The Traumatic Backstory Part III: Character Growth
How a character's backstory provides clues as to their ultimate transformation
My last couple of craft articles focused on the value of traumatic backstories and how they ultimately impact your characters’ motivations.
Today, let’s take this one step further to see how the lies a character tells after the traumatic event ultimately lead to the end of their character arc. Their backstory provides a clue as to how they might change and finally get what they need (not necessarily what they want).
Quick side note: I’m past the days of arguing with writers about whether a character needs to change. For me, stories resonate more and feel more complete if a character, at the very least, has the opportunity to change (or maybe influence others to change). If that’s not your thing, you be you.
How the Lies Provide Clues to Transformation
Okay, so, last time, I suggested the following somewhat obvious, maybe even didactic midpoint starring a people-pleaser with abandonment issues:
The main character has an appointment with a prominent publisher who’s shown interest in his work, but suddenly, his girlfriend calls. Oh no! Her car broke down! If he doesn’t pick her up, she’ll miss the final audition for the part that’s guaranteed to make her a Hollywood star.
Because this happens in the middle of the story, he’s obviously going to put his own dreams on hold to help his girlfriend. By the end of the story, however, he should choose himself. Whether he gets the book deal is beside the point. In terms of his character arc, he needs to learn to put himself first and see that those who care about him will support him, not leave him.
Last time, I also mentioned Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games, and how her traumatic backstory (father died, mother stopped caring) led her to believe she had to be independent and focused on survival and protecting her family. As a part of that, she happens to be emotionally guarded, too.
Throughout the Games, she’s forced to navigate complex relationships, especially with Peeta. She learns about trust, and by the end, she shifts from the lone survivor to a figure of hope and resistance.
I watched the Indiana Jones trilogy recently, and it provides another example. As a kid, Indy’s traumatic backstory involved a train car full of snakes, and in Raiders of the Lost Ark, he had to overcome his fear of snakes to secure the Ark of the Covenant.
Okay, that’s not the change we should focus on, so try this one: his mom died and his dad ignored him, teaching him to believe that artifacts are more important than people. His life goal is to acquire these artifacts, which would lead him to fortune and glory. However, by the end of each film, he learns that relationships are more important. (Then again, if you learn the same lesson multiple times, maybe it’s not learned at all.)
If Batman were a character in a stand-alone novel instead of a character with 65 years of stories, I’d like to believe Bruce Wayne’s ultimate change would be to accept his parents’ death and forgive himself for not preventing it. Maybe even find peace with the idea that he can’t save everyone and instead, become a mentor for others, helping them heal internally instead of resorting to bashing heads.
What Characters Want vs. What They Need
For an emotional impact, characters often move from chasing what they want to choosing what they need.
What about the characters in the examples above?
Katniss gets what she needs (love, support) and also what she wants (victory, survival).
Indiana Jones chooses what he needs (friendship, love), but not what he wants (artifacts, fortune/glory).
Hopefully, someday, Bruce Wayne ends up getting what he needs (peace, forgiveness), but it’s unlikely he’ll get what he wants (the end of crime).
What about your character’s backstory? Anything there that might lead to a faulty way of life? Is it possible that your characters would gain something more valuable if they learned to change their belief system?
If I had to guess, the answer is yes.