There Oughta Be a Flaw

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director, Southern Writers Magazine

In virtually every story we write, it's a given that we will give our hero challenges to face.  Those obstacles we put in his/her path are likely to be external in nature, delivered by either circumstances or an antagonist.  But we can increase the drama further by slipping in some internal struggles for our hero too.

Besides making our protagonist more lifelike, a character flaw has the power to add the fascinating element of irony.  A hero who becomes the guardian of his brother's kids will have a worse time of it if he had vowed never to have children.  An eyewitness in a murder trial will find it harder to testify if he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

The "inner demon" doesn't have to be anything illegal, immoral, or fattening.  It can be a guilty conscience, a moral dilemma, the fight between the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.  Anything that creates personal turmoil is material for mayhem.

It can feel against the grain to make our hero imperfect, especially if we write in first person, because our own voice is inherently caught up in there on some conscious or unconscious level.  If it helps distance you from your character, seek out a trait you don't possess.  Need some ideas?  The Seven Deadly Sins could be a source of inspiration.  If you can remember all seven and don't have to look them up, more power to you.  I can usually only remember the ones I've gotten good at.

If you're totally uncomfortable giving your beloved hero a flaw, consider a vulnerability instead.  What's the difference?  One would consider chronic grouchiness a flaw, whereas a fear of heights is a vulnerability.  Simply put, a flaw is something we can change; a vulnerability is something we can't.  It's not Indiana Jones' fault that he's afraid of snakes.  (Although I suppose he could get therapy for that.)

Depending on what you're going for, a vulnerability can elicit sympathy more than a flaw.  By the same token, a flaw is something you can work into your character arc.

The most unflawed character in all of fiction would probably have to be Superman.  Here's a guy who possesses superhuman powers and uses them for the public good.  Yet he is vulnerable to kryptonite, much less the designs of a femme fatale who steals his invincible heart.  If Superman didn't possess qualities that could weaken him, he would be as plastic as the toys made in his image.

Whether our protagonist is a "hero" in the truest sense of the word, or an underdog who must rise from the ashes, we give our story layers by including an Achilles heel above and beyond the main conflict.  The reader may not have personal experience with a tsunami or a kidnapping, but everyone knows what it's like to be human.

Isn't It Ironic?

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director, Southern Writers Magazine


When George Bailey decides to drown himself in It's a Wonderful Life, he ends up saving someone else from drowning instead.  Over the course of the story, George realizes his life isn't worthless after all, but rather has had positive impact on everyone around him.  Irony such as this adds a touch of magic to fiction; a poetic twist of fate that makes it bigger than life.

In truth, life itself is full of ironies, so we identify with this fictional device. Ever since Greek tragedies, storytellers have sought to heighten the drama by pitting characters and situations against themselves.

There's enough irony in Titanic to sink a ship. The rich girl doesn't want her rich suitor; she loves the poor immigrant boy. Many on board were looking to start a new life, only to have no future at all. There were too few lifeboats available because something like this was never going to happen, much less on the maiden voyage.

In The Wizard of Oz, everyone puts their hope in a wizard who isn't a wizard at all. Dorothy, who runs away from home, only wants to go back home.  Her traveling companions long for a brain, a heart, and courage, when it turns out they had them all along.

More recently, The Fault in Our Stars features a character who likes to keep a cigarette in his mouth but never lights up, in metaphorical defiance against the cancer causer. 

There is irony in a flawed protagonist.  All super heroes and detectives have at least one serious Achilles heel.  To makes matters worse, costumed crusaders from Spiderman to Zorro can't reveal their secret identity to the people they love most, and are often blamed for something they didn't do.
 
Contrast is a particularly popular form of irony.  A messy roommate drives neatnik Felix Unger to distraction in Neil Simon's The Odd Couple.  Even Sesame Street's Bert and Ernie were a pint-sized pair of opposites.  From The King and I to My Fair Lady to Downton Abbey, there is fascination in seeing different cultures and classes clash.

How many romances start out with the two lovers despising each other?  (Besides all of them?)  Indeed, we wouldn't be quite as interested if it was love at first sight and remained smooth sailing through the tunnel of love.

Similarity can be just as ironic as contrast.  We see it in a child who takes on the negative characteristics of a parent, or a sidekick who comes to the rescue by using a skill the hero taught them.

The very jokes we tell make us laugh through irony.  We are surprised by the punchline because we were expecting something else.  Why did the duck cross the road?  Because it was the chicken's day off.

Irony comes in many different forms, and creates interest instantly. We can give a story more layers and more complexity with the simple addition of this very easy device.  How ironic is that?