Taralkariel's Writing Blog

You spend so much time creating a character because you want them to feel real. You want to connect with them and use them to create an experience for your readers. Their character arc is how that happens.

Don’t miss out on these essential turning points that make an arc feel not only whole, but complete.

1. The Inciting Incident

Your inciting incident gets your plot moving. It isn’t going to be the first sentence of your story (also called your hook), although it could be if you crafted your first sentence for that purpose.

An inciting incident is a plot event that guides your character in a new direction. It’s the successful prison break, the meeting of instant rivals, or the moment your protagonist wins the lottery in your first chapter.

Without the inciting incident, your protagonist’s life would carry on as usual. They wouldn’t start the arc that makes them an interesting person for the reader to stick with throughout your story.

2. Introducing the Protagonist’s Main Flaw

Every protagonist needs a primary flaw. Ideally, they’ll have more than one. People aren’t perfect and they rarely get close enough to only have one negative characteristic. Protagonists need that same level of humanity for readers to connect with them.

There are many potential flaws you could consider, but the primarily flaw must be the foundation for your character’s arc. It might even be the catalyst for the story’s peak.

Imagine a hero archetype. They’re great and well-intended, but they have a problem with boasting. Their arc features scenes where they learn to overcome their need to brag about themselves, but they get drunk and boast in a bar right before the story’s peak. The antagonist’s best friend hears this because they’re at the same bar, so they report the hero’s comment to the main villain. It thwarts the hero’s efforts and makes the climax more dramatic.

Other potential flaws to consider:

Arrogance

Pride

Fear

Anxiety

Carelessness

Dishonesty

Immaturity

3. Their First Failure

Everyone will fail at a goal eventually. Your protagonist should too. Their first failure could be big or small, but it helps define them. They either choose to continue pursuing that goal, they change their goal, or their worldview shatters.

Readers like watching a protagonist reshape their identity when they lose sight of what they wnat. They also like watching characters double down and pursue something harder. Failure is a necessary catalyst for making this happen during a character’s arc.

4. Their Rock Bottom

Most stories have a protagonist that hits their rock bottom. It could be when their antagonist defeats them or lose what matters most. There are numerous ways to write a rock-bottom moment. Yours will depend on what your character wants and what your story’s theme is.

If you forget to include a rock-bottom moment, the reader might feel like the protagonist never faced any real stakes. They had nothing to lose so their arc feels less realistic.

Rock bottoms don’t always mean earth-shattering consequences either. It might be the moment when your protagonist feels hopeless while taking an exam or recognizes that they just don’t know what to do. Either way, they’ll come to grips with losing something (hope, direction, or otherwise) and the reader will connect with that.

5. What the Protagonist Accepts

Protagonists have to accept the end of their arc. They return home from their hero’s journey to live in a life they accept as better than before. They find peace with their new fate due to their new community they found or skills they aquired.

Your protagonist may also accept a call to action. They return home from their journey only to find out that their antagonist inspired a new villain and the protagonist has to find the strength to overcome a new adversary. This typically leads into a second installment or sequel.

Accepting the end of their arc helps close the story for the reader. A protagonist who decides their arc wasn’t worth it makes the reader disgruntled with the story overall. There has to be a resolution, which means accepting whatever the protagonist’s life ended up as—or the next goal/challenge they’ll chase.

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Hopefully these points make character arcs feel more manageable for you. Defining each point might feel like naming your instincts, but it makes character creation and plotting easier.

You send the thing out and maybe someone reads it and something moves in them and they have no way to tell you exactly what moved or why and you have no way to know if it was the thing you meant or something else entirely.

You're working in permanent uncertainty about whether any of it lands. and you keep going anyway. you have to develop this strange faith in the act itself, in the value of the attempt separate from the outcome, because if you need confirmation every time you sit down you will never sit down.

the good news: I know my process enough to recognize this as the slump that I hit in everything I write when it's like three-quarters-ish done

the bad news: the only way out is through

the good news: I do know the way out!

From Neill Cameron’s Twitter:

I was working recently with a bunch of kids who kept tearing up their own drawings in frustration, so I did something I’ve not done before.

I talked honestly to a classroom full of children about how much I hate my own drawing.

Okay, not the full extent. These kids ain’t ready to hear that. But that I do.

They were kind of appalled, and horrified and fascinated, but anyway, they stopped tearing up their drawings.

As I attempted to explain it — and many of you reading this will know already — when you make a drawing, there are two versions of it.

There’s the version that exists in your head, and then there’s the version that ends up on paper.

And because you can see both versions, you can’t help but compare them, and feel frustrated by the difference.

But here’s the thing, and I think it’s easy to forget this: no-one else can see that first version.

They can’t judge against it. They can only see, and judge, the version that exists on paper.

And you know what, this sounds crazy, but they might actually like it for what it is. They might think it’s cool that you made it.

I mean, holy god, if you guys could see the version of Mega Robo Bros that exists in my head.

Your eyeballs would melt and your heart be burned away by sheer divine fire of amazingness.

But the differences between that version and what’s on the page are only visible to me, and shouldn’t — can’t — matter to anyone else.

If a draing goes a bit wrong, ah well. Look at it, learn, try and make the next one better.

Or, possibly even better: abandon false objective notions of quality altogether and just enjoy the process, the activity, of making a thing.

Not quite how I phrased it to the Year5s, but hopefully you get the idea.

IN SUMMARY: be kinder to your drawings, and yourselves. I know, it’s hard. But try.

it doesn't need to be perfect, try not to expect it to be

the hypothetical feeling of unfulfillment you're trying to avoid is nothing compared to the shame you'll almost certainly feel if you end up not trying at all

it's easier to pick up from step 1/10 than step 0/10

if you need to get moving and are currently not moving, try moving in an unrelated way. do something else. literally anything else outside of The Thing just don't stay frozen

From what I can tell, there are only three universally applicable pieces of writing advice:

Read a lot (mandatory)

Show your writing to people (mandatory)