What Makes Timeless Fiction Timeless
By Donald Maass | July 3, 2024 |
There’s no getting around it. Times change. Authors worry about that. Specifically, what if one’s novel becomes dated? Details will do that. Bell bottoms. Flip phones. My Space. Will those someday require footnotes? More to the point, will one’s novel still be read in the future time when such footnotes will be necessary?
The fact is, we read and are affected by novels written in eras long before our own. Next year, The Great Gatsby will be one hundred years old. To Kill a Mockingbird will be 65. Pride and Prejudice will be 212! The authors of those books lived in and were shaped by their eras. All authors are. It’s inescapable. Your fiction will reflect your times, and in turn your sensibility and concerns. The era in which a given novel is written is locked in.
That’s true even when novels aren’t contemporaneous; when they are, let’s say, speculative or historical. For instance, read the science fiction of the Golden Age. Its vision of the future is particular to the dreams and problems of the people of the 1930’s and 1940’s. Historical fiction meanwhile can be revisionist, granting to people of former times attitudes which are more common in ours.
Every genre of story reflects, and evolves with, its times. Indeed, if they are to survive, genres must adapt. So, why worry about that? It’s pointless to fight who you are as an author, or to imagine that your upbringing, circumstances, beliefs or experiences won’t be detectable in your stories. Like it or not, you are a child of your times and that will be reflected in your novels and should be.
Then again, all authors hope that their novels will be read long after they are written; maybe even long after they are gone. So, given that you are inevitably a child of your times, how can you speak to readers in the future when it is certain that their times will be different than ours? If it’s not the times that make a novel timeless, then what is it?
Here’s the answer. What makes novels timeless is not what must inevitably change but that which never changes: people.
Not Just Anybody
That probably sounds like good news. Every novel has people in it. Your WIP has people, doesn’t it? If people are the answer, you’re all set, right?
Not so fast. If it were that simple every novel would be timeless, and obviously that’s not true. It must be, then, that there is something different about timeless characters. There is. Timeless characters aren’t just anybody. They are in one way or another, all of us.
What I mean by that is that timeless characters exemplify and elevate some aspect of what makes us human. They are heightened. Timeless characters have one notable quality. Or, they exemplify some way in which we wish to be. Or, they experience what we dream about or fear the most. Or, they are subject to social forces. Or, they pointedly illustrate the human condition.
Timeless characters stand in for us but are larger than we are. They take journeys that we cannot. Where we get stuck, they struggle and triumph. We live in a muddle; their stories achieve meaning. Timeless characters are deliberately shaped and supersized to make human qualities and experiences greater in stories than they are in reality.
That may run counter to the assumption that the ideal character is Everyman or Everywoman or Every Person. After all, isn’t the point to create characters with whom readers can identify? Whose anxieties, struggles and circumstances are the same as yours or mine? Isn’t that how a concocted character becomes real to us?
Realism, ask me, is a misleading term. It’s true that shared sensory cues and emotional situations are the two ingredients necessary for readers’ imaginations to be activated. However, verisimilitude alone only creates a documentary approximation of life. When readers’ minds and hearts are lifted, as we wish, a story does more than that. Timeless stories soar above the ordinary to show us what is extraordinary; most especially, how we humans are, what we can become, and what we are capable of.
Take the protagonist of the anonymous Medieval play, “Everyman”. Is Everyman just anybody, as his name would suggest? No. The very first thing that happens to him is that he learns that he will die. Think about that. Facing death does not occur at the play’s climax. It’s the inciting incident. The plot problem is that Everyman must find someone to accompany him to Heaven, where he will be judged by God. That is to say, he must find a character witness. One by one, his friends fall away. Only one friend is stalwart enough to make the journey, face the final judgment with Everyman, and secure his salvation. That friend is Good Deeds.
Everyman doesn’t live every life. He faces death and judgment. He seeks a companion for the journey. Through that process, he learns a lesson. He undertakes the self-reckoning that we all go through, or should, and his story achieves meaning for us all. Notice also that Everyman’s story is also pared down. It is heightened and shaped. Its characters each, quite literally, stand for some human attribute or quality. No wonder that the play is still read and studied today.
The greatest characters in literature, classic and contemporary, embody our highest aspirations, greatest goods and our deepest darknesses. They are singular, which is not to say simple but rather recognizably stamped to highlight some dimension of human nature or some aspect of human experience. They are us, but more so.
What Timeless Characters Represent and Demonstrate
What I’m talking about is demonstrable if we consider characters whom we remember. Off the top of my head, here are some characters who become all of us by being, in some way, one big giant slice of us:
We are orphans (Oliver Twist). We love impossibly (Romeo & Juliet). We are reticent (Elinor Dashwood). We are smartass and smart (Hermione Granger). We sacrifice ourselves (Katniss Everdeen). We are full of mischief (The Cat in the Hat). Nothing ever goes right for us (Charlie Brown). We are obsessed (Captain Ahab). We have high principles (Atticus Finch). We are cocky, impulsive and stupid (Greg Heffley). We are grumpy (Ove). We are lovable airheads (Holly Golightly). We are loyal friends (Sancho Panza). We are unreliable (Nick Dunne). We don’t measure up (Rebecca). We are runaways (Huckleberry Finn). We are too easily tempted (Edmund Pevensie). We covet (Scarlet O’Hara). We never give up (Inigo Montoya).
Hopes: We long—some of us—to be princesses (Mia Thermopolis, Cinderella). We dream of getting revenge (Edmond Dantès, Lisbeth Salander). We burn to fight injustice (Mitch McDeere). We would like to be brilliant and insightful (Sherlock Holmes). We would love to argue effectively (Perry Mason, Micky Haller). It would be swell to be tough and two-fisted (Sam Spade). Who doesn’t want to be brave (Nancy Drew)? If we could, we would visit the past and the future (Simon Morley, Time Traveler in The Time Machine). We fantasize about getting rich (Martin Dressler). We imagine finding buried treasure (Jim Hawkins, Santiago). We’d like to live forever (Lestat). We wish to be strong and true to ourselves, particularly if we are girls (Jo March, Laura Ingalls, Ramona Quimby).
Fears: Abduction and imprisonment (Ma in The Room). Wrongful conviction (Richard Kimble). Mistakes (Raskolnikov). Losing our humanity (Andy Dufresne). Being horrible people (Thomas Covenant). Confined in an insane Asylum (Randle McMurphy). The future (Scrooge). Organ theft (Susan Wheeler). Ghosts (Arthur Kipps, countless others).
Social forces: Social outcast (Jay Gatsby). Scapegoat (Piggy). Hypocrisy (Hester Prynne). Pressure to marry (Beatrice). Conformity (Anna Karenina). Stereotyping (Ifemelu, Oscar Wao). War (Robert Jordan). Religion (Henry Dampier, Stephen Kumalo, Offred). Poverty (Pip). The Cold War (Smiley).
The human condition: We get caught in dilemmas (Starr Carter). We are chained to a rock (Sisyphus). We eternally travel a road leading nowhere (the nameless father in The Road). We could die at any moment (Pi). We wonder about the paths not taken (Nora Seed). In a bad world, it is useless to be good (Jon Snow). Are we subjects in a horrible experiment (Thomas the Maze Runner)? The leader is all powerful and cannot be defeated (Winston Smith). We are strangers to ourselves (William Monk, Jason Bourne). We hold onto unreasonable hope (Sarah Woodruff). We are alone (Roland Deschain). We endure (Celie).
I could go on. So could you, I’m sure. My point here is that timeless fiction presents us with characters who dramatically and powerfully enact…
- Who we are
- What we dream of and aspire to be
- What we fear and fear to become
- The social and historical forces acting upon us
- Our existential condition
Timeless Construction
Timeless characters don’t arise by accident. They are written one word at a time but authors for whom those characters have a purpose. Those characters may be based upon real people, reflect the best of or truth of who we are, or be pushed to become who they become by circumstances. All of that is fine.
The point is that such characters are made. So, how can you make such a character? How can you elevate the protagonist you’ve already got in your WIP? What are the methods of lifting characters out of the pack to become characters whom we remember and who will be read about for a long time?
As is so often the case, the method really is to ask the right questions.
Question: What is the one fundamental trait, value or quality that most defines your MC? Reduce it to one word. That is your character note. That is all of us.
Questions: For a minute, separate your MC from your plot. Considering this person as a human being, what is the biggest, most glaring way in which this human could act which would be an unmissable demonstration of that trait, value or quality? What is this person known for? What could this person do that will be remarked upon for years? Can that behavior or action be part of your story? Can it be central, the action on which the whole story turns?
Questions: Given this behavior, what are its temporary benefits and permanent consequences? Who admires your MC for behaving this way? Who wants to discourage, quash or destroy your MC for being this way? How does that behavior challenge or change the status quo? Considering that, whom else in the story will never change or never be the same?
Questions: To what does your MC aspire? Of what does your MC dream? That is the aspiration and dream of us all.
Questions: For a minute, separate your MC from your plot. Considering this person as a human being, what is the biggest, bravest and riskiest way in which your MC could pursue that aspiration or reach for that dream? What would be admirable but impossible? Who would help and cheer, and who would work to ensure failure? What is the greatest difficultly, the challenge that squarely hits this person’s greatest weakness, and the single act that would signal success? Are these things already part of your WIP? You think so, but are they really? Come on now, really? If not, why not?
Questions: Of what is your MC most afraid? What situation or circumstance would be the single most shameful, humiliating or full of anguish? What personal failure is too painful to imagine? That is our universal fear.
Questions: What would trap this person into the worse possible situation or circumstance? What would push the torment to the extreme? Who would look to this person for relief, rescue or salvation? What courage is required but lacking? How would weakness or fear ensure that this person would stumble, succumb and fail? What is the secret source of strength? What is the simple solution that was there all along? Can these things be enacted in your WIP?
Questions: What social pressure or historical force is at work in the world of your MC? What tells us that such a force is in the air, on people’s minds, and requires action? What one public event, treat, tragedy or disaster is a result of that pressure or force? How can it affect your MC directly? What unavoidable choice can it require of your MC? That is the inescapable force that is bigger than us. Use it.
Questions: In what way is your MC a product of the times? What attitude and behavior is trendy, right, revolutionary and a change from the past? What extreme action does this lead your MC to take? Who approves and encourages, who disapproves and punishes? What is the unintended consequence of that action, and the unexpected good? Who is the champion of the past, the conservative voice, the enemy of change…and how can that person attack your MC? That is the energy of our (or any) times, evident in your story.
Questions: What is the existential condition or dilemma of your MC? What would make that stark, obvious and, actually, the only problem? What situation would put any of us into that same condition or dilemma? What is the inescapable box or prison, the endless road, the island, the nowhere place, the false utopia, the cruel dystopia, the broken realm, the horizonless sea or desert, the voyage with no end, the sinking ship, the lifeboat, the trap, the frame-up, the blackmail, the corrupt city, the unstoppable enemy, the living nightmare, the obliterating secret, the endless loop, the impossible choice or any other symbolic circumstance or setting that stands in for the human condition? That is our existential truth.
Conclusion
You might think that I’m saying that timeless characters should be exaggerations, more like comic book characters. I’m not. In any event, it is the writer’s job to make extraordinary people in extraordinary circumstances, doing extraordinary things, nevertheless feel human and real. But at the same time, do we want to read about characters who could be anyone, who do what anyone could do, or whose woes and stories are really no different than the woes and stories of our neighbors, our families or ourselves?
For today, let’s leave it with this. If there’s one truth which we can assert about great storytelling it’s that timeless characters are not ordinary.
How might your current protagonist become primarily one thing, representing above all one human quality, one dream, one fear, be subjected to one social pressure, or be the ultimate example of our universal human condition?
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).
[coffee]
Hey Don — I had the opportunity recently to speak at length to an acquaintance at a birthday party. He was just a bit younger and had recently picked up LOTR for the first time. Having learned this, the host introduced the poor guy to the area’s resident geek, naturally. He was almost through Fellowship and had never seen the movies. Such an unusual circumstance these days. The thing he noted? The friendships. Which I found really interesting, since the central friendship of the tale is that of Frodo and Samwise, and Tolkien purposefully designed it to resemble that of a WW1-era British junior officer and his batman. I mean, who refers to their best friend as Mister and Sir? I think Jackson sought to magnify the friendships in the films, and make them feel more “modern.” But it’s there, even in the original text, over 80 years later. Timeless.
I think one thing I had going for me with Vahldan was that the character sprang from how he’d been remembered. Not just by those who knew him, but by society at large. The fact that he was revered and reviled, depending on who you asked, made for an intriguing starting point. I don’t disillusion myself that this makes the story timeless. But it certainly made for a fascinating exercise for the author! Thanks, as always, for keeping me thinking.
Vahldan at first acts for honor, but winds up challenging the (corrupt, self-serving) alliance of tribes, a challenge for which he is not ready but for which he is given unexpected help—from a warrior more skillful than he, a woman.
Who among us has not been ready for the task? Who has not had to get help? Who has not had to humble himself in order to find the way to succeed?
Another round of timeless questions to consider. Thanks, Don.
Timeless characters do seem like a paradox — larger than life, but relatable. I think one key to that might be that they do so well at *exploring* what drives them, so as we follow their story we start to see how a person really could be shaped that way. In one sense their choices and influences map to what we would make, and how we’d have to be blocked and inspired to push us on as far as this character goes; at the same time we stay aware their differences and cut them some slack for “Well, she’s Everygirl but more suspicious of people” or whatever it is. Great Gatsby and To Kill A Mockingbird do the work to put us in those worlds; Pride And Prejudice has whole rafts of imitators that show how hollow “period marriage fiction” can be without that vital clarity.
Agreed, Ken. Larger than life is great but better still when we know why. Good point.
This one is a keeper. Thanks for the roadmap of things to contemplate as I try to figure out what to write next (I think I may finally have a new premise/theme to play with, but the protag and story remain elusive).
If you’re starting with premise but looking for protagonist, you might try asking who is the one person who would least likely to be called to the task, is least capable, least ready? That’s one approach
When I think of a timeless character, I remember children in grade school who stuck out. The one always picked on. The cool kid whose parent never supervise and so that child experienced things other kids wish they could. The super smart kid everyone was jealous of and had no friends. Maybe these real people can be jumping off points for development of timeless characters.
Hi, Dawn. Not long before his death, the New Yorker published a number of John Updike’s recent poems, one of which, “Peggy Lutz, Fred Muth,” speaks directly to what you wrote:
They’ve been in my fiction; both now dead,
Peggy just recently, long stricken (like
my Grandma) with Parkinson’s disease.
But what a peppy knockout Peggy was!—
cheerleader, hockey star, May Queen, RN.
Pigtailed in kindergarten, she caught my mother’s
eye, but she was too much girl for me.
Fred—so bright, so quietly wry—his
mother’s eye fell on me, a “nicer” boy
than her son’s pet pals. Fred’s slight wild streak
was tamed by diabetes. At the end,
it took his toes and feet. Last time we met,
his walk rolled wildly, fetching my coat. With health
he might have soared. As was, he taught me smarts.
_____
Dear friends of childhood, classmates, thank you,
scant hundred of you, for providing a
sufficiency of human types: beauty,
bully, hanger-on, natural,
twin, and fatso—all a writer needs,
all there in Shillington, its trolley cars
and little factories, cornfields and trees,
leaf fires, snowflakes, pumpkins, valentines.
To think of you brings tears less caustic
than those the thought of death brings. Perhaps
we meet our heaven at the start and not
the end of life. Even then were tears
and fear and struggle, but the town itself
draped in plain glory the passing days.
_____
The town forgave me for existing; it
included me in Christmas carols, songfests
(though I sang poorly) at the Shillington,
the local movie house. My father stood,
in back, too restless to sit, but everybody
knew his name, and mine. In turn I knew
my Granddad in the overalled town crew.
I’ve written these before, these modest facts,
but their meaning has no bottom in my mind.
The fragments in their jiggled scope collide
to form more sacred windows. I had to move
to beautiful New England—its triple
deckers, whited churches, unplowed streets—
to learn how drear and deadly life can be.
Updike’s last collection of poetry is powerful. The poem he wrote while dying, asking words to stay with him a little longer, slays me.
Unsupervised cool kid? Ferris Bueller, a favorite in our house. I think you’ve got the idea.
I am going to print this one out, Don. You’ve outdone yourself. I have 9 house guests so no time to fully expand, but wow, thanks.
Agreed, Barbara, though I have no house guests to blame for my not delving deeper. Printing it out now.
Coming from The Barbara, that means the world to me. Thank you.
My protagonist in one word? Misfit. She yearns all her life to fit into the “normal” world, yet also knows it’s not enough for her. Her extraordinary skill has to stem from accepting who she is, who and where she is from, and embracing her uniqueness.
Thank you for getting the wheels in my head turning today, Don.
Wouldn’t know anything about being a misfit. No one in writing or publishing would, would they?
Seriously, question is…how big a misfit? How epic?
Thanks Don. Not only have you aroused my love of books I have read, but many I have not. Your post is a reminder to all my characters to be themselves with all their faults and loves. To allow them to stand out and not disappear and become one of a number. The very word Character implies a person of memory. “Oh, he’s a character!” Yes, that’s why we remember the kid in kindergarten who tried to lift up the girls’ skirts, bad boy who stood out. Thus we must ask who is a true character in our fiction???
Funny that the word “character” has multiple meanings: a person, and a quality heightened.
And, yeah, I’ve met a few characters in my time, and not just in novels.
I teach timeless literature for a living (Iliad, Odyssey, Bacchae, Antigone, Aeneid, etc.). The thing I’m still trying to figure out is why the literature is timeless but translations quickly date. I mean, the original Greek and Latin continues to stand the test of time, but translations seem to age. I’m not even talking Pope’s translation of Homer (18th cent). I still love Fitzgerald’s translations of Homer (mid-1970’s), but they began to fall flat on my students. When I switched to Lombardo’s late 1990’s (and now Wilson’s 21st cent. ones), the students came in with such a greater initial engagement and understanding. Same with translations of the tragedies and Latin. But I can’t figure out why the translations age more poorly than the originals. And these are good translations that engaged their contemporary audiences. What’s up with that?
That’s fascinating. In college for a paper I compared four translations of Beowulf to the Old English and it was remarkable the different flavors each brought. Some were authentic, accurate and stodgy. Others were energetic and fresh but less true to the Old English mindset.
Interesting question! Sounds like a paper for you to write!
Wonderful provocations, Don. You’ve got my wheels turning…
Keep ‘em rolling! When are we ever getting a new Walsh novel?? Sheesh. Been waiting…
Hi Don:
Like Barbara, I think this is far more to absorb and reflect upon than one reading can oblige. But a few things come to mind after just one pass.
What we consider “human nature” is also dependent on our era. Before Humanism, people consider themselves part of a fixed divine plan, and their roles were proscribed by that plan. Your Everyman would have been heretical at a time when Augustinian or Calvinist theology ruled the day. And depending on the preeminent technology of the time, the human mind has been likened to everything from a clock to a steam engine to a computer.
Aiming for immortality is a fool’s errand. Aim for what you believe to be true, to be beautiful, to be morally important. That alone is work enough. Leave the rest to posterity.
I think all your questions are valuable but also overwhelming. How can one write when confronted with such a formidable brigade of interrogations? (Perhaps using them during revision is a better approach?)
After my first wife died I realized I needed not just a reason to go on living but a way to do so, a moral compass, if you will. I also realized I am capable of complicating a god damn potato, and needed to simplify. So I decided to try, as best I can, each day, to be a bit more honest, a bit braver, a bit kinder. Trust me, that keeps me busy. And my characters are those struggling and sometimes succeeding at accomplishing what I often do not.
I do not in any way mean to diminish the inspiration you provide here. It is truly impressive. And, as I said, I will print out this post and return to it–most likely more than once. Thank you.
“Aiming for immortality is a fool’s errand. Aim for what you believe to be true, to be beautiful, to be morally important.” True that, David.
Overwhelming is my aim, glad to help you feel that! Seriously, though, I somewhat disagree about letting posterity determine what fiction endures. Novels aren’t written for posterity, true, but characters can be elevated in the writing, that’s my point. Anyway, another fun beer for us, yes, my friend?
“I think all your questions are valuable but also overwhelming. How can one write when confronted with such a formidable brigade of interrogations?”
Thank you, David — I thought I was the only one! My approach is to pick the questions that are most relevant to my story and characters. Otherwise they would be pulled in a dozen different directions.
Don, this was tremendous. Some of your examples delighted me because they were unexpected – Si Morley, Beatrice (assuming you meant from Much Ado, not Divine Comedy), and Sarah Woodruff. Si Morley especially struck a chord, as Time and Again is one of my all-time favorites. His need to keep going back starts with curiosity and develops into so much more, which is a huge part of why it’s such a deeply satisfying read.
I’m about to teach the 10th class of a 10-week WRW variation, and this post will be part of the class. It will actually dovetail perfectly with the character arcs I plan to show for the Robert Redford and Jane Fonda characters in The Electric Horseman – so many two-handed scenes and the development of their stories and their changes is incredibly clear – and timeless. Thanks for the bonus material!
Your post reminded me of a moment when I did an early reading from Smiling at Grief, in which one character acted from beliefs or values that might be considered archaic today. The group universally agreed it wasn’t believable, that no one would do that. I had to decide whether or not to give up what I considered an essential character value because others couldn’t buy it and dismissed it, or keep going with it because I believed, knew it to be timeless. In the end I did keep going with it, because I came to the conclusion that the problem wasn’t the value itself. Yes, it was rare in this day and age, yet not unheard of. I concluded the problem was in my writing, that I hadn’t written it well enough and had a lot of work do to.
I think that’s part of what you’re saying when you say not all characters are timeless. And I’m not claiming mine is. Sure, I hope so, but my point is that it seems to me what you are saying is it takes a great deal of work and effort to even approach timeless characters, and if you get there, it’s well worth it for you and the reader.
Thanks again!
Yes, that’s my point. Timeless characters can be made, not left to accident. Or at least they can be shaped in ways that are more like those characters that we know have endured.
Another timeless commentary, Don, and I’m not being ironic. Everything you say about what propels work to pass the test of time rings true. But here’s something else. In our time, given the weight of competitors for people’s attention, how many timeless works would remain in the public consciousness without being taught? Take away an ongoing commitment to literature in schools and universities, and what would you have?
Recently, the New Yorker ran a depressing think piece on the dying humanities in colleges and universities. Specifically, the death of degrees in English. To some degree, this slow death has been self-inflicted. When English departments demoted literature in favor of the criticism of literature, the results were only a matter of time.
The truth is, the reading of fiction, timeless or otherwise, must matter for fiction to survive. That is, unless we decide that fiction taking the form of audiobooks, films and mini-series, or even video games is survival enough.
Righto! I slogged along through so many of my lit classes in college in the mid-60’s, depressed by having to do so much “exegesis.” (I think this was the era of “New Criticism”) I’m sure it serves a worthy academic purpose, but for me it took the life right out of whatever I was reading. Aside from some necessary historical/biographical background, it seemed to detract rather than add to my appreciation of many great writers. (On the other hand, I loved my art history classes, during which we analyzed many centuries of art works from cave days to Pop Art, which was the Latest Thing at the time — and I was just delighted to learn what to look for in art instead of simply deciding something was pretty or not. But I am a writer, not an artist.) I believe that stories told in words, spoken, written, or acted, will always have an important place in human experience. Many of the contributors to this blog are decades younger than I am, and obviously enjoy the new media, but here they are working their buns off at writing novels and making many sacrifices to nurture their work into print (or digital readers).
To be clear, Grumpy, I too made my bones in the age of what was then called New Criticism, and I had no problem with that. It was in effect studies in close or careful reading. What I’m talking about replaced close reading of literature with the anatamization of “texts.” The study of lit gave way to pseudo-scientific methods and theories that did truly, IMO, work to drain away pleasure, and replace it with a kind of bogus rigor that thumbed its nose at qualitative judgment.
I could not agree more, Barry. Humanities are humanizing and we cannot let that go.
“How might your current protagonist become primarily one thing, representing above all one human quality, one dream…? For an older character, it’s legacy, living life courageously after a brother, full-of-life, dies young. For my younger protag, how to cope and live life courageously in spite of guilt.
Lots of food for thought here, Don. Thank you for this.
Living life courageously. Wouldn’t we all like to be doing that!
Definitely so. My most recent series keeps spawning more books because the characters keep bringing up more issues. I think I’m definitely done with it with the trilogy I’m releasing starting in August, but…what really made it jump into life was that one character (Gabriel Martiniere) stood up and said THAT’S NOT WHAT REALLY HAPPENED about his original characterization and, well…stuff spun off from there. Gabe’s resistance breathed life into the other characters, big time.
I love it when characters do that. Best of luck with getting “done” with your series. Sounds like that is not happening!