film his goal of getting his ship back lines up with Will’s goal of rescuing the woman he loves. Audiences who aren’t much fans of thieves will still end up wanting to see Jack succeed, even if only temporarily, just so that he can help Will to rescue Elizabeth.


Other examples of Anti-Heroes…


Riddick from Pitch Black

Dominic Toretto from The Fast And The Furious

Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z (Seasons 2 and 3)


In my next post I’ll talk about one of the most difficult types of heroes to write – the Symbolic Hero.


Top Photo ‘Wolverine X-men 3’ credit BlackCat Nala under Creative Commons license


For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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Writing Heroes (Part 1 – Unlikely Heroes)

Mr. Potato Head Spider-ManThere are many different kinds of hero types used in popular stories, and many different kinds of villains. I’ve only listed a few different kinds in these next few blog posts, and as storytellers get more creative I expect more types to pop up. So don’t take these posts about heroes and villains to be a complete list – I don’t want to box any authors in – but I do want to give you an idea of some of the more common types and how they’re used. Some characters will even fit multiple categories, or switch categories as the story progresses. We’ll start with the most common type of hero.


(Star Wars Spoiler Alert)


Unlikely Heroes

Unlikely heroes are among the most popular kinds of heroes because they tend to be the most relatable. Most of us don’t feel like we could be heroes, but a lot of us wish we could be. To see someone like us, with the same disadvantages as us, plucked out of their normal everyday life and brought into an adventure where they somehow manage to save the day is one of the most inspiring kinds of stories. And there’s a lot of ways it can go wrong.


Going back to what I said about the ‘What If’, if you take someone who can’t fight, and put them in a situation where they have to defeat a master martial artist in order to save the world, the Natural Conclusion is: the world ends.

The audience knows that. They know you have to take the story that Step Further that sees the protagonist somehow pulling it off, but it’s in the Step Further that I think a lot of writers make unfortunate choices.


Methods of enabling the Unlikely Hero to succeed


  1. Just make it happen

This is of course the laziest solution, and it tends to be obvious and put off audiences. A problem I’ve seen too many times is writers making their villains so powerful that there’s no reasonable way the hero can win, and then the writers just make it happen anyway. It’s the reason the Emperor has no defense against being picked up by a one-handed Darth Vader. It’s the reason Darth Maul is suddenly paralyzed when Obi-Wan jumps over him.

The audience knows that the only reason the hero won is because the storyteller wrote it that way. It would not have happened without the writer’s intervention.

That may sound silly, because of course the story was written by someone. But when you’re telling a story – a gripping, immersive story – the point is for the audience to get so caught up in the story that they feel as if it’s really happening. They should, at least for the duration of the story, forget that you exist. That’s the goal of a truly immersive story. But putting in outcomes so unlikely that the audience knows they wouldn’t have happened without the writer’s intervention, reminds them that they are reading/watching a work of fiction, and suddenly the illusion is lost. If they know that the hero is going to win no matter what, then why does any perilous situation after that matter anymore. The Tension is lost. Game over.


  1. They’re the Chosen One

I would generally (but not universally) recommend against this. It has its merits if done right, but in most cases it just tells the audience that the unlikely hero is going to magically become a likely hero and save the day automatically. It is then impossible for them to lose. Game over.

There are versions of this where being the Chosen One does not mean automatic victory – it just means they are the best choice available. Most cases of a “chosen one” tend to be linked to a prophecy though, and prophecies have a nasty habit of breaking tension in stories. A good way to get around this may be to replace phrases like “you are destined to do it” with phrases more like “you are the only one who can”. This still places responsibility on the character to live up to their supposed potential, rather than removing all sense of worry, and can feed into the inner struggles of Reluctant Heroes (which I’ll discuss in the next post).


  1. Training

This is the route I recommend most strongly. Without creating a prophecy of victory or making it just happen, training allows the hero to have both a chance of winning and a chance of losing, thus maintaining the tension. You do still have to make sure they train properly for the particular challenges they will face.


  1. They are given a powerful gift

This is best done in combination with training rather than on its own, just because of the messages it sends depending on how you do it.

As much as audiences want to see a protagonist overcome significant challenges, because it makes audiences feel as though they can too, the story loses its impact if the victory makes no sense, or if it is attributed to something unattainable like pure dumb luck or outside forces. Hard work, intelligence, quick thinking, perseverance and various positive character traits that play into the struggle are much more significant to audiences as reasons for the hero’s victory. Being given a magical weapon as a free gift from someone outside the circumstances of the story is not as significant as the protagonist searching for the magical weapon, overcoming obstacles and earning the weapon themselves, or discovering the power within.

Storytelling. Unlikely Heroes. Writing Heroes.



Examples of Unlikely Heroes…


Rocky Balboa

Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit

Sarah Conner from The Terminator

Ripley in Aliens

Emmett from The LEGO Movie


For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.

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Cause and Effect in your Story

Domino Effect

In the next few posts I’ll start talking about how to write Heroes and Villains. Before I do though, there is an important aspect to establish first in your storytelling, which will help you to recognize if your heroes and villains are even making a difference in your story.


(Raiders of the Lost Ark and Aladdin Spoiler Alert)


I don’t know if there is already a name for this principle, but it goes like this: You can determine the relevance of any item in your story by analyzing how the story would unfold differently if you remove that item.

This was brought to light in a tangible way by a particular episode of The Big Bang Theory titled “The Raiders Minimization”. It analyzed the film Raiders of the Lost Ark and realized that the character of Indiana Jones held no actual relevance to the unfolding of the story. With Indiana Jones in the story, the Nazis acquire the ark and the ark kills them. Without Indiana Jones in the story, the exact same thing would have happened. So his presence in the story makes no difference, so he is irrelevant to the story. He accomplished nothing. I’ll talk more about that film at the end of this blog, but first, the principle of Cause and Effect is worth discussing in detail.


For the record, in order for the hero to be a hero, they have to accomplish something. Something useful. You don’t want to tell a story where your hero is irrelevant, because then they’re not really a hero. This is why “and then the police showed up” is not a popular ending, because then the police are the hero, and your character is just someone who managed to not die for two hours. Now the police showing up in the end is tolerable if that was the hero’s entire goal from the beginning, because then you’re making it an integral part of the game – the tension. And the game is over when the police show up. But you want the hero to be the cause of the police showing up. You don’t want your audience to believe that the police would have shown up anyway if your “hero” had not been around.


In light of this principle, you want your hero to be somebody who shows up and solves a problem that already existed before they came onto the scene. I.e. there’s a crime spree going on in the city and the police don’t have the man-power to stop them. Then your hero shows up and is able to stop them, or joins the police squad and gives them the help they need to put an end to the crime. You want your hero to make a positive difference.

Likewise, when writing villains, you want your villain to be somebody who makes things worse by their presence, or by the decisions that they make when they come onto the scene. You want everyone in the story (or the good guys at least) to be worse off because of the villain’s existence.

And at the end of the story, if the hero defeats the villain, you either want everything to be back to the way it was before, or you want things to be better because of the continued work of the hero. But you don’t want a scenario where things are better because of something the villain did. That would be to give credit to the villain for the good way that things turned out in the end.


A film that does this principle extremely well is Disney’s Aladdin. Consider how the story changes by removing certain elements from the story. In each case everything that should have relevance has the right kind of relevance. Let’s analyze it one piece at a time.

First, the villain. Without Jafar, there is no threat to the kingdom, so the city of Aggrabah is better off without him, although the princess is still lonely either way. Since he is in the story, he controls the sultan through the hypnotic properties of his staff, and he is able to force a marriage between him and princess Jasmine against her will and rule the kingdom. With or without the existence of the lamp, he is still a problem for the kingdom.

Aladdin is the hero, and like a proper hero he saves the day. True, without him in the story, Jafar never would have been able to get the lamp, but even without the lamp, Jafar is still able to marry Jasmine against her will and rule the kingdom because of his hypnotic staff. But Aladdin is the one who recognizes what the staff is doing, and Aladdin is the one who breaks it, removing Jafar’s power. And even with the lamp in play, Aladdin still has the wisdom to trick Jafar into trapping himself with his greed.

So with or without the lamp, Jafar still wins as long as Aladdin is not around. With or without the lamp, Aladdin still saves the day. Which brings us to the lamp. The fact is, the lamp is unnecessary. It makes the story more interesting, but it really isn’t necessary for Aladdin to be the hero – and that’s the whole point of the film.

Some might say, “But without the lamp, Aladdin would not have gotten the girl.” But don’t forget, Aladdin and Jasmine had already met. They were in his hideout and having a special moment. Aladdin was about to get the girl. The only reason that moment was interrupted was because of Jafar chasing him down, which only happened because he was looking for the one who could get the lamp for him. Without the lamp, Jafar never ruins that moment. Aladdin gets the girl, the girl brings him home, Aladdin see what’s going on with the scepter, breaks it and saves the day, the sultan rewards him by revoking the law that Jasmine has to marry a prince, and everyone lives happily ever after. Even better, Aladdin never goes through that whole mess of thinking he has to be somebody else in order to win Jasmine’s heart. They just fall in love naturally.

That’s why the movie is called “Aladdin” instead of “Aladdin and the Magic Lamp” as the story is normally called. Because the lamp isn’t the point. The lamp doesn’t save the day. The lamp isn’t the hero. Aladdin is.


In summary: nobody’s perfect, but a hero by definition should (at the very least) solve more problems than they cause. And a villain, by their own choices, should cause more problems than they solve.


If I may go back to The Big Bang Theory’s analysis of Raiders of the Lost Ark for a moment, I look at the film a little differently. Yes, all their points about the ark and the Nazis are valid, but without Indiana Jones in the story the girl would have been tortured and killed, or at the very least tortured and taken prisoner. In fact, even if she had somehow survived all the way to the end of the film, she still would have died along with the Nazis when the ark was opened. The only reason she didn’t die is because Indiana Jones told her to keep her eyes closed. So in my opinion, the point of Indiana Jones is not to defeat the Nazis, or even to acquire the ark. The point of Indiana Jones is to save the girl.

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.

Storytelling. Cause and Effect. Writing Heroes. Indiana Jones.


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Tension Killers put, tension is the only reason your reader will turn the page. It’s the only reason a viewer won’t switch the channel. Without tension, you lose the audience.

So what is tension? It’s a question. “Will this happen or won’t it?” “Will something different happen?” Every single scene requires some kind of tension in order to keep the audience interested, and every story needs an overall tension that remains (preferably) unresolved until after the climax, or even until the credits roll.

The best way to understand tension (and equally important, to understand tension-killers) is to think of it as a game. There is something your protagonist wants, and something is in their way. The game (the tension) is them trying to get what they want and dealing with all the obstacles in their way in order to get it. And the game should not be over until the story is over.

Now here’s where some stories miss the mark. A game is only a game as long as there is a chance that you can win, and a chance that you can lose. If there is no chance of winning, then you check out. If there is no chance of losing, then there’s no excitement. The tension only exists as long as the Protagonist has both a chance of winning and a chance of losing. And here’s the thing, it’s not about what you the writer know (because you already know what happens), it’s about how the audience perceives things. Even though you already know whether the hero wins or loses, it should still be able to go either way in the audience’s mind.

This is why it is not a good idea to make either heroes or villains with god-like powers (unless the opposing forces have something of equal power or know the character’s weaknesses). Because if the hero has infinite power and the villains are all weak, then in the audience’s mind there is no chance of the hero losing. Game over. And if the villain has god-like power and the protagonists are just normal people, then in the audience’s mind they have no chance of surviving. Game over. This is why Superman needs Kryptonite in order to stay interesting.

Storytelling. Tension.

Audiences generally assume that the protagonists will win, even when the odds are stacked “impossibly” against them. Because that’s how the majority of stories go. But here’s the thing – when the writer creates a situation where the audience knows, logically, that there is no possible way for the hero to win, the audience at that point concludes that the story can only go one of two ways. Either the hero loses, logically, or the writer is going to make up something random and stupid that changes the situation so that the hero wins anyway. I have seen this happen many times, where writers made their villains way too powerful, and then had to make up some ridiculous weakness so that the hero still wins. Audiences don’t like that. And if you create a situation where there is no logical way that the hero can possibly win, you will find that audiences lose interest because they know that either things won’t go the way they want, or things will go the way they want but only for ridiculous reasons. If those are the only two possibilities then audiences lose interest.


My next post will discuss how to make sure each element in your story has the right kind of significance for the right reasons, and whether your hero is really a hero or just a bystander.

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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The Message (Part 3 – Consistency)

Iron Man 3Whatever your message, make sure the story you are creating (the world, the characters, the events) is actually compatible. I’ve seen writers completely change characters part way through, or change the way that their world works, in order to try to accommodate a particular message.

The most commonly occurring example of this error is when writers, in an attempt to show their support for the gay community, will take a character who we’ve known for a long time and who has thoroughly displayed a heterosexual disposition and the writers change the character to make them gay, and then say that the character was gay all along and was just pretending to be straight.

Now to be clear, I’m not saying that writers cannot or should not do this. In real life people come out all the time. But there are right and wrong ways to do this, in order to get the message across more effectively. When writers decide to do this with a character then they should plan ahead and write that character in such a way that the change and explanation is believable. A lot of writers do this very well. Oscar on the American version of The Office never did anything contradictory to his orientation before it was revealed, so it did not seem against his known character when he came out. Aunt Patty on The Simpsons, on the other hand, is a prime example of how not to do this. Patty had been established as heterosexual for a long time, due mainly to her fixation on MacGyver but also including an episode early on where she dated Principle Skinner. Then, in the sixteenth season, the writers decided to change her mid-way. They at least dropped some hints leading up to the episode, and in so doing they tried to prepare ahead of time for the revelation that she was lesbian (which was a wise move), but in so doing they had to go against what had already been known about the character since the show began.

The point of these episodes, in most cases, is the message that people are born this way and should be accepted for who they are. The message doesn’t work when the characters were created one way and then changed partway through the story for the sake of convenience. It flies in the face of the point the writers were trying to make.

There are times when such changes can be made to characters midway, but you as the writer have the responsibility of checking what the audience already knows about the character, and making sure that any revelations you want to bring about are not a clear contradiction to anything that’s already been established. Heck, even bicuriosity would be believable in many cases – the character experimenting just because they’ve reached a place in life where they feel unsure or they’ve rediscovered something. Patty’s coming out would have made more sense if it had been a gradual discovery on her part, carefully analyzing her own interests and then naturally coming to that conclusion, but the writers went with the statement that she had always been into women and there was never a change. Her long-lasting fixation on MacGyver was phased out of the show because it no longer made sense, but it also meant that you had to ignore the earlier episodes.

Recently the comic book community was in an uproar because Captain America revealed that he had been a Hydra agent this whole time. That simply doesn’t make sense, and the fans know that. Not because it’s weird for a character to switch sides, but because we’ve seen things from Captain America’s perspective, and we know that it doesn’t fit his views of himself or the world. The revelation asked people to ignore what they already knew for the sake of a plot twist. Fans were understandably upset.

When we’ve already seen things from that character’s perspective and they are clearly one way or another, and then you ask the audience to ignore all of that for the sake of pretending that they had always been another way, then you lose the confidence of your audience. Why should they take anything you say seriously after that?

In summary what I’m trying to get across is this; any time you have to change the way things are in order to make a point about the way things are, you nullify the point you were trying to make. The audience can sense when something is off or out of character, and anything you were trying to say through those elements will end up meaningless.

Don’t change your characters for the sake of a message. Know the nature of your characters, and how they fit with the message you want to tell. Or if necessary, add new characters. In either case, the message comes across much more believably when the characters are true to themselves. Because people may not relate to a message for its own sake, but they’ll relate to the characters.

Storytelling. Consistency. Message. Moral.

In my next post on Storytelling, I’ll talk about what Tension is, why it’s important, and what kills it in a story.

For more on these and other writing topics, The Storyteller’s Handbook is available for purchase now.


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