Character Therapy—Nowhere to Hide

Therapy should be mandatory for writers, or at least a Psych 101 class. I'm not saying we're mentally unhealthy, but I am putting a firm flag in the ground that we will be better writers if we understand the human mind.

Bottom-line: How can you grow your characters if you don’t understand psychology—what damages people to the core and how to help guide them to a fulfilling life?

In order to emotionally evolve a character, you need to be able to identify why he has chosen not to evolve prior to the moment in time your story begins. The change in your characters from start to finish showcases the theme of your story and makes their journey relatable to the readers.

But it's also about business. When you pitch an exec, they not only want to see a great concept and loads of opportunities for conflict, but they also look for character evolution. Why should we root for this person?

Every amazing story has a complex character who pulls us in.

Take it from the pros. Scott Myers has an entire book about the importance of character in creating plot. Christopher Volger and Michael Hauge have long discussed discovering your characters' wounds. But to be able to use their advice to the fullest, you need to do more than pinpoint a flaw. You need to analyze where the flaw came from and why it’s still present.

Many moons ago, I was a regular at therapy. Honestly? I learned as many writing lessons as I did personal ones. I'll give you an example.

At one session, my therapist challenged me to identify how I learned my coping skills. That was an ah-ha moment that hit me like a two-by-four aside the head. I immediately raced home, mind spinning about not only my own childhood dysfunction, but also that of my characters.

How did they learn to cope when their worlds were falling apart?

Coping skills are unique to each person. When we are young and in a situation that scares or challenges us, how we cope depends entirely on how safe we feel in our surroundings. Children rarely stand up to adults, so they either trust them blindly or freeze in fear of them. But when we become adults ourselves, we often don't adjust our manner of coping.

Changing those coping mechanisms is impossible unless you can identify them. They are ingrained in us, and ingrained in our characters.

Let’s keep it simple and stick to discussing how analysis relates to our protagonist and antagonist.

In life, whether we realize it or not, we attract people who are familiar, which often means we attract those who mirror people from our childhood—people who either scarred us or who loved us. If our childhood is full of people who ripped apart our self-esteem, we’ll attract those who keep us in that familiar place of insecurity. The opposite is true if we are surrounded by love and support.

Who would your protagonist attract into his inner circle?

You might be tempted to surround him with angelic good guys, but do you really think his life was that boring? And if his life was indeed that dull, your readers would be asleep in five minutes. Let’s face it, today’s audience is too savvy for a remake of "Happy Days."

What is it about the protagonist that might have attracted the antagonist to him? Does the bad guy subconsciously remind your hero of the very person who inflicted his childhood wound? I say “subconsciously” because if he’s conscious of it, there’s no room for discovery and evolution.

Let’s now put your antagonist on the couch.

Obviously, this dude has flaws. But beyond his sexy, bad-boy traits, there must be something humanizing in him. After all, everyone is born pure. However, if you saw We Need to Talk About Kevin (which I highly recommend), that theory might be debatable. But for the sake of this exercise, let’s assume the stork dropped off a perfect bundle of gooey goodness.

What happened to him along the way that marred his potential?

Find that, and you can create rich layers in his story. There's nothing better than when a writer lets us see the vulnerability in a villain.

Even if your antagonist is a rotten, serial-killing scoundrel, try to make the audience see a little bit of themselves in him when he’s on screen. Even Hannibal Lecter got the audience ... and maybe even Clarice ... to root for him.

Now, apply that type of analysis to all your supporting characters. The more layers you can add to every single character in your story, the more invested your readers are going to be, and the better the talent you’ll attract to the roles.

And what about your own desire to spend time with these characters on the pages? I doubt many of you would want to pull a bar stool up and chat the night away with a one-note stiff. Boring does not a compelling story make.

You gotta get real. Seriously. Don't hold back. If I sat on my therapist’s couch and only shared my healthy qualities, she’d be yawning. Instead, I spilled my ugly sins, fears, and flaws, leaving her frantically scribbling in her notepad, truly wanting to help me learn and grow.

She rooted for me to change, but I couldn't change until I make a conscious choice to do so.

If your characters don’t make different choices than the ones they would have made in the opening scenes, your story won’t advance or have meaning. Your characters have to overcome their internal demons—and you have to stop protecting them.

That's the thing about demons, fear, angst, and uncertainty; we can't hide from them. No matter how deep we stick our heads in the sand, our fears will consume us and leave destruction in their path. It’s their whole purpose in our lives. It’s why challenges exist. What will you do when you hit that roadblock?

That's why we create those flaws for our characters—to add conflict to the story.

I always say I have never learned anything from my successes. All of my lessons have come from being on the floor, shattered. I could either get my ass up and keep at it, or lie there, doomed to fail. I had to make a choice. Survival required it.

Your story means nothing if your characters fail to grow. Force them out of hiding.

Start by visualizing yourself across from a therapist, probing you with questions. Will you lie? Will you keep repeating mistakes? Or will you choose to evolve? If your character had your problems, what would you tell her to do?

My guess is you would push her to change.

My two cents—you’ll never be able to evolve your characters if you haven’t experienced being ripped apart, bawling on the bathroom floor, broken, metaphorically naked and lost.

Maybe the best practice in writing great characters is to learn how to evolve yourself. What you'll learn could change your life ... if you're willing to be honest.

Change is frightening, but it’s essential for growth and happiness. The same is true for your stories and for those fictional people you get to play with every single day. Sit one of them on the couch today and ask the tough questions, imagining how she would answer, or if she’d squirm, holding back the tears.

Most importantly, really push your characters. I double-dog-dare you to find the question that would make your antagonist cry. As my therapist always said, it’s what makes you cry that shows the real wound.

There’s no way around the hard work of self-exploration and growth, both in your life and in your art.

*Feature image by fran_kie (Adobe)