Why Does It Feel Like My Characters Suck?

Because you write characters so unbelievably oblivious to their own thoughts that the story loses its hidden spark.

Ever find yourself staring at an empty page, wondering what you should have for dinner tomorrow instead of finishing your first draft? Or obsessing over mental checklists of what events needed to happen in a particular scene—of what dialogue needed to come out of a character’s mouth?

The unpleasant truth is when you’re trapped in this mindset, you’re not allowing your character to exist beyond the page; you’re forcing a rigid sequence of events (that you just want to happen). Besides your characters seeming too “on the nose” in certain scenes, the story’s stakes become less impactful, characters’ motives are overdeveloped, and sometimes it’s almost as if your character is dragged along the plot like an accessory. Despite all of these glaring issues, you just can’t put your finger on why this is happening for some odd reason.

Okay, that was a lot. Hopefully a tear isn’t rolling down your rosy cheeks from how close that hit home.

Trust me, I’ve been there. The issue is pernicious, almost invisible to most writers still learning. When I first began my writing journey, I quickly grasped the idea of “themes” and “lessons” that should be embedded in my storytelling, and that my characters were the cornerstone of my stories, but it took me a few years to completely internalize what that genuinely meant. There isn’t a writing hack that’ll patch up your story like a bandaid. The real solution is in your mind.

Yes, just like those kung-fu movies, but we’re not doing any meditation. Instead, we need to empathize with your character. But what does it mean to empathize with a character?

Think of your story like a box. A near-limitless, boundless box—but a box nonetheless. Now imagine your character and all their mannerisms, their histories, and their desires, then swap that box with the setting and the subject with yourself. How do you interact with the environment as they would? Do you interact at all? Maybe the sight of a hairpin spurs the memory of your (i.e., your character’s) bedridden sister at the infirmary, or you (your character) just really, really don’t want to chat with this bartender and would hit him in the face instead.

“Wait, but that wasn’t in the outline!”

It doesn’t have to be. The box also represents the limitations you have in mind as the author. I’m not saying you can’t follow any sort of plot structure, but allowing your character to be motivated by their emotions often makes stakes and desires more authentic. You might even learn about new quirks or experiences they have. This method gives your character the spontaneity they may need so that their desires are given the proper chance to surface and walk the path paved for them at their own pace.

Beginners might be confused about why I’m so fixated on characters dictating the story. The main component to an interesting plotline is the emotions of your character. Something I was reminded of by a colleague is that a conflict with a bigger axe or faster ninja won’t entice the reader to turn the page by itself. Emotional stakes will. Let that guy keep the smaller axe, but include that his wife is struggling to carry his unborn child. If you’re careful enough to get a bit crafty with the adversary too, the reader will sit up from their chair. Interesting how that works, right? Characterization can go a long way.

To complete my point, I want to draw from a real-world example. Well, a real fictional example. Umamusume: Pretty Derby is an anime originally developed by Koichi Watanabe about girls imbued with the souls of horses. I know, I know, it’s a silly show that seems like it would offer little to no educational value. They have horse ears, eat carrots, and kick people when they’re startled—the whole shebang. Depending on who you ask, "ridiculous" would be an understatement. But in spite of its off-kilter premise, the characters are exalted for their quirks and shenanigans, proving how elemental strong characterization is to writing. You might be surprised to learn that each of these characters also race and struggle similarly to real-life horses of the same names.

It’s a cute, or as the Japanese would put it, “kawaii” show. However, I want to focus on episode eight of season one. Grass Wonder, a rival horse girl to the protagonist Special Week, is recovering from a fracture in her right leg that prevented her from racing. She warms up on the turf, running a few practice laps around the course before discussing the results with her trainer, Hana Toujou.

She does not receive an ideal reaction from the trainer. At most, Hana offers disappointment gilded with encouragement. Hana Toujou compares Grass Wonder to Special Week, pointing out how Special Week had stolen the public spotlight from Grass Wonder and that Grass Wonder shouldn’t think about anything she doesn’t have to. Grass Wonder takes it well but something is obviously wrong. It becomes clearer during lunch when Special Week praises her friend’s recovery progress at the same table as Grass Wonder but fails to acknowledge Grass Wonder’s ongoing recovery.

Grass Wonder’s frustration reaches its apex when she faces Special Week in a G1 race. Despite Special Week’s motivation to win in her friend’s place, Grass Wonder surges past her and steals victory by several lengths. This is the part I want to highlight: at the finish line, Grass Wonder utters words that seem a bit solemn and even mean-spirited for such a silly series. “I was able to give it my all because I was up against you. Did you give your all against me?” Special Week, unaware of Grass Wonder’s pointed anger and frustration, doesn't even have a response.

Why would a show as lighthearted and colorful as this include dialogue so dark, with Grass Wonder stomping on the upbeat protagonist’s cheery outlook? To find the answer, we need to zoom out and put on our author glasses. Besides proving that even innocuous stories like this benefit from emotional stakes, the entire scene builds off Grass Wonder’s actions and emotional state. We understand that she isn’t just a mean-spirited rival for the main character, but another character full of the same emotional complexity as the protagonist, deepening our investment in the plot stakes. She won because she was more determined than Special Week and in the future you can probably expect the latter to win in a rematch after she learns to “give it her all.” So much meaning packed into a single comment.

That said, this line of thinking made me wonder why the emotional stakes in my stories seemed to stop with conflicts. They shouldn’t; they should persist throughout the entirety of the book, hence empathizing with your character.

So follow your outline, but prepare yourself to slightly wander from point A to B. This will allow an intriguing personality to write themselves inside your box! Whether it’s an ominous horror or a scatterbrained comedy, this intuitive approach will undoubtedly enhance your story.

Let them exist, let them think, let them breathe! Just be careful when they reach through the page to rip your throat out. That's above my pay grade.

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