The Plot Is Created For The Characters

What makes a strong plot.

Over the years, I always thought it was the plot that came first. You figure out what’s going to happen, then figure out who makes it happen, or who it happens to. That’s how I wrote my stories for years.

But recently, I’ve been rethinking this idea, and I think I’ve had it backward.

Let’s take a look at one of my favorite storytelling mediums to see what I’m talking about.

Photo by Alex Knight on Unsplash

The caped crusaders

With a new Spider-Man movie out in theaters (no spoilers, I promise, but you really, really, really need to go watch it because it’s that darn good), I’ve been thinking about how the old writers wrote superhero stories back in the good old days, and I was wondering what they did that made those stories stick.

I mean, think about it. We have characters that are over 80 years old, like Batman, who are still having stories told about them that are really strong. Not to mention that Spider-Man debuted in Amazing Fantasy #15 back in 1962, and his latest outing on the big screen is currently tied with Project Hail Mary as my favorite film of the year so far, and Spider-Man will probably win that one out.

What were they cooking with back in the day?

Well, usually cigarettes, coffee, and alcohol. Those were the popular substances of the writers of that day. Maybe that’s the solution.

It’s actually not, crazy enough.

Then what is?

Simple. They created the characters first, then made plots for them second.

Tell me, which superhero can you think of that doesn’t have an origin story? None! They all started with a story about how they got their powers and how they became heroes, and that’s where their runs kicked off. Once the writer had detailed out a character’s backstory, played with them a little bit, and figured out who they are, then they took that concept and ran with it. Each story afterward was written around the character rather than fitting the character into another story.

Let’s look at the original Spider-Man comics to see this in action.

In Amazing Fantasy #15, we get to see Spider-Man’s origins as the high school nerd and loser, Peter Parker, who’s constantly bullied, berated, and has no friends. Heck, he doesn’t even have parents. But he does have a loving aunt and uncle who would move Heaven and Earth for their nephew.

We all know the story from there. One day, he gets bitten by a radioactive spider and mutates so that he has a spider’s abilities, he uses that power to get money, Uncle Ben dies because Peter wasn’t responsible, with great power there must also come great responsibility, all that jazz.

Now, that’s Spider-Man’s origin. But what about the sequel with The Amazing Spider-Man #1?

Well, Peter has a responsibility to take care of his Aunt May now that Ben is gone, so he does his shows like he’s been doing for the cash. But when the Daily Bugle newspaper starts berating Spider-Man as a menace, he’s no longer good for show business, and he’s gotta find another way to keep up with his responsibility.

Now, does that next story sound like just any old superhero story to you, or does that sound like a Spider-Man story?

Try fitting another character in there. Green Lantern. The Hulk. Superman. Thor. It doesn’t work. The only character this story works for is Spider-Man because it’s written for him. It challenges the character on a personal level that any other paint-by-numbers plot couldn’t have done.

The Killstream plots

I currently have two books in my cyberpunk LitRPG series called Killstream, and I had two different reactions to each entry. The first novel released with a lot of great feedback and high praise. You liked it! That made me really happy.

Then the second came out, and you liked that one as well, but not nearly as much as the first. The second was good, but the first was better by a mile. Clearly, I wrote a weaker story.

But that didn’t make any sense to me at the time. I took the next step. Stakes were higher. At least, I thought they were. What did I do wrong?

The stakes may have been technically higher, sure. But only from an outside perspective. We were looking at the story from Blake’s perspective, and he, on a personal level, didn’t feel as attached to what was at stake as he should have.

Let’s think about it for a second. What was at stake in the first book? A house. But not just any house. The house Blake’s dad raised him in, and the last remnant of his old father that he had left. If Blake lost the house, it would be like losing his dad again.

(Now, this next part spoils Killstream 1, so if you haven’t read it yet, be sure to skip this paragraph.)

So, what’s at stake in Killstream: Momentum? An apartment. Does it have any emotional significance to Blake? Nope. It’s just an apartment. So, why is he risking his relationship with his best friend to keep it? I don’t know. After all, it’s just an apartment.

See, Killstream 1 was written around Blake as a character. Killstream 2 was another Killstream story that happened to be about Blake. You see the difference?

The second story wasn’t as personal to the lead character, so why should it be personal to you?

A character makes the plot. Without character, there can’t be a plot, and without a plot, there is no story.

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If Killstream sounds interesting to you, you can read it now on Amazon or another one of my sci-fi thrillers.