​Well-written action scenes are integral to many sci-fi and fantasy stories, from swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story's flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I'm investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

​I’m going to split the topic of magical combat into two subsets: supernatural and sorcery/wizardry. Also, are the Jedi from star wars using supernatural magic, or are they sorcerers? I don’t know. You’re going to have to yell louder; I can’t hear you. 

Supernatural is sort of a misnomer here because magic in this category comes “naturally” to the practitioner as part of their physiology. Vampires, fairies, and ghosts all fall into this category. As well as any creature or person who can innately perform magic. This is an important distinction, supernatural creatures don’t have to learn their magic, but they are not necessarily good at it.
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This means that young or newly magical creatures will not have as good control of their magical abilities. On the other hand, you don’t want to meet a thousand-year-old vampire in a dark alley. Supernatural creatures from lore (fairies, werewolves, etc.) have predetermined powers and limitations to guide combat. No one is bound by the rules of legends, but they can be a helpful guide.

Combat spells are fun to write. They are a chance for limitless creativity because anything is possible in the realm of magic. On the other hand, to guide the narratives, magicians often have a specialty. A magician may specialize in learned spells (often called wizardry) or potions. Different magical groups include: healing, natural (including the four elements or specializing in an element, i.e., pyromancy), necromancy, and psionics (mental powers). There’s also a personal favorite of mine, chaos magic, wherein the characters must contend with unpredictable results.

By virtue of their innate abilities, a supernatural character may often be a specialist in one of the above areas. Although, an interesting character may want to work in magic that goes against their physiology. I’d read a story about a fairy-turned-necromancer.
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Selecting a magical specialty has a few advantages. Inexperienced characters may move up the ladder of their abilities with increasingly impressive displays of magic. A pyromancer may begin with little, uncontrolled fireballs and work up to targeted missiles of fiery destruction. 

The previously mentioned D20 Method for writing combat can also work for magical action, with spells or magical effects doing the damage instead of weapons. If you use this, you’ll either have to use magic from D&D books (there’s a ton) or come up with your own statistics for spell damage.
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Whether or not you use the D20 system, you’ll need to figure out the damage, duration, and lethality of magic effects. For example, if a psionic blast knocks the victim unconscious, how long does it last? Or, how deadly is a wound from a spirit blade, and so on. Also, mixing exciting regular combat with magical combat can make for an epic battle. 

Speaking of epic battles, I had a lot of fun writing this blog series. It took forever to get through it because I was in the middle of a challenging time in my personal life. But, as always, this blog and your comments and participation is a wonderful little bright spot.
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This fall (which is in a few weeks already! what?) I’m starting a new blog series on writing villains. I can’t wait to do a deep dive into bad guys! 

​Well-written action scenes are an integral part of many sci-fi and fantasy stories, from swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story's flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I'm investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

​Weapons can be used as a window into the fantasy or sci-fi world. In the post-apocalypse, maybe all the weapons are hundreds of years old and must be maintained by specialists. Perhaps, in your fantasy world, the only weapons are wands, the crafting of which is an esoteric art. At the very least, your weapons should match your world, and if they don't, there needs to be an explanation as to why.

'"Mithril! All folk desired it. It could be beaten like copper, and polished like glass; and the Dwarves could make of it a metal, light and yet harder than tempered steel. Its beauty was like to that of common silver, but the beauty of Mithril did not tarnish or grow dim."
​– Gandalf in The Fellowship of the Ring

I highly recommend using reading up on historical weapons, especially for a fantasy setting. You'll want to know the difference between a shortsword and a broadsword or a crossbow and a longbow. Not everybody has to wield a sword, either. Whips are extremely handy in combat, for example, and there are a bunch of different kinds.

Similarly, there are all sorts of armors that have varying degrees of permeability and maneuverability. Some armors are so hard to get on and off that the character will need aid when dressing for battle. Considerations like these are what make the special touches that help your readers feel immersed in your world or, at the very least, suspend their disbelief.
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Of course, in some fantasy settings, the primary weapon is magic. I’ll be covering magical combat in the last blog in this series. Weapons with magical effects need to be considered as well in any fantasy setting, from sword-and-sorcery to urban fantasy and everything in between (I’m looking at you steam-punk). Figure out the rules that guide your magic weapons and armor and follow them, even if you don’t spell them out to the reader.

Similar to magical weapons, weapons of the future have rules. Still, unlike their fantasy counterparts, sci-fi weapons must follow the laws of physics and, unless we’re talking alien tech or far future, they have a developmental lineage. This is good news because it gives a blueprint for futuristic weapons and a frame of reference for readers.
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A nerve-paralysis gun, for example, is a weapon I just made up (although it’s probably not novel). It shoots out nanobots that temporarily paralyze the victim. The linage of the weapon is still there, even though it’s nearly unrecognizable. The user points and shoots like a gun. Maybe it has a safety and a trigger. The futuristic elements of the nerve-paralysis gun tell us a little about the world it came from as well. We now know about the nanobots and, once you know about them, there’s no going back. 

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”
― Marcus Aurelius

Often in fantasy and sometimes in sci-fi, procuring a special or superpowered weapon is a significant plot point. Perhaps your characters are searching for a sacred sword lost to history. Maybe, they have to wrest a mighty scepter from an evil sorcerer.

Whatever the quest, it’s essential to handle the physical acquisition of the weapon properly. Often, the story ends when the main character secures the quest weapon or shortly after. This makes it, so the writer doesn’t have to deal with the issues that arise when your character suddenly becomes superpowered by wielding her new weapon. If the story doesn’t end, then the author has to figure out some way to curb the weapon's power. This could include the need to destroy the weapon for the good of the world, a curse upon the weapon wielder, or a limited number of uses.  
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Building epic weapons, figuring out characteristics, and coming with lore can be a fun way to add to your world. The features could be anything usually achievable by magic or potion, including poison, flame, luck, healing, sure strike, and so on. Tying the weapon’s power to the world’s history can be an incredibly revealing narrative element. 

​From swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets, well-written action scenes are an integral part of many sci-fi and fantasy stories. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story's flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I'm investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

I'm a lifelong Dungeons and Dragons player, and I use many D&D techniques when writing (see my entire series on using alignment to write characters). Even if you're not a D&D player, you can still use a 20-sided die (D20) to aid in writing combat scenes. Using die rolls adds an element of chance to action sequences, making them easier to write and more realistic. 

If you're familiar with D&D, you might want to just write up a whole character sheet for each of your main characters and, maybe, a less detailed one for any other characters involved in combat. Character sheets are a great way to create a "sketch" of your characters, even if you're not going to use them for battle. You can find a collection of blank and prefilled character sheets here: https://dnd.wizards.com/charactersheets

As you can see from the sheet, you give numbers to your character's attributes. A lot of these, such as charisma and wisdom, are primarily for character development. But, many of them are useful for combat and action scenes. Attribute ranking for most characters will range between one and five. Five, however, should be used only if the character is very proficient or even a master in the category. A negative score indicates an area of weakness.
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Character statistics are added (or subtracted) from die rolls, then it's up to me to decide what those die rolls mean.

As the author, I know how I want the scene to turn out. I know who is going to win and who is going to wound. Rolling for combat adds an element of guided chaos to my action scenes. Here's an example of how I might use the D&D technique to create an action scene:

I have two characters: Robin the fairy and a troll name Rax. Robin is small, so she has stats that give her a roll modifier of -1 in strength, a +3 in dexterity, and she has 8 hit points (hit points are the number of points of damage she can take before she goes unconscious or dies). Rex has +2 strength, -1 dexterity, and 12 hit points. Robin has a dagger that does 1d3 (one three-sided die roll) of damage, and Rex has a sword that does 1d6 of damage.
For simplicity, let's say that both characters are not wearing armor, which makes their armor class 10 plus their dexterity modifier. So, Robin has an effective armor of 13, and Rex has 9. These are the numbers the other character must overcome to make physical contact.

• Alternatively, you can roll a d20 and add the dexterity modifier to see whether the attack made contact. This method is fine can make the scene even more action-oriented. But it's also time-consuming to write and roll out.

 There are a ton of other attributes that influence die rolls and a lot of background information that can go into creating the numbers that are added or subtracted to a die roll, but I'm going to leave that out of this quick demo.

Already we see that the size and skills of the two fantasy characters are represented with the numbers. There's a whole system for deciding who goes first in combat, but we're going to skip that today too. We'll assume that Robin goes first because her high dexterity means she's generally faster.
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Here are the rolls and how I interpret them for combat:

Round 1:
Robin Rolls 19(-1) total: 18
Rex's Armor: 9
I think: This is more than enough to make contact and is a lucky strike for Robin. I roll a d3 and determine that she makes 3 points of damage. If I want, I can even use a body die to roll where Robin hit Rex.
What I write:
Rex watches for a moment as the little fairy comes barreling down the trail, her wings furiously beating as they carried her along at top speed.
Is she really going to try to attack me? Rex lazily looks down at his scabbard, wondering if it was worth it to draw the sword or if he could just swat her away. In the millisecond he wasn't looking, Robin flew to his side and jabbed her deadly sharp dagger into his ear.
"Bugger," Rex yelled as he unsheathed his sword and clasped his hand to his bloody ear.

Round 2:
Rex Rolls: 7 (+2) total: 9
Robin's Armor: 9
I think: Rex's hit doesn't overcome her armor class, but it almost does. It's not a great roll, and I need to reflect that in the story.
What I write:
Still grasping his ear with one hand, Rex swings wildly with his sword. His sword is so big, and Robin is so tiny, he almost crushed her with the broadside. Robin flitted away, searching for her another chance for a swift attack.
… and do on…
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I might also watch the number of hit points left to determine when a character is wounded or killed, or I might use my own judgment. Usually, it's a mix of both.

I don't have to write out a whole character sheet to determine the outcome of a combat situation or action scene. For quick encounters, side characters, and short stories, I might just quickly roll a 20 sided (or any-sided) die to see who wins an encounter and by how much. In these cases, it's more of a writing prompt or a way to keep the words flowing without having to stop typing for long.
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If I already have a character sheet made, that makes die rolls even quicker and backloads with more information. Die rolls can also determine the outcome or act as prompts for magic duels or attempts at magic and non-combat situations like trying to persuade or trick a character. 

​From swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets, well-written action scenes are an integral part of many sci-fi and fantasy stories. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story’s flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I’m investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

​In an earlier blog, I discussed how it can be difficult for writers to orient the reader in action scenes. We see it all clearly playing out in our heads, but it can end up muddled for readers. Often, characters move through too many places, or their appearance in a new site isn’t explained. Writers can use some tricks from screenwriting to help navigate their readers through swift scenes.

Whenever a screenwriter describes a new scene, she uses descriptive action to establish the location. This one to four-sentence description gives the director and cast a quick overview of the physical area the characters are about to interact in.  

Read this location description from the screenplay Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind:

“It’s gray. The platform is packed with business commuters: suits, overcoats. There is such a lack of color it almost seems as if it’s a black and white shot, except one commuter holds a bright red heart-shaped box of candy under his arm. The platform across the tracks is empty. As an almost empty train pulls up to that platform, one of the suited men breaks out of the crowd, lurches up the stairs two at a time, hurries across the overpass and down the stairs to the other side, just at the empty train stops. The doors open, and the man gets on that train. As the empty train pulls from the station, the man watches the crowd of commuters through the train’s dirty window.”

Now, the main character just goes on with his life after this scene. There’s no action. But, if there was, say, a brawl on the platform that stumbled into the train as it arrived, an author could describe the action blow by blow while keeping the reader oriented. 

For action-heavy scenes, screenwriters often use a technique called storyboarding. A storyboard is a collection of rough sketches of the character’s actions and movements arranged chronologically.

​Each drawing might have the characters involved and arrows showing how the characters move in that scene. You can place sketches in a series of squares, like a comic book or 3x5 notecards.
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 I’m not great at drawing, so I usually just make stick figures when I use this technique. You can even just write a sentence or two of the action in the square or on the card, but physically seeing the action, even if it’s just stick figures, helps create realistic action.
Setting physical rules and boundaries and sticking to them is vital for orienting action, whether magical, martial, or in between.

​From swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets, well-written action scenes are an integral part of many sci-fi and fantasy stories. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story’s flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I’m investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

The narrative’s time and place are the first things I consider when writing an action scene. I’m going to talk about character ability soon, but the story’s circumstances can sometimes dictate a character’s skills, so it’s an important consideration. There may be a particular set of physical or societal conditions that give all characters a base physical skill set.

For example, members of a post-apocalyptic society where everyone fights for resources will have a different skill set than a group of elf nobles from a high-fantasy novel. Characters from the post-apocalyptic might all be able to sprint while carrying heavy loads. That skill may come into play in an action scene, and the “winner” of the combat would need more than those base skills. 

​Next, I consider the character’s physical abilities and if they’ve had any specific training. I use my prewritten character profile for the main characters. If I’m writing about an ancillary character, I might need to write up a quick character sketch to flesh out the combatant. When I write out this brief background, I focus on her combat skills and how she got them.

​A character’s combat style is often about skills they have gained from training. This is what makes the combat or action sequence interesting. Maybe they are skilled at swordplay or at martial arts. Perhaps they fight with laser guns or with magic missiles. The setting you create during your worldbuilding will also affect your character’s ability to gain these skills. A world where most contact is digital may not have much hand-to-hand combat, and there aren’t many firearms in sword-and-sorcery settings. However, none of these rules are hard and fast. But, if your sorcerer has a gun, you better be able to explain why (see my entry on Deus ex Machina).

​From swashbuckling sword-and-sorcery to motorcycle chases through cyberpunk neon streets, well-written action scenes are an integral part of many sci-fi and fantasy stories. Good combat sequences and action scenes happen fluidly and are part of the story’s flow. Satisfying action scenes are simple to read but not so easy to write. In this series, I’m investigating what goes into a successful action sequence.

The problem: Where are the combatants? The inability to discern where the action is happening is one of my biggest pet peeves in action scenes. In these types of scenes, a fight might break out in a bar, then move to an alley, then they break through an alley door into a warehouse, then they’re in a room in the warehouse with explosives for some reason, then they’re in a room with machinery, and on and on. This much movement is jarring, disorienting, and often narratively unnecessary. 

Even worse are narrative jumps from one space to the next with no explanation. If a pair of swashbucklers duel on a promenade and their swordplay inexplicably moves to the deck of a ship, this takes me out of the story because I need to know how they moved locations.
Both issues have the same result. The reader leaves the narrative to figure out where they are. There must be a happy medium between a tedious slog through locations and a sudden jump in the scenery. 

The fix: If I’m planning on moving my characters through an area at top speed, I might survey the area first. Letting my characters and readers get the lay of the land while everything is calm. This solves both problems of too much movement and location skipping.

While my characters enter the bar, I might describe the alley and the adjoining warehouse so that when they’re fighting, they can move through it with a narrative quickness that befits a fight scene. Also, I consider how much the characters need to run for the combat to make sense. Do they really have to travel through half a dozen spaces?  I might skip some of the places they’re moving through and focus on where the action happens. Similarly, if I first depict the promenade as a loading dock hosting a great ship, then the swashbucklers moving onto the boat makes sense.

Later in this series, I will write a whole blog to discuss orienting action in further detail because there are a ton of unique ways to describe combat movement. 

The Problem: The Latin term “Deus ex Machina,” meaning “god from the machine,” describes a sudden plot twist wherein a previously unmentioned power, weapon, or character saves the hero from a hopeless situation. These sudden boosts can be a fun narrative surprise, but they can also be frustrating for readers when executed poorly.

A Deus ex Machina character may suddenly shoot fireballs from their hands during a combat scene. Other examples include someone who has been hiding a gun all along and pulls it out just in time to kill an advancing zombie or a situation where a long-lost sorcerer father who swoops in to save the protagonist. These abrupt additions to the story might make readers think the author is writing themselves out of a corner.

The fix: Hints and foreshadowing are the solutions to the Deus ex Machina dilemma. Maybe once or twice during the story, the character has a fire start around them when sleeping, or a candle lights when they’re reaching for it. That way, it makes sense when their hands suddenly shoot fireballs during intense combat. Readers don’t need to guess what’s going to happen, but what does happen needs to make sense in retrospect. 

The Problem: If a character gets, say, stabbed in the leg, their movement should be impeded by the leg wound until it heals. Barring healing magic, if a character suffers mortal injuries, they should die (or almost die). Someone who loses an eye can’t see as well. Someone who had a gash across their cheek has a scar there. You get the picture.

The fix: This is an easy one. Give the character impediments appropriate to their injury. Remember to describe their healing as well. On the other hand, don’t go crazy with constant descriptions of pain. I once read a book where the main character suffered a concussion, and every third sentence described his headache. This went on for three chapters. It got to the point where I’d just laugh out loud every time his head pain was mentioned again.

​A story can have a vibrant world and a brilliant plot, but it’s all for naught if the characters don’t act like genuine people (or elves, trolls, whatever, you get it). This blog series is about creating authentic characters who act and react realistically in fantastic and futuristic worlds.

Authentic characters have actions they’d never take, but they also have words they’d never say. A lot goes into your character’s dialogue, but most important is their education level and upbringing. A character’s intelligence and how well-read they are doesn’t influence their alignment or motivation unless they are motivated by gaining wisdom. Still, it does come into play when deciding how a character speaks and what kind of vocabulary they use.

Give your character a few favorite words, slight affectations, and grammar patterns. You might want to start by looking over a list of rhetorical devices and assigning a few to some of your characters. Perhaps you have a character who favors the rule of three or is fond of alteration. Other traits can inform dialogue; a shy character will try to speak less than a gregarious one. The goal here is, if you read just the line of dialogue with no other context, would you be able to tell which of your characters said it?

Look at this piece of dialogue from The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien. You don’t need the dialogue tag to figure out who said, “Now, Mr. Frodo…”

“Why, Sam,” he said, “to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you’ve left out one of the chief characters; Samwise the stout hearted. ‘I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn’t they put in more of his talk, dad? That’s what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam, would he, dad?’”

"Now, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "you shouldn't make fun. I was serious.”

"So was I," said Frodo, "and so I am. We're going on a bit too fast…"

Dialogue patterns and particular words may be specific to the world you've built, so take the overall culture into consideration when crafting speech. I'd caution against attempting to make your dialogue sound "old English" because it's in a high fantasy setting or futuristic because it's a visionary sci-fi. These mannerisms end up making your dialogue unreadable. 

​Very few readers want to wade through "Ye ole" and "thou" to discern what a character means to say. Instead, pepper your dialogue with references to the elements in your medieval or futuristic worlds. Similarly, steer away from characters with stutters, lisps, and heavy affectations or accents, unless their minor characters, the dialogue will be too difficult for your reader to slog through.

​For this last activity, give your character something to say. Maybe they will introduce themselves to you. Perhaps your character will comment on being dragged into this world by you (kicking and screaming?). Possibly, they have something to say about the outfit you're wearing, or have them discuss this morning's news. Whatever it is, make sure it's in your character's unique voice.

​A story can have a vibrant world and a brilliant plot, but it's all for naught if the characters don't act like genuine people (or elves, trolls, whatever, you get it). This blog series is about creating authentic characters who act and react realistically in fantastic and futuristic worlds. 

A character's authenticity, motivation, and alignment came from somewhere. The character's "backstory" is how she became who she is. The length and detail of her character backstory is somewhat subject to her age. For example, a forty-year-old will have more history than an eighteen-year-old, unless maybe the eighteen-year-old has been through a lot and the forty-year-old has had an exceptionally dull life.
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Backstory writing is tricky because the more detailed it is, the less of it ends up in the story. Reveal too much information about a character and, well, it's no longer her backstory; it's turned into the story. Instead of including all her backstories, have a small piece of character history come up in conversation or reveal a tidbit of her past at the right narrative moment.

Even if most of it doesn't end up in your final draft, it's handy to know the formative elements of your character's past to help you understand her motivations and choices as she moves through your world.  Consider the other traits you've given her so far and think about how those traits developed. What happened to her that made her chaotic good? Why are they motivated by financial gain? Etc.

Formative bits of backstories don't have to come from significant life events, though they often do. Consider this life-altering bit of information delivered by the narrator's grandfather in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451:

"Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime."

The character's conversation with his grandfather on the importance of things left behind is a formative part of his history and motivated this character's curiosity and eventual protection of books throughout the story. 

​To practice your backstory skills, choose a character, and write a piece of their backstory that helped form their personality. For example: Let's say I have a lawful good character raised by a mother in law enforcement. Or a character who is motivated by altruism because they grew up penniless. If these elements end up in your narrative, you can breathe life into them with fascinating details 

Other Blogs in this Series:
Real Characters; Unreal Worlds
Authentic Characters
Motivation
Dialogue

​I finished National Novel Writing Month (whew!) and I'm ready to continue this series...

A story can have a vibrant world and a brilliant plot, but it's all for naught if the characters don't act like genuine people (or elves, trolls, whatever, you get it). This blog series is about creating authentic characters who act and react realistically in fantastic and futuristic worlds. 

To effectively and convincingly move through a fantastic world, characters need a prime motivation. This motivation should be separate from the story's plot and may even run counter to the narrative. For example, a character who wants to be a knight going on a quest to become a knight is supremely dull. Take a character who only wants to become an academic and force her into a knight's journey; Now we're cooking. I'm not saying that the plot should always run counter to a character's motivation, just that motivation needs to be exciting and can be separate from the plot.
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When a character is inauthentic, it's often because they either don't have any motivation or act in a way that's counter to an established prime goal. A character who is only about gaining esteem will not disrespect a superior without reason. A homeless character who needs shelter won't turn down a free night in an inn just because he doesn't follow the innkeeper's religion. 

One way to choose your character's motivation is to place them on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs chart. In Maslow's needs, motivation moves through five stages, progressively, so once the character fulfills the requirements on one step, their goals move on to the next.

These stages include:
The physiological need for food, shelter, sex, and similar physical needs makes up the pyramid's bottom. The next set of requirements is safety and then love and belonging. Next on the pyramid is esteem and respect. Finally, spirituality, creativity, and self-actualization drive top-tier motivations. 

You can see how powerful these motivations can be in driving your character forward and giving them some personal background and context in your world. For example, a character whose primary motivation is to find food is in a different place in life than someone who is looking for love and family, and both are separate from a character who is searching for spiritual meaning.

Moving a character's motivation through Maslow's chart can provide character growth throughout the story arc. Maybe your character starts out as a thief who steals for food and shelter, attempting to meet needs at the base of the pyramid. With some newfound powers, the character gets all their physical and safety needs met and now wants to find love and belonging. (I realize I just gave an outline of Disney's Aladdin, but it still works as a story arc).

​Motivations are compelling, but note they're not obsessions, although an obsession can spur a motivation. A character who wants to find a girlfriend differs from a character who is obsessed with a certain woman. 

When you write a character, give her a primary motivation. Think about where on Maslow's hierarchy she might land. What needs they already take care of, what still should be fulfilled, and where would she like to go next, whether her journey is physical, professional, or spiritual. You can be general with your motivation; for example, maybe your character just really needs to feel safe or to find love. Or perhaps she has a specific motivation to rule a kingdom or undo a wretched curse.

​A story can have a vibrant world and a brilliant plot, but it’s all for naught if the characters don’t act like genuine people (or elves, trolls, whatever, you get it). This blog series is about creating authentic characters who act and react realistically in fantastic and futuristic worlds

Characters in sci-fi and fantasy often have paragon attributes and powers far above the average person walking around on the street. Even an ordinary citizen in a sci-fi likely has sensational gadgets that we don’t currently have access to.

So, how do we make an elf, wizard, or bionic woman seem more realistic? The best way to ensure the authenticity of any kind of figure is to craft your character, give them a set of distinguishable traits, and, and this is the most crucial part, stick to those traits.
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In successful science fiction or fantasy stories, the audience suspends their disbelief. For me, I’m willing to allow a writer to take me on implausible journeys to distance futures and surreal worlds. I want to believe in an alien or wizard. When a wizard or alien acts out of character or does something only to blatantly further the plot, my disbelief returns, and I’m no longer wrapped up in the story. I may even stop reading it.

Read this exchange from J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, between the hobbit Bilbo Baggins and the dragon Smaug:

     "Well, thief! I smell you, and I feel your air. I hear you breathe. Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare!"
     But Bilbo was not quite so unlearned in dragon-lore as all that, and if Smaug hoped to get him to come nearer so easily, he was disappointed. "No thank you, O Smaug the Tremendous!" he replied.
     "I did not come for presents. I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them."
     "Do you now?" said the dragon somewhat flattered, even though he did not believe a word of it.
     "Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities," replied Bilbo.
     "You have nice manners for a thief and a liar," said the dragon.

Bilbo is tiny and rogue. Lying isn’t beneath him, and hiding is a necessity. Here, the dragon’s natural strengths, his enormous size, and his gold hoard are detrimental because Bilbo is, by nature, adept at hiding.

While both characters are tricky, neither of them fools the other. This is important. Bilbo tricking the dragon might help the plot, but you don’t get to be an ancient, wealthy dragon if you’re fooled by the first bit of flattery hurled your way. Bilbo wouldn’t go charging at the dragon to slay him. He’s a hobbit; hobbits hide.

​To ensure characters’ authenticity, they must have a set of distinctive attributes and a background story that plausibly gives rise to those traits. They should adapt and change throughout the story in an arc that makes sense to their history and personality. The Bilbo Baggins at the end of The Hobbit differs from the one at the end of the book, but he still has most of the same fundamental characteristics.

​To check for authenticity, take a few minutes and write something that your character would never do. Maybe they’d never eat meat, perhaps they’d never have children, perhaps they wouldn’t steal under any circumstances or go to bed without saying their prayers. Next, start building their backstory by writing why they’d never do it.

A quick note: This will be my last blog for a month, apart from my Tripping the Multiverse cover release on November 17th. I’m taking part in NaNoWriMo for November. I’m only completing half the challenge. I can’t commit to a full novel because *gestures to everything,* but I plan on completing the second half of the next book in my Jade and Antigone series. Exciting times!