And as for how we defeat them? Well, the answer is “as stylishly and dramatically as possible.”
I prefer explosions, whenever possible.
Turning into Something Pretty
The main character is something plain and ordinary, like an orphan or a freshman. Through the power of plot, she is transformed into something wonderful, like princess or prom queen. The lesson of the story is that true beauty is on the inside, which would make more sense if I was madly in love with the main female character before she changed her personality and appearance to become more wealthy, attractive, or appealing.
Looking for Something Pretty
There’s an object that is very pretty and main characters want to possess it. (Surprisingly, no, we aren’t talking about me.) Instead, let’s say it’s a … trophy! You know, for a contest that has very vague rules. Whatever this trophy/object/thing is, the main character must absolutely find it, or else something dire might happen.
These objects are often referred to as McGuffins. Perhaps they’re distant relatives of the McHottiepantses.
Solving a Mystery
Similar to the “looking for something pretty” plot above, except the something everyone’s looking for is probably a murderer or a dead body (and therefore not very pretty at all).
Road Trip!
A journey, not in search of an object or a criminal, but for something more conceptual like “a meaningful sense of self” or “a life purpose” or “a hot date to prom.” This trip will involve at least three wrong turns, something breaking, and getting lost. The route clearly symbolizes how there is no straight path through the future. (Wow. Did you hear how deep I just got right there? I am truly magnificent. Please, plan a road trip to meet me and sit at my feet, where you may marvel at my wisdom.)
Note: There may not be actual roads on this trip.
Attempting to Not Die
Bad things are happening and you are trying very hard to stay alive. These bad things, like acid rain or zombies or death bombs from outer space, cannot be defeated like the Bad Guys in other books. The only objective is survival.
This plot also works when you’re abandoned on a desert isle.
But not a dessert isle. That would just involve a lot of scrumptious food almost as sweet as my boyish smile.
Comedy
Funny stuff happens. A comedy plot can be combined with any of the above plots. In general, this type of book should be told by a particularly quirky narrator, or one with an overinflated sense of self-worth. I have no idea where you might find such a character. I, for one, would never be so egotistical to call myself overinflated. I am inflated exactly the perfect amount, and my ego is the absolute best one I could possibly have.
Tragedy
Sad stuff happens. It doesn’t get better for the characters. You’ll make the reader cry, yes, but they’ll know that going into the book, because the cover will be very dark and depressing, perhaps in a shade of blue or black like my cold, cold heart.
Now that you know more about plot, setting, and genre, it’s time for a little game:
I wake up to the sound of , which is how I wake up every morning. But today, something is different. I leap out of bed, pausing only to describe myself as I gaze into the mirror—yup, still have hair and eyes, plus exactly freckles—and then I look out the window.
Wow! Outside I see .
I can’t believe it! Quickly, I dress in my and make sure to include the that all teenagers wear here. I completely forgot that today was . But seeing that sight outside my window reminded me that today, I must a for the first time.
I run outside, ready to meet my destiny!
However, just as I was about to to my , I’m stopped by a .
Something has gone terribly wrong.
See how easy that was, dear reader? Look at you, not even halfway done with this book and already starting your own story! I’m so proud of me. For being a great teacher, a talented instructor, and an amazing writer.
Sure, I’m proud of you, too, but let’s focus on what’s important: me.
NARRATIVE INTERLUDE: WHILE OUR HANDSOME HERO BEFRIENDS, EVIL BEHAVES
The pen scratched against the paper as Broody worked hard to record all of his thoughts, scribbling away, completely clueless that he was being watched.
Blondie watched, amazed that he had enough thoughts to string together into sentences. Perhaps he was writing a list of his favorite adjectives.
Again.
Since she’d snuck in a few times to read his progress (or lack of) on his book, she considered herself a bit of an expert on its contents. This was, of course, all part of her evil plan.
It wasn’t a cruel plan. But as an antagonist, she knew all her plans would be labeled evil. Heck, after being trapped in countless “Snow White” retellings, Blondie couldn’t even offer a main female character some apple juice without getting hit with the word “witch.”
Or something that rhymed with that word.
Which actually hurt. Even if she was the fairest in the land, she still had feelings.
“There.” Broody slammed his hand on the table. “I wrote the most incredible novel, the most awe-inspiring book on how to become a main character.”
She leaned over and flipped through the pages. “Broody, this … This is only 156 pages.”
“No it’s not!” he snapped defensively, wishing he could stuff all the pages down his shirt to keep them safe. “I spent lots of time on that! Like … an hour, at least.” If he included snack breaks. Way more time than he’d ever spent on homework.
Then again, he usually had a very pretty, smart love interest who did his homework for him. “Hmm.” He thoughtfully rubbed his chin, pondering deep thoughts in a thoughtful manner. “Okay, well, I just need to go find a shy new girl or someone who needs a makeover. Then she can write the rest of the book for me, and I’ll take all the credit.”
Blondie glared at him. “That’s not what love is.”
“How do you know?” he replied. “We only dated because you liked my hair.”
“Fine, if you’re such an expert, why don’t you write a chapter on love?”
“I don’t need to write about love! I exude love.” Broody stalked away from the desk and peered out the window. “I could make anyone in this whole village of characters fall in love with me.”
“Oh?” Blondie said, looking out the window, too. Right now, they were in some sort of a historical setting. The dystopian setting of earlier in the day must have just been a passing fad. New Story City changed often. Women with parasols paraded past, while carriages carrying more supporting characters rattled down the cobblestone streets. It wasn’t clear exactly what century they were in but, then again, it never was.
Luckily, the corset Blondie wore was specifically designed for an actual antagonist with nefarious plots she had to accomplish, so it would never cause her to faint in a moment of great excitement. “I’m sure you could,” she finally admitted. After all, even her character arc, as wicked as it was, still involved loving him. “You know who we should talk to? As research for your chapter on love?”
“I’ve already had a long talk with my reflection,” Broody assured her. “He gives such good advice.”
She put a hand to her temple, wondering exactly what anyone—herself, the other love interests, and heck, even the Author—could ever see in Broody.
And then he smiled at her with that dazzling, blinding, brilliant smile, and her knees went weak.
Just a little.
“C’mon, hot stuff.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him away from his desk. Didn’t he know only Authors could get away with sitting and staring at an unfinished book for hours on end?
# # #
Outside, the day was lovely, and everyone they passed seemed to be in an absolutely wonderful mood. “Cheerio, my good fellows!” Broody called, and then turned to Blondie. “We appear to be in Londonish-land today.”
“Again. Lovely,” she replied drily. Why w
as it always London. She turned, searching the street for the person she’d wanted Broody to speak with. In a historical novel, a Broody would never live next door to the heroine. She was probably away at a finishing school, anyway.
He’d be working somewhere … like a blacksmith shop! Perfect.
They crossed the street to find a young man with sandy blond hair, a more wholesome shade than Blondie’s own, hammering a sword. Despite the anvil and other tools usually found in a blacksmith’s shop, the work didn’t seem to be going well. His motions were rather imprecise, as it was clear his Author had never researched exactly how to make a sword.
Also, his shirt was open enough to reveal powerful muscles, and also to run the risk of third-degree burns.
Not like that ever happened. Shirtless guys were practically impervious to all elements in fiction.
But from the wholesome hair to the good-natured humming, this character exuded niceness. In other words, it was the person she had sought.
Broody’s rival. The boy next door. The Nice Guy.
“Good day,” he said, giving up on the project. “How can I help … Oh, it’s you.” He folded his arms and glared. “Sir Broodington.”
“Uh. Just Broody is fine.” He rubbed the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable with this turn of events. “Blondie,” he whispered harshly, “I thought you were taking me to someone who could help me write about love.”
“I did.” She smirked. “Who knows more about love than the other guy in your love triangle?”
The two men sputtered, shocked at the notion that they’d actually have to work together.
“Now, you two stop groaning, and start talking.”
“But … but he’s a jerk!” the rival cried.
“And he’s a girlfriend-stealing, manners-having, parents-charming meanie-head!” Broody responded.
Blondie gritted her teeth. If she were a true protagonist, the new girl, or the Chosen One, these ridiculous men would be overjoyed to help her.
Instead, she was a villain, and they were annoyed.
“Look,” she said, crossing her arms. “Between the two of you, you’ve won the hearts of practically every protagonist ever. I’m sure a quick chat will unravel all the mysteries of love.”
The two heroes exchanged gemstone-colored glares, sapphire flashing against brilliant emerald. Blondie tapped her foot. The staring continued. She checked her anachronistic watch. They were still staring.
Finally, the today-a-blacksmith boy whose name she couldn’t even remember—she always thought of him as Nice Guy—grudgingly said, “Broody, it’s always an honor to be in love triangles with you.”
“Uh. Same to you … pal.”
So Broody didn’t know the guy’s name either. Poor fellow.
Nice Guy sighed. “It does get exhausting, you know. All that bickering, and trying to outdo your grand romantic gestures and …”
“And all those brawls the Authors make us have,” Broody said. “Exhausting. And then the girl, she never appreciates any of our efforts! She just sits there, smiling mildly at us while all the readers divide into #TeamYou and #TeamMe.”
“I think I’m #TeamNeedsANap,” Nice Guy said.
Broody … actually laughed. He patted him on the back in a stereotypically masculine way.
Blondie edged away, aware she was intruding on a moment of much needed character development.
# # #
When she returned a few hours later, after finding a protagonist and subtly insulting her gown, which always improved her mood, Blondie found the two guys still chatting.
“Ah, good, you’re back.” Broody sprang to his feet and waved goodbye to his … rival.
“Let’s get that drink soon. Soda for you, stolen whiskey for me, am I right?” Broody even winked at him.
For the love of all things pink, glittery, and dangerous, what had she done?
“So, uh, Broody,” she began, still baffled by this turn of events. Darn it. She was dealing with main characters. Of course plot twists would occur more frequently. “You get some good advice for your book?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m still the expert.”
“Of course you are,” she replied, her tone drier than the driest thing in the world, which was very dry.
“But it’s interesting. Did you know … he’s … sometimes he thinks he’s in love with someone ELSE?” Broody was practically shouting. Luckily, all of the nearby supporting characters were used to his drama, so they ignored him.
“Ah, how strange.” Broody must have found it shocking to realize that the world didn’t revolve around him and his love interest. That there could be characters who would pine for and kiss and hope for the love of characters who were not him. Who might never even come close to being main characters.
“But aren’t you surprised?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“No.”
Blondie shook her head. It wasn’t at all surprising that another character would want more than the life they were trapped in. After all, wasn’t that what she wanted, too?
But soon Broody would write all the secrets she’d need, and then she’d finally, finally be able to become a main character herself.
CHAPTER 4
FINDING TRUE LOVE
Not every story has a love story, and that’s totally fine! But, since I’ve starred in a lot of love stories, I thought I’d share my notes.
While there are various types of plots, there are also various types of love stories.
Young adult literature gets made fun of a lot by so-called grown-ups for always having love stories (even though it doesn’t) and for overusing “ridiculous love triangles” (even though there are plenty of stories without one) and for “always being about vampires and silly girls.” (Seriously, it’s like these “adults” read one YA book ten years ago and based all their opinions on that.)
To these critics, I say, I’m sorry you’re so incredibly bitter and miserable that you can’t feel that rush of joy when your crush smiles at imagine what butterflies in your stomach feel like. Also, please read some YA before insulting it.
If you want to be in a YA story without a love story, I know you will be absolutely amazing at it! Feel free to skip this chapter.
And if you don’t want your love story to have kisses, that’s fine, too. I guess?
Yes, Broody. It is more than fine to have a story without kissing and/or without a love story. Everyone should be a protagonist, not just people with love stories. I don’t expect you to understand this, because you’re a clueless oaf. Dearest reader: focus on telling your own story. It’s going to be incredible, no matter what.
xoxo, B
For all of you awesome people who love, love, love LOVE, and all of its mushy, magical magnificence, come closer. Peer into my gemstone-colored eyes. Swoon into my strong, protective arms.
What, exactly, is love?
This is a difficult question, to be sure, but one I absolutely, positively know the answer to. Obviously I know it, even though it seems every poet, artist, and overzealous karaoke singer is constantly searching to define just what is the essence of this great mystery so many seek. Mainly because I know everything.
And because I am an expert at everything.
And I’m always in love.
So. What is love? It is … the sound of two heartbeats synchronizing perfectly. The universe sparkling in someone else’s eyes. Your own face on a giant billboard advertising your movie.
Basically, love should give you a great sense of peace and happiness. Or the warm fuzzies.
Or at least a three-book deal.
Now, let’s cover the most important part of any proper main character’s life:
Finding True Love
Ready? No, of course you’re not. True love should surprise you, like a girl colliding with you in a high school hallway or a mysterious (possibly nonhuman) handsome man saving you from a supernatural threat.
Now, some people will tell you love isn’t everyt
hing, but guess what? They’re wrong! As Shakespeare himself said, “Love is …” Well, okay. I can’t remember the quote. There weren’t any main characters in my English lit class, so I skipped it … for the past thirty years. The point is, love is super-duper important. And you should totally look up that Shakespeare quote and put it in italics on the first page of your novel so people know it’s a totally deep and very romantic book.
Love is waaaaaay better than friendship. I mean, who needs friends, right? All they do is support you and give you advice and remind you when you’re being a jerk. Pfffft. What a waste of time.
At the very least, it’s important to meet the love of your life before page 50. Let’s make like a transfer student and jump right into the drama, shall we?
Traits of a Great Love Interest
Quick note: I know I had some great words about love interests being any gender, but since I’m giving you advice based on my own love life (love lives?) I’m just going to use “her” as that’s 99 percent of my relationships. And I’m only saying that because historically, that’s what happened. These days, I’ve gotten to star in relationships with many amazing characters of all pronouns.
What separates any average character from a love interest? Easy.
Ordinariness.
I mean it. The perfect love interest should be so, so, so ordinary that reality warps around her, causing plot to happen. She should remind her reflection of her ordinariness at least once per day, and three times in a first chapter.
Ideal ordinary traits include: frizzy hair, an eye color that is “plain,” shortness, a body type that she’ll refer to as “fat” despite being much smaller than the average American teen, and a nose she doesn’t like.
Oh, and she’ll be white.
Other traits that make a good love interest? Disinterest in anything aside from me, a lack of personal ambition aside from marrying me, and being part of a prophecy or curse (also involving me). In general, her life should be structured so that she spends every hour, every minute, waiting for me to show up.
A good love interest has very few friends … or none at all. And why should she? She’s not like other girls. And friends might caution her against trusting me, which is stupid. I’m totally trustworthy … except for the billions of lies I’ve told her. But those are just … misunderstandings, right?
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