Ask the Editor: Can I Base my Hero on Myself?
Dear Alex,
I’m an interesting person with an interesting job, and my friends love it when I tell them stories about things that have happened to me. I see nothing wrong with fictionalizing all of this, and writing a novel loosely based on my life. And if the hero of my novel closely resembles myself, that will just make him easier to write! Aren’t all heroes just idealized versions of the writer anyway? What’s wrong with putting more of myself into my hero?
–Paul
Hi Paul!
It’s great that you find inspiration from your own life, and that you enjoy sharing your stories with other people. We’ve all had interesting experiences that we want to include in our novels. However, it gets tricky when you model the hero after yourself.
These characters go by the special name of “Mary Sue” or “Gary Stu.” That’s shorthand for a character who’s a stand-in for the author, or a version of the author that he wishes he could be.
He’ll usually be perfect: brave, smart, capable, and very handsome. If he has flaws, they’re minor, quirky, and never get in the way of solving his problems. The author will sometimes put the hero into circumstances that mirror his own life, but often the hero is given adventures the author wishes he could have. There’s a lot of wish fulfillment going on here.
The problem is, what’s often wish fulfillment for the author is not wish fulfillment for the reader. And the author is never going to be able to see the hero clearly, because the hero is him. Revisions become a nightmare as the author is unwilling to make the hero do things that he, himself, wouldn’t do, even if that’s what the story needs.
Even worse, the author often spends a lot of effort telling readers what a great person Gary Stu is, but never really showing us. We’ll hear he’s a great athlete, but never see him play sports. Or the author will tell us he’s witty, but we never see him make a joke. Mary Sue’s friends constantly tell her how awesome she is, and for some reason, the male characters often feel protective toward her. Either that, or they all want to date her. This character is usually described by the reader as “annoying.” And it’s because she has no real flaws, no real personality, and doesn’t ever make mistakes.
But the real problem with Mary Sue and Gary Stu is that they are not suited for the story they’re in.
Plot and character always go hand in hand. You need the perfect heroine for your plot, and you need the perfect plot that’s going to test your heroine, and help her grow.
You want to develop the main character into someone who’s uniquely qualified to achieve the story goal. There should only be one person who can achieve this goal. They should have something either innately inside them or learned from their past that makes them the perfect heroine for this specific story.
At the same time, you need to craft a plot that’s going to challenge your heroine in the exact way she needs to be challenged. The plot is going to push all of her hot buttons, making her dig deep inside herself to grow and change. It’s this new growth that will ultimately help her overcome the antagonist and achieve her goal.
Therefore, you need to build heroes from the ground up, making sure they fit the plot at hand. Think about a Hollywood casting director. If they’re making the next James Bond movie, they’re looking for Daniel Craig or Aaron Taylor-Johnson, they’re not looking for Pee Wee Herman. But if they’re making a screwball comedy, Pee Wee Herman is exactly who they need.
It’s fun to imagine ourselves as the heroes of our own stories, fighting bad guys and saving the day. But often, the story you’re writing demands a very different kind of hero.
So go ahead and make your hero strong and brave. But also flawed and bruised and messed-up in some significant ways. Make him the exact hero that’s going to be tailor-made for your plot. Just don’t make him you.
Keep writing. You’re doing great.
Alex K.
Alex Kourvo is a freelance editor and the author of The Big-Picture Revision Checklist, a book that shows you how to revise your novel the easy way.
Ask the Editor: Why Do Books Get Bleak in the Third Quarter?
Dear Alex,
I’m working on my first romance novel after writing mainstream fiction for several years. I want it to have good structure and I understand there are “beats” that stories have to follow, including the “all is lost moment” or the “third act downturn.” But do my hero and heroine have to break up? It seems so contrived and every romance I read is the same. They meet, they fall in love, it’s good, then they fight and break up and then get back together. But what if they didn’t? What if my hero and heroine met and fell in love and that was the story?
–Shay
Hi Shay!
Changing genres is a big step. In many ways, when you switch genres, you’re a beginner all over again, because the expectations for each genre are different. I applaud you for studying the tropes of romance and figuring out which story beats are universal and which ones are specific to your new genre.
Yes, it’s possible to write about your hero and heroine falling in love and living happily ever after without ever breaking up, or even arguing. However, that wouldn’t be a story. Why? Because stories are about character transformation, and without that all-is-lost moment, your characters would never have any reason to change for the better.
Novels are emotion delivery systems. Readers expect a certain kind of emotional journey when they pick up a novel. They invest their time and they expect the payoff of character transformation. The hero and heroine’s lives have changed through the events of the story and they have gained wisdom and emotional strength along the way. Without going through some kind of trial, the story will feel flat, and readers won’t believe in the happy ending because the characters haven’t been tested, so how does the reader know they can prevail?
At the midpoint of your romance novel, the hero and heroine are happy together. They are intimate with each other on new levels and everything seems good. But seems is the operative word here, because the truth is, neither of them has changed one bit, and it’s only that change that will lead to lasting happiness. When problems come up in the relationship, they’ll fall back into their old ways of coping, because that’s all they know.
Between the midpoint scene and the breakup, your hero and heroine are like ducks in a pond. From the surface, it looks like they’re effortlessly gliding along, but under the surface, they’re paddling as fast as they can. They’re working hard to hide their flaws while pleasing their significant other, and they’re working their butts off to not change. Change is scary and nobody likes to do it, so both parties want to prolong the honeymoon period as long as possible.
But it’s not possible. Not forever. The obstacle that kept the couple from getting together is still present. Whatever wound or false belief the characters had at the beginning? They still have it. And until they overcome those things and truly change for the better, they can’t have lasting happiness.
You complain that “they fight and break up and then get back together” and that’s perhaps part of your confusion. The hero and heroine shouldn’t fight about something trivial. They shouldn’t even fight about the events of the plot. They should fight about who they are. The plot is merely the catalyst. If your baker heroine is fighting with your chef hero about kitchen space, that shouldn’t be what they are really fighting about. Perhaps your baker heroine has a family who always belittled her, and she sees the hero taking over the kitchen as proof that he doesn’t take her work seriously. Perhaps your hero grew up in foster care, never having a space of his own, and he sees the heroine hogging the kitchen as trying to shut him out of his rightful place. The fight can start about who gets to use the oven, but it should end with those other issues coming to light.
Don’t worry that you’re going to put off your readers or make them sad by breaking up the couple. Readers know that their happy-ever-after is guaranteed. It’s why so many of us love reading romance novels! The readers want to see the couple brought to their breaking point because they know that the couple still has some growing to do. The hero and heroine have to face their deepest fear—losing their love—in order to truly be whole. And that’s what makes for a satisfying story.
Keep writing, you’re doing great.
Alex K.
Alex Kourvo is a freelance editor and the author of No Hero Wants to Save the World, a book all about story stakes.
A Return Engagement
My last appearance on the Fully Booked podcast went so well, hosts Craig Tuch and Roland Hulme invited me back for another chat. This time, we talked about the importance of story stakes. We talked about why the stakes in Jaws and The Hunger Games were so effective, why Jack Reacher will never have a girlfriend, and how you can raise the stakes in your novel, no matter which genre you’re writing.
We touched on a lot of the things you can find in NO HERO WANTS TO SAVE THE WORLD. We also went beyond what’s in the book, to discuss some brand-new things!
You can watch Fully Booked on YouTube (look for episode #35). But this is a podcast, so it’s much, much better to listen to it. Here is the direct link to listen online. You can also find it on apple podcasts, Amazon podcasts, and Spotify, or wherever you like to listen.
Happy listening!
Ask the Editor: What’s the Difference Between Conflict and Story Stakes?
Dear Alex,
I know that all stories need to have conflict. That’s what makes a plot, right? My novel has lots of conflict. But my critique partners say my story is “flat,” and “lacks tension.” They keep talking about story stakes, but I don’t really see a difference between conflict and stakes. As long as I have two opposing forces both trying for the same goal, I have stakes, don’t I?
–Levi
Hi Levi!
It’s great that you’re thinking deeply about what makes a great story, and I’m glad that your critique group has been helpful to you. You’re correct that a story needs conflict, but it also needs stakes. Think of it this way: stakes are what gives conflict meaning.
If you’ve written a story about two boys racing each other home from school, you’ve written a conflict. After all, only one of them can win the race and be first through the door. The other will lose. Perhaps the winner will have first pick of the snacks or he’ll get to the TV first. The winning boy might taunt the loser, but can’t do much more. This is a contest without stakes. The reader won’t really care.
Story stakes are a way to make your reader care.
Let’s reframe that footrace. Let’s say that these aren’t two random boys, but brothers. Their parents are dead and they’re set to be put into foster care today at three o’clock. They’re going to two different households, although the fostering families don’t really care which boy goes where. They’ll take whichever boy gets into their car first. One of the families is nurturing and kind. The other treats foster children like abused servants.
Boris, the elder brother, is cruel and manipulative, and is determined to get to the good family before his younger brother Lars can. Lars has been living with his brother’s brutality for years. If he can just get home before Boris does today, he’ll go to a nicer place where he’ll never have to deal with his brother’s nastiness again. However, if his elder brother beats him home, Lars will be going to a family that will treat him worse than Boris ever did.
Now the race home from school has stakes. Not only is there a life-changing reward for winning, there are terrible consequences for losing. The odds are also stacked against our hero. Lars is younger than Boris, so he’s smaller and weaker. Boris has put rocks in Lars’s backpack and also slipped out the back door of the school before the final bell to get a head start.
Readers of this second scenario will be rooting for Lars to win. At the same time, the reader will be afraid he’ll lose. Worry about the outcome will make them turn the pages faster. As a writer, that is the way you want your readers—interested, worried, and desperate to learn the outcome. That’s what story stakes can do for your novel.
To give your conflict stakes, first make sure that your hero wants something. He wants it desperately, more than he wants anything else. Spell out the specific reward for achieving that goal. Most importantly, make sure there are terrible consequences for failure. Finally, make sure that this goal isn’t easy to reach. This goal is going to take one hundred percent of your hero’s time, effort, and will to accomplish, and even then, the odds of success are low.
You need to do this work on two levels. There need to be high stakes in the overarching plot of the entire novel. Also, each scene has to have stakes. The hero begins each scene wanting something and uses that scene to try to get it. If you can keep feeding readers those high-stakes scenes, they will follow your story right to the end, so they can find out what happens. And if you resolve the stakes in a satisfying way, readers will close your book feeling happy. And then they will buy your next book.
Keep writing, you’re doing great.
Alex K.
Alex Kourvo is a freelance editor and the author of No Hero Wants to Save the World, a book all about story stakes.
Ask the Editor: How Much Research is too Much?
Dear Alex,
Is it possible to do too much research for a novel? I want my story to be as realistic as possible, so I keep stopping to do research, and I end up going down rabbit holes and spending all my precious writing time just getting my basic facts right. How do professional writers do it? There aren’t enough hours in the day to learn everything I need to know to write this book and also write the book.
–Wendell
Hi Wendell!
One of the best things about being a writer is that you get to learn so many interesting things. You can study the history of photography, or French baking styles, or starship propulsion technology, or Celtic swords. You’re not just learning these things for fun, but because it’s your job, which is actually very cool.
Some genres rely heavily on facts. If you’re writing a thriller and you get your guns mixed up, you’ll lose readers. If you’re writing historical fiction, you need to know about dresses, meals, and carriages. If you’re writing fantasy, you’ll need to get your swords correct, and also research things like horses and boats.
Readers of genre fiction are passionate about the details and they will savage you if you get them wrong. Even contemporary novels will often deal with areas outside your expertise. Is your heroine a musician? You’ll have to know (or learn) about musical notation, performance venues, and artist management. Is your hero a barista? You’d better know the difference between a cappuccino and a latte.
The danger is when writers start to think of the research as an end in itself. You think you need to read just one more article, or buy one more book, or travel to one more place, and then you’ll be able to write your novel. It seems very efficient to do all the research up front and then go write, but this always backfires.
For one thing, this is a spectacular form of procrastination. The research feels like a necessary step, and it takes forever, and you’ll convince yourself that you’re making progress. It’s a little trick our brains use to fool us into thinking we’re working without actually doing the harder and scarier job of making up a story.
And you’ll most likely research the wrong thing. Since you haven’t written any of your story yet, you don’t know what you’ll need. You could do hours and hours of research into the dresses that upper-class women wore in the Regency period, only to decide later that your heroine is a middle-class merchant’s daughter, and therefore needs to dress completely differently.
But the biggest danger is that you’ll end up with a very developed world and no story to tell in it. This is a hard problem to diagnose because all of these facts are fascinating to you, the author. You might be riveted when reading back your own work because you love these details you dug up. But when a reader reads it, she’s bored because you’re talking about places and objects, and she just wants to get on with the story. Remember, story is always about conflict between people.
You need to have a deep understanding of your story and also a deep understanding of how much detail your audience expects. How much detail do you actually need at this moment? Enough to immerse the reader in the story world but not so much that she gets bogged down. It’s a tricky balance.
The best way to find this sweet spot is to write the scene (or the chapter, or the section) first and then go research what you need. When you’re writing, and you get to the part where you have to put in the name of a carriage, or what kind of coffee the barista is making, you put in a placeholder. I like to make mine all caps and in a bright font, like red or orange. That way, I can easily find them later. Like this:
Rebecca carried her violin case into NAME OF ORCHESTRA HALL IN ANN ARBOR and greeted the conductor and the concertmaster. She couldn’t believe she’d be playing in front of an audience of NUMBER tonight, and she was so nervous she thought she might puke.
Later, you’d go back and research what the venue for classical music is in Ann Arbor and how many seats it holds. I just did that. It took about 20 seconds.
Rebecca carried her violin case into Hill Auditorium and greeted the conductor and the concertmaster. She couldn’t believe she’d be playing in front of an audience of 3500 tonight, and she was so nervous she thought she might puke.
If you stop every few sentences to look up this fact or that fact, you’ll constantly be pulling yourself out of the story. However, by using placeholders, you won’t lose your forward momentum. This will also teach your brain that there is a time for writing and there is a time for research, and the writing comes first.
There will be times when you’ll have to set aside the writing to go on a longer research quest, either because the fact you need isn’t readily available or the ideas are too complex for a one-click Google. In that case, you’ll have to set aside some time to find the facts you need. But put boundaries on it so you don’t spend all your time researching. Learn new things, then apply what you’ve learned to your manuscript, using placeholders to stand for any gap in your knowledge. You’ll fill in some of those placeholders in your next draft, and more in the draft after that, until your book is a seamless whole. And you’ll do it by spending more time on your story, and less in rabbit holes.
Keep writing, you’re doing great.
Alex K.
Alex Kourvo is a freelance editor and the author of two books of writing instruction: The Big-Picture Revision Checklist and No Hero Wants to Save the World.
Ask the Editor: How Should I Begin Revising My Novel?
Dear Alex,
After months of writing, I’ve completed my first novel. I’m proud of myself and I guess I’m proud of my book, but at this point, I can only see its flaws. I know I have to edit it. I want to make it better! But I don’t know how to start. Do I start with chapter one? Or do I start by fixing the things I know are wrong? Or is there some secret editing technique that professional writers will only share if you knock in a specific sequence and know the secret password?
–Doreen
Hi Doreen!
Congrats on finishing your first novel! You should be proud. You’ve shown that you’ve got what it takes to bring a novel to completion, which is a rare thing. And I bet your novel isn’t as flawed as you think. The problem is that you’re looking at the novel as a whole, so you’re seeing all its flaws at once. However, when you actually do the edits, you’re only going to tackle one problem at a time.
Starting with chapter one and doing your novel’s edits chronologically seems like a good idea. However, there are two problems with this approach.
First, you might end up in a revision loop that’s hard to break out of. Many writers want to get chapter one “perfect” before moving on to chapter two. Then they want to perfect chapters one and two before moving on to three. This cycle repeats and repeats and many writers won’t get past the first few chapters.
Second, if you drill down to individual chapters and scenes and start picking them apart, you’ll always be focused on the small problems. You’ll be fixing things like awkward dialogue or a bit of bland description, and you’ll never see the big picture. Taking it chapter by chapter means you’ll never tackle the big, structural changes that your novel might need.
Instead, I suggest taking a step back and looking at your novel as a whole. Specifically, look at the turning points. A good plot doesn’t go in a straight line from beginning to end. There are turns along the way, plot complications and character changes that shift the course of the narrative. If you tackle those big turning points first, the rest of the edit will be much, much easier.
Does your novel begin with a “hook” that will intrigue readers and draw them into your book? Do you introduce your hero and his world in a dynamic way that starts the story moving? Be sure you don’t drag your opening down with backstory or static description.
Look at your “doorway of no return” scene in the first quarter. This is the scene that truly propels your heroine on the story journey. In The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy takes that first step onto the yellow brick road, she’s on a one-way trip to the Emerald City. In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when Charlie Bucket enters the candy factory, his life is going to change forever. Does your novel push the hero forward at this point?
Next, examine your midpoint scene. Do you have a strong scene in the middle of your novel that is filled with action, emotion, and drama? This should be a major turning point where things get dramatically worse.
Then revisit your “all is lost” scene, which should fall around the three-quarter mark. Are things as bad as they can possibly be? Is your heroine feeling utterly defeated at this point? Is she worse off now than when the story began? In the final act, she’ll find the solution to the story problem and once again will be proactive, but at this moment, she should be wallowing in misery.
Finally, look at your climax scene. Is it an epic climax—according to your genre’s definition of epic? For some genres, this will mean chases, shootouts, and explosions. For other genres, this will mean tears and reconciliation. For others, it will mean a grand gesture of love. Whatever your genre is asking for, have you delivered all the action, emotion, and drama that you possibly can?
Of course, there is much more to editing a novel than just looking at the five biggest scenes, but this is where you should begin. Once you’ve edited big turning point scenes, the edits for the rest of the novel are much more straightforward. The big scenes do the heavy lifting, and the surrounding scenes will either be lead-up to the big turning point, or the fallout from it.
A novel is a big thing. It’s too big to hold in your head all at once. But starting with the five biggest scenes in your novel will make all of your edits go more smoothly.
Keep writing, you’re doing great.
Alex K.
Alex Kourvo is a freelance editor and the author of two books of writing instruction: The Big-Picture Revision Checklist and No Hero Wants to Save the World.
Alex Kourvo 