Character Arc: Vork's Turning Point Catalyst

In my mind (I'm being a little arbitrary here), there are three main elements to a good turning point for a character.

1. The turning point needs to have motive.
2. It needs to be a logical extension of the character.
3. It needs to come at the last possible instant, when the character is forced from within to make the change.

Also, when you are dealing with a story with multiple characters, it is really great when the turning points harmonize, coming at different places within the narrative, but not in a predictable rhythm, and certainly not all at once. When character arcs rise and fall, seemingly independently of one another, the story can gain strength and depth. Kind of like a choir.

There have been times when I've thought something was written poorly, but it had nothing to do with style, grammar or emotional depth: it had to do with badly timed, poorly placed or unmotivated turning points.

A good example of harmonic turning points can be seen in the scriptwriting for The Guild. (ahem, you have watched the Guild, right?)

Six characters with diverse goals and objectives converge under extraordinary circumstances, and in harmony, build both to the climax of the story and to their own individual turning points.

Take Vork/Herman, played by Jeff Lewis. Vork is a man living in the shadow of society, subsisting off the social security checks of his deceased grandfather. He is thrifty, cautious, and, aside from his online persona (and recognized leader of the Guild), almost totally anti-social. If he ever goes out, which is rare, he sneaks his own beverages into restaurants. Yeah, he's that guy.

He encloses himself in obscurity at home, sealing himself from outside contact even though the people with which he associates online all live within a half hour of his house. He's a hermit, and likes it that way. The first conflict for this character arises when he's asked to venture outside.

His tipping point comes early in the storyline, in episode 3. When Codex/Cyd asks her online friends to meet in the real world for the first time, Vork's resistance to such a thing (which has already been well-established in the subtext of his character) is vocalized. Even after he exhausts his logic-based excuses for not meeting, he resorts to his base emotion:

"...and also, I don't wanna."

His turning point comes shortly thereafter, when Codex insists that it is critical to the group.

Vork's turning point occurs at about the 3:00 mark, and resolves by 3:12:

The moment of transition from hermit to face-to-face meeter passes briefly (A well-placed turning point is often subtle, and usually even more subtle with supporting characters.) but it is significant. Vork agrees to venture out.

Why does it work?

1. The motive for his change is laid early on. Vork is online leader, he's well organized, and, although he has secured his isolation by unscrupulously living off of government checks for the deceased, he was a dutiful grandson, caring for his grandfather while he lived. Herman/Vork has a sense of duty and thrift, organization and an aspiration to lead, all of which lead him to isolation...but also to his willingness to break from isolation. In other words, the conflict stems from "two divergent choices which stem from the same motive." His leadership of the online group provides justification for his hermitage, but also impetus for him to venture out.
2. It is telling that his decision is clinched by Codex's appeal to his acumen for organization. Vork has a choice of two risks, not one. If he follows his nature and doesn't meet face-to-face, he risks the online group. If the offline group falls apart, so does The Guild. More than that, by not meeting, he risks his control. Doing the thing he does not want -- socializing -- is the most certain way of ensuring that he doesn't lose what is most important to him: his (online) friends.
3. The consequences of not meeting will be immediate: Codex is at her wits' end, Zaboo is at a fever pitch, Bladezz has betrayed the Guild. The threat to the group is at the gates, and Vork must make the choice. Had it come any earlier, it would have lacked tension, any later, and it would have been too late to alter the course of events.

Also, and I think this is a key: even though all the characters are persuaded to meet face-to-face in this scene, it is only a turning point for Vork. A resistance to meeting is shared by almost all, but is only a bugbear for one.

If I get the chance, I'm going to look at another Guild character's turning point to contrast the two, and see if I can break the harmony down at the writing level.

In any case, good writers for the screen, stage or print know how to place a character's turning point in the right position.

Character Arc: Elmer Gantry

Before I saw the film, I'd always assumed that Elmer Gantry* followed the predictable stereotype of the religious huckster who demonstrated the ignorance of rural American Christianity (and, by association, all Christianity). In fact, most critics of Christian faith point to the character of Elmer Gantry when attempting to illustrate the hypocritical gap between faith and practice.

But that doesn't explain one of the most surprising and unapologetic character developments in film history, when Gantry, the womanizing huckster, the poser pastor, sets foot in a congregation that he has no intention of steering wrong, or steering at all.



This isn't a turning point for Gantry, but a character development that allows for a fully-realized, complex and, yes, sympathetic character to supercede any 2-dimensional stereotype that might be more comfortable to mock.

So, the next time you hear of a preacher being compared to Elmer Gantry, its probably a good idea to ask, "In what way?"

See also The Apostle with Robert Duvall.

*Note that I'm not talking about the book Elmer Gantry, by Sinclair Lewis. That one lives up to its anti-religious reputation with flying colors.** But, in this case, the film is a much more satisfying experience, even at the secular level.

**Often at the expense of the quality of the story. Lewis' internal tangents commit a sin far, far worse than violating religious decorum, they tell without showing, they tip his hand, and they take huge emotional shortcuts.

Character Creation and Arcs

Creation, both the act and the art, involve myriad details, but one that is frequently critical, but often overlooked, is change. Change, whether purposeful or unintentional, is a hallmark of most art. We say we are "moved" by art for a reason. Not only does it inspire an emotional, cognitive and spiritual response, but it also serves as a vehicle, to transport us from one place to another.

I think this is why character arcs matter so much in fiction. Characters that don't change over the course of a story are incapable of moving the reader. Inert characters inspire inertia: they are a form of anti-transport.

Jeff Gerke's Tips #3 and #4 (scroll down) go into the "how" of this in greater detail, but I think the why is important to remember. I think, if I get the chance, I'll intentionally take a look at the arcs of some characters and see if I can find the turning point of each, and determine what that means for the reader/viewer.

It's All About Meme: Book Memories

Ugh. A human touched me.

Apparently, the only way to rid myself of the mental infection is to respond and pass it on.

1. Do you associate reading particular books with the places you read them or events of the time you read them?

Generally no. There is one exception. I've read the Lord of the Rings probably eight times so far in my life. The very first time was by candlelight, at a dilapidated antique writer's desk.

Believe it or not.

2. Do you remember the books you read or do they fade quickly? Or do you remember some better than others? How about remember details like character names, not just overall plot?

I stop reading any book after page 100 if I determine I'm not making memories with it. I think any author I pick up has earned a hundred from me. If they can't skewer me with something good by then, there's no match to be had. I'll give every author a second shot with a subsequent novel, but if that one doesn't do anything by the 100 page threshold, it'll take a lot for me to try a third time with them.

If I make it through to the end of the book, it is highly likely that it'll stick with me. If the story was great or rotten, it will stick with me forever. If it had some engaging qualities, but nothing spectacular (or embarrassingly bad) it has a shorter half-life in my brain.

It has been a long time since I've come across a new plot, so, while those are easy to remember, there are characters and scenes too vivid to ever let go: Tod Clifton, The Unman Weston, The Child at the Window (Salem's Lot), The Seventh Circle, Sancho Panza, Mrs. Prest, Jo March, Frankenstein's Monster, Bunny Corcoran, The Misfit, Lucian and on and on. I still remember the final sentence of Stephen King's "The Long Walk" and the brilliant mix of release, uplift, defiance and glory it evokes as I recall it today, twenty years after my first (and only) read.

3. Have you ever forgotten you’ve read/own a book and borrowed/bought it again?

Quoting Luke Skywalker on the scaffolding - "No. That's impossible."

+++

The problem with memes is that you must have some sort of relationship with humans in order to complete its requirements. I eschew such things, save when my belly rumbles.

So I'll just tag some people who wouldn't know me from a passing bus, which distinguishes them in no way from my closest (imaginary) friends:

Nicole Petrino-Salter

Tom Lommel

Tosca Lee

Felicia Day

E.E. Knight

Character Creation: A Man in Third Heaven

I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago (whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows) was caught up to the third heaven. And I know that this man was caught up into paradise and heard things too sacred to be put into words, things that a person is not permitted to speak. On behalf of such an individual I will boast, but on my own behalf I will not boast, except about my weaknesses.

Paul writes this to the Corinthians, almost as an aside.

"Oh, by the way, I know this guy who went to heaven. So, how's life going? Did you see the big game?"

This is a great example of introducing the supernatural to a story. Paul isn't writing fiction, but relaying a history, of course, but the principle he employs applies to storytelling.

Heaven is separate, real, experiential and unique, and Paul nails all four qualities in a short passage. Third heaven is a state wherein the witness was "caught up" (separate), either in the body or out of it (real), heard things too sacred for words (experiential), and whose experience was worthy of boasting (unique.)

Readers of the supernatural who have no real interest in spiritual things will be drawn to the realness and the experience, but have little thirst for separateness or uniqueness. Both Stephen King and Neil Gaiman are masters of the first two qualities. Their strange gods/heroes will have dirt under their nails, and can navigate a fistfight or a brothel with all too humen acumen. They have little use for separateness, for a uniqueness that might be considered pure or holy.

On the other hand, writers like Peretti have a hammer lock on the more subtle qualities. They get separateness. The understand uniqueness. Their strange gods/heroes may lack in a physical reality, but they are endowed with a special sort of clarity - a defined, clean isolation that should be unique to mythic figures.

Then, you've got the rare few who are able to bring forth all four effects into one good character. When a writer can do this, he (or she, although, I've got to admit, all you humans look the same to me) has achieved a glorious thing.

Shelley does it with Frankenstein's monster. C.S. Lewis accomplishes it several times, as does O'Connor (Lewis' best example can be found in the Unman Weston in Perelandra, and I'll just take a stab at O'Connor's iconic Misfit). Lee does it in Demon: A Memoir with Lucian and his ilk. Rice strangely achieves this in Interview with A Vampire and then "over-realizes" Lestat in the Vampire Lestat. Stoker does it with Count Dracula in the abstract.

Somehow, all four cylinders have to hit in rhythm. St. Paul does it here with ease. I haven't done it yet.