What is a Flat Character Arc?

K.M Weiland, author of Creating Character Arcs, has this to say about the flat arc:

… the flat arc is about a character who does not change. He already has the Truth figured out in the beginning of the story, and he uses that Truth to help him overcome various external tests.

In comparison to a positive change arc, the difference in a flat character arc’s Second Act is that the emphasis is not on the protagonist’s discovering and confronting his own inner misconceptions. Rather, the Second Act in a flat arc is where he will be discovering the Lie embedded in the world around him.

The Third Act is where we find arguably the greatest similarities between the flat character arc and the positive change arc, since in both types of story the protagonist will have a full grasp on the Truth by this point. The primary difference, of course, is that the protagonist in a flat character arc will have already been in possession of that Truth almost universally throughout the story.

Hmmm. Did that make sense to you? I had to read it a couple of times to get the gist. The “Truth figured out in the beginning”? The “Lie embedded in the world around him”? So, I kept reading other resources to find out more. As I read, I encountered additional phraseology that I had to puzzle out. Terms like “Crucial Element”, “Focus Element”, “Direction Element”, and more!

Weiland writes that “the fundamental principle of character arc is lie vs. truth.” The Lie the character believes and uncovers in a change arc is under the radar. It is a bedrock belief the character holds. “I’m worthless.” “I’m God’s gift to women.” And so on. That misconception is revealed and dealt with (the Truth), thus effecting character change. This Lie needs to be connected to the story organically. If the story problem and the Lie don’t connect, the story is not as compelling.

In the flat character arc, this doesn’t play out. There are still Lies and Truths, they just don’t affect the story solution substantively. Remember, the Steadfast Character knows the truth from the beginning.

It turns out that the flat character arc goes by many names and is the second most used arc for main characters. You might see it referred to as the “testing arc” or “Main Character Resolve”, or “Steadfast Character.”

It also turns out that the Steadfast Character tends to see the story conflict not as “me against the obstacle”, but rather views the obstacle as the problem by itself, apart from the Steadfast Character. The Steadfast Character moves elements around in the story to restore balance and is unaffected by the move of elements, though the story is impacted for the better.

Most antagonists in our books have flat character arcs. They are who they are. They have a job to do—disrupt the life of the main character—and they do it without changing who they are or seeking/gaining insight into themselves or others. We’re not surprised by the lack of growth of the antagonist, in fact. We expect it.

But many protagonists also demonstrate a flat character arc, and we’re fine with that in a deftly handled story. Think Kinsey Milhone, PI, the main character in Sue Grafton’s Alphabet mysteries. Kinsey knows who she is and what is True. There is little character change within and across books, but she uses her character traits to solve the crimes. Her moral compass is clear to her as are her talents. She gets ‘er done!

Dramatica.com, in their dictionary of terms, says a steadfast character “ultimately retains his essential nature from the beginning of the story to the end of the story.” They also go on to state, “There will only be one Steadfast Character in every story.”

That’s very directive, isn’t it? I wonder why that is the case. Maybe because conflict is not deeply developed when two major characters remain unchanged by events and circumstances?

Or the story conflict could be developed when the two steadfast characters are on opposite tracks. If one is on the right track, and won’t change but has to deal with someone on the wrong track, who also won’t change, isn’t that conflict enough? I wonder what it would be like to write a story flouting the “rule” of only one steadfast character? One would have to “win” (whatever winning would mean), so why not?

However, in that scenario, each Steadfast Character would have the Truth from the beginning and each have the Lie, so maybe that’s why it wouldn’t work. If both know the Truth, where is the conflict? Aaarrgh! See why I am still confused and working on this principle of only one Steadfast Character?

From what I’ve read, the Lie must be uncovered and discounted by the Truth by the end of the story. Maybe that’s not possible with two Steadfastians!

One important aspect of the Steadfast Character’s possession of the truth early on is the role of doubt. Perhaps the character isn’t 100% sure of the Truth or has trouble accepting the Truth to move on in life. Adding in doubt, even if fleeting, includes a new level of tension. Being open to questioning Truth is human and can result in second guessing or hesitating at critical moments in the story.

One important role for the Steadfast character is shis possession of the Truth inspires and props up others. Also, by the end of the story, though heesh may have had doubts or even wondered if the Truth were worth the battle, the Steadfast character will come out on the other side believing in the Truth even more strongly and support others in believing it, too.

The Steadfast Character sounds like a very interesting challenge, encouraging the writer to delve even more deeply than the positive character arc requires.

Have you written a flat character arc story? Tell me aobut it in the comments section.

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Dump Your Critique Group!

Oh, boy! At my Left Coast Crime workshop, there was quite a reaction to the adamant directive that we should not be in writing critique groups. (I work with three throughout the year, so my ears perked up!)

This mandate came from Jan Burke (workshop leader) and Sue Grafton (guest author) during my day long, preconvention workshop. Jerrilyn Farmer (co-leader) moderated her response by saying it might be okay with the right people for a short time.

But no one of the three highly-successful writers thought that staying with a writing group for long periods of time helped make you a better writer.

In fact, the opposite.

Though none of them used the term, I connected their words with “learned helplessness” from my educator days. Learned helplessness is a condition of learning welfare that occurs when the student is given so much support to succeed that she cannot continue learning without the support. She abrogates her responsibility for learning, knowing she won’t be allowed to fail.

How does that relate to writing groups? My understanding of the views of Burke, Farmer, and Grafton is that they believe that writing groups hold authors back from being the best they can be. And, in fact, a writing group is the resort of the “lazy author” (my words as I interpreted theirs).

Sue Grafton said words to this effect: Why would you listen to other people who may write the same or less well than you? How does that make you better? It is YOUR job to know when something isn’t working in your manuscript, and you shouldn’t expect other people to do your job. Do the work. Put in the time. Brutally evaluate your own output. That’s your job if you call yourself a professional writer.

I can see both sides to the argument. (Of course I can. I’m a wishy-washy Libran.)

I realize that I do depend too much on my writing group colleagues to find and help fix my manuscripts. That is going to change. I am going to take more responsibility for being the professional I want to be.

By the same token, a part of me thinks that my critique groups also represent my potential readers. So isn’t that input helpful? To know what works or doesn’t? What is left out or extraneous?

"Nah," Sue Grafton, Jan Burke, and Jerrilyn Farmer would say. "That’s your job."

Dilettante is as Dilettante Does

I have accused myself of being a dilettante because I write in so many genres. It surely helps with writer’s block to have so many different projects going—plays to children’s books to culinary mystery to erotica to historical fiction to . . . well, you get the idea.

But, this time, I think I out-dilettante-d myself!

I started book two in my “Dinner is Served” series about two personal chefs and the murders they solve. Good you say? Not so fast. It’s not like book one is done. That’s the one I dumped and had to start over. But I can’t. Not yet.

It’s like there is static in my head. I want to “re-purpose” parts of book one, but I have to have a new killer and motivation. The red herrings change. Nope—can’t do book one right now. I can’t get a handle on the new story because part of my brain is still working on the old one.

Fortunately, long ago I planned out multiple books in the series. So, I moved on to book 2 to get back into the series. The hardest question was do I make Cooks in the Can book two or should it be Prime Rib and Punishment? After a suggestion from one of my critique group partners, I began Prime Rib and Punishment, set in a cooking school.

Interesting to me, anyway, is that I am not writing it episodically as I wrote book one. I used Hallie Ephron’s planning guide then wrote first two chapters. Then I wrote part of last chapter because I read somewhere that when writing plays, if you write the last act first, you know where you are headed and can plant seeds throughout that ripen and come to harvest in the last act. Okay, so that’s make some sense. Then, I started getting scenes in my head, so I wrote two other scenes that will appear someplace, not sure where.

Have I planned my novel? Yep, but my pantser stepped in. I don’t know if that is good or bad. I just know I have no control over the flashes. This has happened to me before with other novels. When I get the scene flashes, I know to write them down. Even if they end up on the cutting room floor, the more I write about my characters and my story line, the better it will be for the final book.

I took the first two chapters to my Pens Afire critique group yesterday. There were multiple problems to fix (as is always the case, eh?), but the biggest one harkened to Sue Grafton’s comment re writing a series. How do you keep the recurring characters fresh? How do you introduce them to a new audience while not boring your fan base?

Writing Alli Wesson and Gina Smithson or Gina’s mom Maria and her pal, Pearl—pretty easy. I know these women! I like them, and I can tell you what they are likely to have for breakfast whether at home or when they go out to IHop.

But therein lies the problem. I am not reading this with the eyes of a reader new to my series. So Pens Afire (Sandra Bremser and Annie Weissman) called me on it. Good for them. Even though I knew of the danger, I skated right past the warning signs onto the thin ice. It’s cracking around me, but I now know, early in this book, to skate away. Thanks, Pens Afire.