The Making of a Hero or Heroine
By Donald Maass | October 2, 2019 |
By now, it’s pretty obvious that the days when the fiction shelves were dominated by straight white males are long, long over. Women authors may feel that reviewers review them differently, or literary awards are unfairly distributed, but there’s no question that women authors are more than holding their own in sales in every bookstore fiction section there is. Even better, multi-cultural and marginalized voices are being published as never before.
Name a cultural background, gender identity, disability, or condition and there is a novel the protagonist of which represents that. Homeless? Abused? Foster care? Immigrant? Refugee? Undocumented? Poor? Overweight? Anorexic? Scared? Deformed? Ugly? Dwarfism? Deaf? Mute? Autistic? Asperger’s? Brain damage? Illiterate? Impulse control? Phobias? Depression? OCD? PTSD? Addiction? Suicidal? Terminal illness? MS? Cerebral palsy? Clubfoot? Amputee? Stutter? Narcolepsy? Photo-sensitivity? Shooting survivor? Hate crime? Trans-racial? Prisoner? Ex con? Dead?
Yep, there’s a protagonist for that.
But good as that is, for fiction writers it raises, or ought to raise, a question: Is being represented as protagonist the same as being a hero or heroine? Is “represented” enough? Is it all that’s needed? Don’t all protagonists deserve more? I think they do. All protagonists deserve a promotion. All deserve a place in the pantheon of literary heroes and heroines, but they won’t attain that stature unless fiction writers know how make it happen on the page.
When last I wrote of heroes and heroines in our multi-cultural, inclusive literary era, I suggested that heroism in stories has its basis not in heroic actions, in the traditional sense, but in self-awareness, overcoming self-doubt, hidden goodness, and the ability of a hero or heroine to rise. Those are durable and utile traits, I think. They explain certain craft puzzles. Self-awareness, for instance, explains what makes it okay for us to like dark protagonists.
More recently, though, I’ve come to believe that what makes a hero a hero, or a heroine a heroine, is founded not exactly in what they do, but in what we feel about them. If you think about it, characters do not assign themselves the label of “hero” or “heroine”. We do that. They may earn the role, but we award them the title.
When we think of heroes and heroines, we tend to imagine that those roles belong to warriors and martyrs. Lone champions who journey outward to quest, slay and save are heroes. Suffering victims who journey inward to face wounds or injustice or misunderstanding, overcome those and achieve wholeness are heroic. True enough, yet it’s also true that not every warrior makes us cheer nor does every martyr fire in us compassion and resolve.
Heroic actions are by themselves not enough to earn from us a rousing huzzah, nor is slaying inner demons sufficient to yank from us a sob of relief. Those responses do not arise from quest, courage or the ultimate victory. They are feelings in us, as readers, which begin with hope, grow with fear, and finally explode in joy because prior to that our hopes felt impossible, our fears were very real, and the possibility of joy was nonexistent.
A New Understanding of Story
We sort stories into genres. It’s convenient and helpful. Story templates and patterns are useful too. However, when we use the heavily loaded words “hero” and “heroine”, we may secretly suspect that certain story types have an advantage. The Hero’s Journey, in particular, may seem inherently superior to other story types. The journey toward wholeness may also have higher status. Give us a thriller hero who saves the world, or a women’s fiction heroine who saves herself. Anything less is…less.
Actually, it is not a genre or story pattern that provokes in us the feeling that a character is a hero or heroine. Our high admiration or heartfelt ache arises for different reasons. To understand how, it’s first useful to re-frame our understanding of story types and how protagonists operate within them. Forget for a moment genres and templates. For now, let’s break all fiction into two broad categories, stories of Fate and stories of Destiny.
Fate and Destiny might seem like synonyms. The thesaurus implies that they are, but for our purposes they describe radically different story patterns. Stories of Fate are about what befalls a protagonist. Bad things happen to a protagonist; a protagonist must cope. Stories of Destiny are about a call to action or adventure; a protagonist is summoned forth to act upon others or to alter the world. One type is about missiles incoming; the other is about lances outgoing. Characters in each story type journey differently, according to different needs and for different ends.
Stories of Fate push protagonists toward the hardest thing to face. Stories of Destiny push protagonists toward the hardest thing to do. Stories of Fate are about finding strength. Stories of Destiny are about finding courage. Stories of Fate inexorably send protagonists inward, on an inner journey to heal what is wounded and relieve what burdens them. Stories of destiny propel protagonists outward, there to defeat what is threatening and to discover themselves. Stories of Fate settle the past and reassure us that the future is safe. Stories of Destiny awaken us to a cause, inspire us to action, and assure us we each can make a difference.
Obviously, these story types can blend as they do, for instance, in WU’s own Barbara O’Neal’s most recent release, When We Believed in Mermaids. California ER doctor Kit Bianci is shocked when she sees in a TV news segment from New Zealand, fleetingly, in the background, the face of her sister Josie whom she has believed dead for the last sixteen years. Kit must journey to Auckland to find her. However, the sisters are burdened with back story wounds and burdens, which must be brought to the surface if they are to reconcile and if Kit is to thaw her frozen heart. Thus, there is both a quest and a healing, an outer journey and an inner journey, a Destiny and a Fate.
Certainly, it would be a mistake to believe that stories of Destiny are mostly made of slaying outer dragons, or that stories of Fate are mostly made of slaying inner demons. Not so, or not entirely. Stories of Fate, when strong, give protagonists something big to do. Stories of Destiny, when strong, give protagonists something big to discover about themselves. Fate protagonists who only wallow and whine may reach a resolution, but they will not finally feel worthy. Destiny protagonists who only shout and swing swords may win the day, but will wind up feeling one-dimensional. No matter what the story type, both an outer and an inner journey help.
How Heroes and Heroine are Really Made
The feeling that a protagonist is a hero or heroine, though, as I said does not come from finding strength or summoning courage. It comes from the fear that the protagonist might not. The hero or heroine effect is built not through action, but in laying the groundwork. In particular, it is planting in the reader’s mind an expectation and hope, and then deliberately causing the reader to fear that said expectation won’t the met and said hope will be dashed.
When they’re not…hooray! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a hero or a heroine! Cheering. Tears. That would be nice, right?
Our focus, then, is not on what a protagonist might do or face, but what a protagonist might not do or face. The method is to establish the harrowing task to accomplish, or tough truth to accept, or both, and then create a myriad of reasons why a protagonist can’t, or won’t, and doesn’t (not yet) slay the dragon or the demon. Courage is lacking. Resolve is weak. Failure is going to happen, but then a catalyst will release what’s needed.
Most of all, the storyteller’s job is to make the reader hope, then make the reader fear. A protagonist must. A protagonist can’t. A protagonist fails. A protagonist finds strength. Finds courage. Rises—and acts. A hero or heroine is born. Joy.
Okay, let’s make this practical. Here are some questions to get you going:
Stories of Destiny
To what task is protagonist called? How? Who appoints him or her? Why is your protagonist the one—the only one—who can do what needs to be done?
What is the biggest thing your protagonist will have to do at the story’s end? What will make that difficult? More, what will make it impossible? What does your protagonist lack?
In preparing, what shortcoming of your protagonist becomes obvious? How is that shown? Who besides your protagonist has doubts about his or her ability? Who has steadfast faith? What must your protagonist learn, and why is it the one thing your protagonist never learned before and can’t learn now?
Along the way, how does your protagonist screw up? How does that prove what he or she lacks, or what he or she has failed to learn?
At the critical moment or last chance, how does your protagonist utterly fail? Who else is crushed? How humiliating can you make it? How public a defeat?
What crisis or catharsis or overwhelming loss leaves your protagonist both wrecked yet also free to change because there is nothing left to lose? What does he or she discover about self that he or she wasn’t able to see before? What does he or she learn? How can he or she now change?
How symbolically does he or she let go of the original goal but, at the same time, find a new one? What is the better path, the better way? What works? How does your protagonist win after all?
Stories of Fate
What disaster befalls your protagonist? Why is it a calamity, the worst thing that could happen? What will be wrecked? How does it undermine your protagonist’s safe, ordered world? What steps does he or she immediately take, and how do they fail or even make the problem worse?
What unhealed emotional wound does your protagonist have? What burden of guilt does he or she carry? What is its source? How has your protagonist suppressed and avoided what hurts? How and why is he or she “perfectly fine” (until now).
In what way is your protagonist weak? How does he or she cover up or compensate? What is the scariest thing for your protagonist? How does he or she avoid that at all costs? How do we see that in action?
What is the first test of your protagonist? The second? The third? How does he or she fail, or win a false success? What does he or she fail to see about himself or herself? What is he or she powerless to change?
How is your protagonist finally forced to go up against the situation? Who is behind him or her? Who is betting against him or her? How does your protagonist ultimately fail? How does that prove that your protagonist’s weakness is permanent?
What crisis or catharsis or overwhelming loss leaves your protagonist empty, yet also able to face what is broken or burdened inside? What does he or she discover about self that was missing before? How does he or she face the past, it’s perpetrator(s) or whom he or she has wronged, and show that he or she is no longer afraid? Who backs down or apologizes? Who shows understanding and forgives? How are the demons vanquished?
How does your protagonist now re-frame the calamity and approach it in a new way? Why does that work? What is the most symbolic way in which he or she can win after all?
As you can see, making heroes and heroines is possible in any kind of story. It isn’t about who they are or what they do, but what they aren’t and what they can’t. It’s about slaying dragons and demons, sure, but first of all failing and then, through struggle and loss, finding the strength and courage to succeed.
It’s not only about winning, it’s also about losing—and change. That’s how heroes and heroines are made.
How are you building a hero or heroine? Who are the heroes or heroines you’ve met in your recent reading?
[coffee]
Donald Maass (he/him) founded the Donald Maass Literary Agency. in New York in 1980. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004), The Fire in Fiction (2009), The Breakout Novelist (2011), Writing 21st Century Fiction (2012) and The Emotional Craft of Fiction (2019). He has presented hundreds of workshops around the world and is a past president of the American Association of Literary Agents (formerly AAR).
Thank you Donald! You post is instructive and inspiring, as always. It also touches upon a struggle I’m having with my current WIP. My protagonist is a young white female lawyer who is struggling against the racist beliefs held by her parents and her peers. Part of her own transformation involves her assistance of an African American female who is on death row in Alabama, (where they don’t provide court-appointed lawyers for their death row inmates). I am very concerned about my protagonist falling into the “white savior” category that I understand is frowned upon, but it is my belief that racism is still alive and well in this country, perhaps now more than ever, and that ignoring it won’t make it go away. Would you mind weighing in on this issue, as it relates to heros and heroines? I will also add that the woman on death row is in many ways a heroine herself.
White protagonists crusading against racism in the South have been around for a long time. Harper Lee, John Grisham, Greg Iles are a few authors who come to mind.
In our age, is it fit and fair to tell a story in which only a white person can save a black person? Obviously not. Which is not to say that white protagonists don’t want to battle, however perhaps your true story is not about the helplessness of black people, but the helplessness of white people.
Put differently for your protagonist, what fear must he or she face not outside but inside? Perhaps you are not writing a story about saving a black victim of injustice, but a white attorney finding courage?
In any event, I don’t think it’s wrong to condemn an unjust legal system from any perspective. I also think it’s important not to portray black Alabamans as passive victims. We left that thinking and those stories behind long ago.
(I certainly hope others will chime in here–please do.)
Your comments are insightful. You are exactly right. The story is about the attorney finding her courage and identity, and saving herself. Thank you!
I am building a heroine using Hallie Ephron’s Writing and Selling Your Mystery novel. I’m developing the adversary role today and now, after your post, I understand the deeper why behind the need for many of Ms. Ephron’s suggestions. Reflecting on the questions you list for the Stories of Destiny I totally recognize the structure of a mystery, and I realize now that the depth of character that I enjoy in some of my favorite mysteries are related to this sort of set up.
I’m currently reading a book that is the most bizarre cozy mystery I’ve ever read. My disbelief was un-suspended long ago and the only reason I’m trying to finish it is to see how all these weird, tangential threads get pulled together (or if they do.) The characters are flat and seem to be walking through the book perfunctorily, and I can see that there isn’t much internal struggle. The protagonist says the right things, and talks about her internal struggles, but I don’t ever see her failing and then having to rise up. I thank you for a very timely post in the development of my current story. I’ve been wondering what makes that difference, and I think you answered my question. :)
Well, okay! You’re welcome. BTW, Hallie will be pleased to hear that you’re using her book. It’s a good one.
Don, this is fascinating. As I read I kept asking where my protagonist fit, trying to see her as one or the other and knowing that wasn’t true. At the same time, even if I say she’s a blend, what jump starts her story – fate or destiny? As soon as I read your two questions at the end it was clear that for Pen it is the disaster, not the task that changes everything. I love the clarity and simplicity of this, and I love the homework you’ve set with the questions.
I’m in Sligo, awaiting Hurricane Lorenzo, so this is an ideal time to work on those questions. Thanks!
I’ll use this at next year’s workshop.
Hi, Carol. Sligo, you say?
WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.
–W.B. Yeats
Show off.
When I wrote my comment I was in WB’s Coffee House!
Weather the hurricane well! Have done so myself, they are awesome (if destructive) experiences.
Fortunately Sligo is in the yellow warning area, not the orange. My original plan had me going to Clifden in Galway today – right on the coast in the worst area…
Wow, there is a LOT to unpack here. I was really struck by the way you’ve differentiated fate and destiny. In particular, this is freaking beautiful:
“One type is about missiles incoming; the other is about lances outgoing.”
Damn. Well said, Donald.
On that note, I’m currently binge-watching the TV series “12 Monkeys,” which constantly explores the concept of fate, but I see now that it is looking at both fate AND destiny, and how they apply to both willing and reluctant characters. Good stuff.
Thanks again for giving us SO much to think about!
Welcome, Keith.
I’ve often conflated the two–fate and destiny–and it’s interesting to think about how my MC, who seems to be predestined for a certain type of life given her background, is able to break out of the mold. Lots to chew on here and I really like how you push us with your questions. You’re a true teacher, Don. Thank you.
Thanks. I used to conflate those two ideas too, but the more I thought about it the more I see they’re not the same.
Don, Fate versus Destiny is a really insightful and useful new way to look at story. Thanks. And thanks for the reminder to read Barbara’s new one. I’ve already downloaded it, and nearly forgot.
It’s a Barbara story so *of course* there are wounds to heal! It’s interesting how she pays out backstory in this one. There are dead characters (in the present) who are so alive (in the past).
Plus, there’s surfing.
My protagonist, a teacher, was originally having a difficult conversation with a detective. Thanks to Writing the Breakout Novel, I had her arrested at the end of the conversation. After reading this, I’m going to parade her past her students in cuffs.
Outstanding! Love that.
You’re right. Fate and destiny are often intertwined. In the manuscript I’m querying, fate befalls my MC and she scrambles on the defense. When she discovers a pattern of events and suspects her family is in danger, it becomes her destiny to rise to the challenge of seeking the truth to save them from a desperate psychopath, even if being wrong about everything would seal her fate.
“Along the way, how does your protagonist screw up? How does that prove what he or she lacks, or what he or she has failed to learn?” — A great reminder.
Thanks for sharing!
You got it, Susie, write on!
I’ve jut begun outlining the second book in my series and am coming face to face with new characters, some of whom are already giving off whiffs of latent heroism. Right now, they seem like the most unlikely ones to me, but apparently not to the girls in the basement. I just read in Robert McKee’s ‘Story’ about the importance of balancing the ups with the downs for a protagonist, creating narrative thrust by making sure the ‘will she or won’t she?’ factor is there. Also, I’m reading the Hunger Games for the first time and am seeing a very flawed heroine-in-the-making. Thanks as always for inspiring and informing us.
There is so much to learn from The Hunger Games. Truly, a masterpiece of our times.
After years of rewrites, of seeing truth in your workshops while at the same time believing in my story–this post outlines the challenges and choices that I force my protagonist to face, to make. Your words about crisis and then your questions about what is broken force my heroine to discover so much that is missing: her ability to acknowledge the mistake that has shaped her life and to discover that because of it, she has grown to love and give way beyond what she was called to do. Thanks, Don.
Welcome, Beth.
Hi, Don:
Another mind-expanding post. I’m preparing a talk for the History Writers of America conference coming up next month about changing ideas of the self over the course of literary history. One of the themes that remains constant from ancient times to today is to what degree are one’s actions defined by things beyond his control — by fate or biology or economic factors or his unconscious — and to what degeree are they under his own control. It’s a problem we’ve never really solved, just reformulated.
But one formulation stands out, and has since Heraclitus proposed it 2600 years ago: Character is fate. Put differently, one cannot escape the consequences of one’s character, over which he has but limited control.
Although modernity has argued for far greater latitude in our ability to be “molders and makers of ourselves (Pico della Mirandola, ~1486), recent research in neurobiology points toward a far greater role of the unconscious in our decision-making than we previously understood.
All of which gets back to your Fate vs. Destiny distinction. The ancients heavily emphasized the role of fate, for their lives seemed overwhelmingly dictated by forces they didn’t understand. As our capability to comperehend the world and ourselves increased, so to did our notion of how much latitude we had in shaping our own lives.
Tragedy as an art form has only flourished at two times in history — ancient Athens and the Renaissance — both eras when a divine understanding of the world gave way to a humanisitc one, i.e., when the balance between fate and individual will was moving toward the individual, with a sense of dread at what could happen if one defied God or the gods. The term hubris originally meant defying fate, not arrogance.
Your distinction seems to address that same tension, and I might remark, then, that your concept of what makes a hero is the potential for not just an unpleasant but a tragic consequence to what they feel they must do. And it is precisely the tragic nature of human life that lends our actions their gravitas, i.e., their capacity to rise to the heroic.
Sorry for the long-winded approach, but I hope the payoff was worth it.
BTW: your distinction or fate as what happens from outside and destiny as what arises from inside reminds me of the old saw that there are only two plots: A Man Goes On a Journey (destiny) or A Stranger Comes to Town (fate).
Can’t wait to hang out at the UnConference.
It’s my birthday, so this is a nice present. I love that you make me think. When we have that beer, let’s talk about archetypes. I’ve been thinking about them and their utility, also their limitations, in fiction.
See you soon.
Don, Destiny vs Fate, yes (or Destinate, as I like to call it). I hadn’t thought of those filters, but I can see them as a structure in a book of mine where a vet who had years back estranged his family and become homeless through his alcoholism (his seeming fate) becomes—through a tangled and troubled series of events (his destiny)—a VERY reluctant mentor and even father figure for a businesswoman who has been concealing her alcoholism.
That he’s older and black and she’s younger and white is a lever in the story as well.
You gave some great questions to drive a narrative too. Thanks.
Pretty cool, Tom, if this post is helpful I’m glad.
There are basically two kinds of stories: entertainment – and identification that allows a reader to live a different life from the inside of a character.
There’s nothing wrong with entertainment – life is tough enough for us to need relief.
But stories that get under our skin, allow us to feel along with the character, give us what people who don’t read fiction miss: the opportunity to be someone else.
These stories are much harder to read because they require us to react as the character, to believe the character’s choices, to live, for however long, that other life.
But we get so much more satisfaction, especially when we can agree with the author’s choice of ending.
‘People remember what you make them feel’ is my version of the aphorism.
Well now, not to be too self-promotional, but just to mention, I did write an entire book on the topic, called The Emotional Craft of Fiction. “People remember what you make them feel.” Yes indeed.
Your books are ever at my fingertips. I can’t let them wander any farther away.
Thank you. Just what I needed to read. I’ve written and published 1 literary novel and another out 2020. Now I’m switching genre and working on a trilogy about a wizard. I’ve done a lot of research. Reading your article clarified my thinking about the main character. I think he is fated. Good food for thought. I enjoy Writer Unboxed. Thanks for that, also.
“Most of all, the storyteller’s job is to make the reader hope, then make the reader fear.”
This is the area of novel-writing I’m concentrating on now. Getting into the reader’s head in order to force their reaction to each scene and set them up for the next one is hard for me.
Thanks for the discussion on Mermaids. I’m just now catching up on posts.