From Idea To Outline Part 1: Character
FROM IDEA TO OUTLINE
Part 1: From Character to Plot
A “How to Write” Essay
Series Intro:
This essay, and others in the series, is not really intended for people that improvise their books. Folks who work that way might get something out of it, of course, but they are not the intended audience. I am talking to plotters. Intensive plotters.
If you read books but don’t really write them, you might be interested anyway. You might gain a new perspective on how stories come together.
These techniques and processes come from a lot of sources, one of which is just my own experience. I have read almost every book there is on writing, I have read and written my share of fiction. What I won’t do is just give you a rundown how I personally prefer to do things. I’ll give you a set of techniques and tools that will hopefully help you: flesh out your outline; save time in editing; and have a better finished product. More importantly, I’ll be trying to help you understand things better.
If you already have a finished draft, you can still use a lot of these ideas when you are constructing your editing plan. For the purposes of this essay I will focus on novel-length genre stories with dynamic character arcs; so nothing too ‘literary’, but also nothing like classic James Bond where the static character just shows up for new instalments.
From Character to Plot
For many of us, the first nucleus of a story idea is a character that springs to mind as if from nowhere. We might have a mental image all in a flash: how they look, how they talk, what they yearn for, and how they dream. Or we might just have a vague impression of a type of character we want to try, and we flesh them out from there.
However the idea comes to you, this first essay is going to lay out where to go once you have got a character in mind. Every step will assume the character is fully realised and fleshed out, so the first step is to ensure that that is the case. I’ll also assume they’re your protagonist.
So what elements of character will impact the plot?
There are surprisingly few attributes possessed by characters that impact the plot. They ought to have varied and meaty enough to carry a story, but still they don’t amount to a huge list of dot points. They are, by my assessment:
- What is their external goal?
- What is their motivation—why do they want it?
- What lengths will they go to for that goal?
- What flaw is blocking them from getting it?
- What will it take for them to change their flaw?
If you are an act structure nerd (like me), you will probably notice that these character attributes line up almost perfectly with certain plot beats. More on that later.
The goal of these questions is that you get so familiar with them that you can see *through* your character to a plot on the other side, as if you have X-Ray vision. You can start to see what should be happening, rather than picking out random plot points that seem neat to you at the time (and later discovering that they fall flat).
Let’s pause for a second. Why did I choose those dot points?
Aren’t there a few questions missing? What about the character’s strengths? What about their childhood friends and their favourite sundae toppings?
I have chosen each of those dot points with explicit plot goals in mind. I certainly could have included a character’s strengths, but I have elected not to because a) most people already know their character’s strengths and b) it is easy to let your character’s cool strengths and powers get in the way of a compelling story. You are outlining right now; there is time to think of cool strengths later in the process.
What is their external goal?
This should be the first question you ask, and while outlining the plot you must come back to it. This question is what keeps your story focused. This is what will keep you from going off into the weeds with side-plots and side-characters that drag the pacing and waste everyone’s time. Even if you aren’t an outliner, if you keep a concrete goal in mind while improvising the story, 9/10 times you will have a much stronger first draft.
Indiana Jones wants to get the Ark before the Nazis get it. Romeo wants to be with Juliet, and vice versa. Walter White wants to sell meth to secure his family’s finances.
Before you get into the deeper parts of the character, you need to make sure that there is a goal they can a) actively pursue, and that b) is concrete and not abstract. If you have written an outline or first draft in which the goal is very fuzzy and either too abstract, or impossible to pursue, that’s okay. One of the most common plot frameworks that end up in a lot of writer’s ‘abandoned projects’ folder is what I call the Depressed Protagonist story. These protagonists are hard to write, and they can be done, but it would require its own essay to address. (I typed and deleted about 17 paragraphs trying just now…)
Let’s say you’ve written a character or outline where the central goal is too abstract, or impossible to actively pursue. You might be able to keep most of your plans intact if you can find a way to condense the nebulous goal into a really concrete one.
Say you have a lawyer who wants to reform some massive aspect of the legal system. Just give them one case that *represents* the change they want to make. Let their case be a baby step in progress—it’s still a hopeful story.
Say you have a knight who wants to ‘protect his homeland’. Give him one threat to go and fight. (Or many threats, if in series).
Whatever the goal is, boil it down to its essence, and make it something that can be pursued. Make it something that can be achieved or failed. Things like ‘justice’ or ‘peace’ are too big to grasp in a story. Just tweak it to ‘justice with this case’ and ‘peace at the end of this battle’. If you have a depressed or nihilistic character who ‘just wants to figure out life’, you must give them a concrete goal that centres around this question. You cannot just have a mopey, middle-aged accountant who has decided there is no meaning in anything. You *CAN* have a mopey accountant who, by night, is a graffiti artist. He might dodge the police, lie to his wife. He does it all for the cheap thrill because, well, nothing matters, right?
Remember: I’m talking about genre fiction, no literary fiction.
We don’t stray too far from characters that actively do things in genre fiction, and for good reason.
What is their motivation—why do they want it?
If you can answer this question in the outline stage, you’ll have a much better chance of sustaining the audience’s attention.
In many novels and screenplays, this question is answered explicitly somewhere between the halfway point and the final climax (sometimes earlier). The characters are often in a low-light setting, like around a campfire, and they’ve been through enough trials together to let their guards down. In Zombieland, this is the scene where Woody Harrelson wipes his tears with money. Whenever someone reveals their history, especially the loss of a loved one, it often comes at this point, and with the purpose of revealing their motivations.
It doesn’t have to go there, it just usually does.
Newer writers will not always recognise that the question must be answered much earlier than that scene. It just won’t necessarily be explicit to the audience until later.
In really top-quality stories, this ‘why’ question can often be the subject of the first scene, or of a scene somewhere in the first act. Think about ‘surrogate daughter/son’ stories. I am referring to Aliens and The Last of Us, here. You could also apply it to UP!
In surrogate child stories, somewhere in the first act, the protagonist loses a child. Then the plot ‘gives’ them a child to look after out of nowhere, as if by magic. Often the adult is ‘forced’ to look after the child, or they are at least reluctant.
The audience has seen their loss and their pain, so the audience sees the inherent tension without being told. The adult forced into this situation is torn between the immediate needs of their surrogate child, and the pain of the child they lost.
So try and make your character’s motivations as clear as possible. Let the audience at least *feel* why the protagonist would be motivated to do a thing, even if you’re waiting for later in the story to reveal the explicit reason. If it’s a past loss of a loved one, let them get a bunch of hints about the loss, even if they don’t know who died. If it’s someone who’s a perfectionist because of overbearing parents, give the audience at least a flavour of their upbringing early on.
Audiences want to care about your character. Give them a reason *why* they should care—and give it early on in the plot. Mysterious motivations work well for side characters and antagonists, but almost never work for a protagonist. This is among the most common mistakes newer writers make.
Best case scenario, this question should determine the focus of your first Act. So keep it in mind when outlining.
What lengths will they go to for their goal?
Once this question is answered, you should have a grasp on 80-90% of your plot points. Even if they change later, you should start to be really firm on what the plot points should be.
There are two sides to this question: The abstract (how badly do they want it) and the concrete (actions they take in the plot).
If you can start to know the actions and strategies the protagonist will employ, they will be more active, your plot will feel motivated, cause and effect will fall into place, and it will become easier to show your audience different dimensions to your character.
The brilliant thing is that different characters, confronted with the same problem, will try different actions in different orders.
Imagine four or five culturally well-known characters being locked in a jail cell. When first locked in a jail cell, there are dozens of things a person could do.
- Beg to be let out
- Rattle the bars
- Scream
- Cry
- Reason with the guards
- Joke around
- Immediately sit down, go quiet
- Curl up, tremble
The list goes on and on.
Expand lists of actions like these out to a plot level, and the actions your character takes will determine the plot beats. It will stop them being so wishy-washy and reactive to the plot. It will ensure you have a variety of ways of showing the audience how they deal with conflicts. It does so many jobs.
So answer this: How much does you character want to accomplish the goal? What concrete actions will they try (in what order) to get it?
Note one: Make them want it very, very strongly. If they don’t naturalistically want it strongly at the start of the story, make the motivation kick up several notches quite early, before the halfway point. The stronger they want it, the stronger the audience will attach to their attempts. A character who barely wants to do stuff is death to a story.
Note two: The order a character takes actions is much more revealing than you might think. Back to the jail cell example: can you think of a character who would rattle the bars, then break down and cry? Compare them to a character doing those same things in a different order. Small change, but I think it reveals different things.
What flaw is blocking them from getting their goal?
This one was worded very, very precisely.
You’ve all read about how characters need flaws. They do, but not just to ‘flesh them out’. They need it for the plot. The plot doesn’t work without it. The character won’t work if their flaw isn’t impacted by the plot.
The formula is so simple you will kick yourself if you’ve missed it.
Make the plot exacerbate their flaw
Are they afraid of heights? Put them up high.
Are they afraid to commit? Force them to commit.
Are they easily tempted? TEMPT THEM.
Their flaw isn’t just there to make them seem relatable, like a real person, or to arbitrarily ‘flesh them out’. It is there as a function of plot.
If they seem more relatable, then that’s a great side-effect. But many of fiction’s greatest characters are not ‘relatable’ to me at all, so don’t let that goal distract you.
If I can convince you to see character and plot design in this way, a lot of your problems will disappear before you even begin drafting. So many times I see a movie or read a book, and something feels off. When I turn on my editing brain, I see that the character’s flaw has nothing to do with anything.
“If you can put Batman into a Superman story, it’s not a very good Superman story.” – uncredited comic writer in Invisible Ink by Brian McDonald.
One of the most crucial things this step does, in linking the flaw to the plot obstacles, is that it will make your story character specific. It will make everything feel more focused, it will cut down on fluff and extraneous scenes, it will make the plot more compelling.
In Empire Strikes Back, Yoda cautions Luke that he is not ready. Luke’s flaw here is recklessness. The plot obstacle is that he fails against Vader because he is not ready. The relationship is linear, simple, clear. And it contributed to Empire being the best Star Wars movie. Objectively.
In The Great Gatsby, Gatsby’s flaw is that he thinks being with Daisy will be perfect, and solve the deep problems of his heart. His romance with Daisy falls short of his dreams, and he ends up being killed. He fails because of his flaw. His wealth obsession was NOT just there to ‘flesh him out.’
Conversely, Simba puts aside his selfishness and takes his place as king in the ‘great circle of life’. This realisation leads to his triumph, because he overcame his flaw. (Side note: the message of The Lion King boils down to the song ‘Hakuna Matata’ being wrong which is weird to my inner child. How could a song I love betray me?)
Next time someone tells you flaws merely ‘flesh a character out’, don’t take the bait. There’s more to it. ‘Try/fail’ cycles? More like ‘this story will fail cycles’. Don’t just add arbitrary conflict.
What will it take for them to change their flaw?
At this point, I’m hoping you’ll be familiar with the process. This question answers what your climactic scene/s will be.
In the ideal story, the climax will crystallise a character’s central flaw and force the character to either succeed or fail.
In classic tragedies, the character succumbs to their flaw, and usually dies. In most other stories, the flaw is overcome and the protagonist wins.
The trouble is selecting an event or framing for the final confrontation to be in some way linked to the character’s central flaw.
It can be very easy to go for the showy fireworks, to make something that logically follows all other events, to write what feels most natural. It can and should be all these things, but if you take care of the preceding things first it can be hard to make a climax that crystallises the flaw. If you crystallise the flaw first, in your outline, you can be sure to add fireworks, drama, spectacle, tight logic, and a naturalistic progression of events.
I would even recommend the climax being the first thing you outline. It’s much easier to make all the signs point towards a fleshed out ending, than to make all the signs first and ask yourself where the eff they are headed.
Sorry to harp on about Star Wars, but Vader’s final fight with Luke, and then the defeat of the Emperor, is the perfect ‘crystallisation’ moment. It is the final dilemma. Either Luke will kill Vader and become evil, or he will overcome his temptation and remain on the light side. The plot gives him only two ways to go, which seems silly and reductive on paper, but it always works well in narrative form. For a moment it seems like Luke will be tempted and turn bad. But Luke does overcome his flaw, and thereby he triumphs. He doesn’t defeat the Emperor himself, which makes his ultimate triumph the redemption of his father. Since it’s so simple, it can be hard to see how clever this decision is. Lackluster movies will simply have Luke stab the Emperor and win. In Return of the Jedi, though, by simply refusing to be tempted by the dark side, he proves himself worthy on an innate level. His actions prompt his father to turn to the light side. It only makes sense because the climax was an attempt to convert the enemy. In Luke’s case, he wanted to convert his father, and in the Emperor’s case, he wanted to convert Luke.
Imagine if it had had better choreography, a double-bladed red lightsabre, and an awesome choir score, but had nothing to do with the crystallisation of the character’s flaws. That would have been bad. Wouldn’t it?
So let your climax be decided by character. Ask yourself: How can I crystallise the characters flaw in one final dilemma? And how can I make the audience believe it could go either way?
Conclusion
There is no reason for ‘character’ and ‘plot’ to be designed separately. They work better together.
When you are outlining, you might often start with character but feel they have ‘nowhere to go’. You will be treading dangerous ground if you start writing plot points without paying attention to who your character is.
So first ask: What does my character want?
If you give them something concrete and achievable to strive for, the rest will fall into place relatively easy. How and why do they strive for it? What events will show the audience how much they care?
How are they obstructing themselves? A dynamic character will usually have external obstacles, but for best results they should always have massive internal obstacles. Don’t let those obstacles be just anything.
Let the flaw decide the plot.
Let the plot exacerbate the flaw.
Then, finally, let the climax decide whether the flaw has been overcome, or whether the character succumbs to it.
The easiest thing in the world is to fail to do these rather simple things. One way to get better at designing stories with these in mind is to watch and read critically. Does the story let us know why the protagonist wants X? Does the climax have anything to do with their flaw? If things fall flat, was it one of these things that caused it?
Honestly, about 50% of the time people say ‘It was a good idea, but bad execution’ the things I have covered in this essay were ignored.
A story needs to have focus. The protagonist needs to have agency. Motivations need to be clear. Obstacles need to relate to flaws. These simple questions will help you smooth out all these problems before they become problems.
Oh, and also, the people who say ‘Pantsing leads to more naturalistic stories, but plotting leads to lifeless stories’ are missing one thing: there’s a right and a wrong way to outline. I’m willing to bet that if everyone mastered these techniques, outliners wouldn’t be called ‘lifeless’ quite as often.