Creating Messy Characters

June 2025: Revision Reflections

When I was a kid, I couldn’t remain in the room when reruns of I Love Lucy were playing on our black and white TV. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Lucy (who didn’t love Lucy?). I simply couldn’t bear to watch her mess up. I was overcome with a desire to hide but would run to the kitchen and pace instead—frantic for the world to be set right again. Just thinking back on that scene at the chocolate factory when Lucy and Ethel are trying to wrap bonbons as fast as they appear on the conveyor belt (but having to fill their hats, pour them down their dresses, and shove them in their mouths) causes my heart rate to go up.

So it’s not surprising, that all these years later, the developmental editor I hired to read my novel (this one for adults) suggested I make my protagonist messier. It’s great advice and I wholeheartedly agree with her assessment. I just don’t know if I can do it.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the reasons for making a character messy—it makes them more authentic (not to mention interesting), increases their relatability, and raises tension in the story. And after six novels, I am fairly confident in my ability to create visibly flawed characters who are blind to the ways they self-sabotage. My protagonists (I hope) blur the lines between right and wrong, strong and weak. They are, like all of us, works in progress.

But the actions of these flawed characters remain within a certain sphere of control—mine and theirs. I will push their misbehavior only so far. I will let them steal one or two chocolates from the conveyor belt, but I won’t let them stuff their mouths. I feel an actual physical resistance (revulsion?) when I approach a possible loss of control. (It’s impossible for me to write a scene in which my character lets go of even a modicum of control without repeatedly leaving my seat and again, you got it, pacing around the room.)

It doesn’t take a professional to recognize that this inability stems from my own childhood trauma. The survival skills I developed to keep me both physically and emotionally safe as a kid (behave, follow the rules, don’t stand out, don’t emote) are the same skills that prevent me from growing as a writer. Telling me to write messier characters (as smart as that is) has the same end result as telling me, “Don’t be so sensitive, Jennifer.”

Oh, okay! Let me fix that. Easy peasy.

Knowing what I should do and wanting to do it are simply not enough. In order to write characters who act out, I need to override my alarm system—a system that has served me well, but still goes off with the frequency of a smoke detector in a barbecue joint. To make matters worse, when in danger, my chosen “f” (fight, flight, freeze, fawn, or flop) is freeze. If my protagonists carry some of my own trauma (and, of course, they carry some of my own trauma) then freezing looks an awful lot like control—at least on the outside. (And let’s face it, while messiness on the inside can be interesting, it’s a whole lot less messy than a full-blown, let-her-rip meltdown.)

If you’re wanting to suggest therapy—no worries, I’m on it. But I also want to believe that the act of exploring the loss of control in narrative can help. Perhaps, the more I let my characters be their most vulnerable, impulsive, messy selves—the more I allow them to really screw up—the freer I’ll be too.

So, I’ve done what any good writer might do, I’ve taken to the Internet and created a self-guided course on writing messy characters. I honestly don’t know if I can do it, but I’m going to give it a damn good try. Here are some of the more intriguing techniques I want to try:

1. Thankfully, I cannot only can stay in the room when messy characters are on TV now, the dramedy genre has become my favorite. I want to rewatch The Bear, Shrinking, and Somebody Somewhere to study the precise moments when characters let go. What precedes those moments? What are the reactions of those around them? What makes their vulnerability so damn endearing?

2. Writer Shaunta Grimes shared this tip (passed on to her by one of her professors): know that every character flaw is rooted in strength. Identify your character’s greatest strength, and then explore the inverse. For example, if your character is incredibly perseverant, they may also be ridiculously rigid, refusing to bend. What might that look like at its messiest? (You can read Shaunta’s article here.)

3. Tim Long, screenplay writer of The Simpsons, says, “If you’re seriously committed [to your revision], I suggest the following bit of one-person role play: pretend that the person who wrote the first draft is someone you really hate . . . you have free rein to do whatever you want: cut, rethink, reword, rearrange, whatever. If you fail—no big deal—how could anyone save a disaster like that terrible first draft.” I’m going to see if this trick for creating a little more distance between me and my work allows me to insert more drama with a capital D.

4. Early on, I identified the Enneagram personality of all my central characters. One of the things I love about this model is that you can explore how a character is likely to behave under extreme stress. My protag is a “3”—The Achiever. According to the Enneagram Institute, she can be exploitive, opportunistic, untrustworthy, maliciously betraying, and vindictive when pushed to her limits. (I need to pump up the display of all these reactions.)

5. Over the years, one suggestion I've gleaned from various sources (but always managed to ignore) is to write the scenes your protagonist doesn’t want you to write. Ask yourself: What’s the secret or moment in their life they would most like to bury? What would they least want someone else to know about them? Once you have an answer, go there. That’s where you’ll discover the raw, unfiltered, messy humanity of your character—and where your reader will discover it, too. (While I love this idea. It scares me to death.)

6. Over and over in my journal for my WIP, I have written: “Inherent in every transformation is the betrayal of a lie, an idea or belief that no longer serves the protagonist.” (John Yorke, Into the Woods) It seems to me that those moments when the lie is being challenged would have to be quite messy. I’m going to go back and identify those. How does my character respond when her belief system is attacked? How can I make her lose her shit more?

Again, identifying these solutions and doing them are two different things. The trick will be allowing myself to feel and pass through the very real discomfort. (Send conveyor belts of chocolate!)

Those are my ideas for creating messier characters. I would love to hear yours. If you have the same challenge when writing, or you have found something, anything that has worked for you, please share in the comments.

Love,

Jen

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Sarah Aronson began writing for kids and teens when someone in an exercise class dared her to try. Since then, she has earned an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults and published a variety of books for kids and teens from Head Case, to Beyond Lucky, The Wish List series, as well as Just Like Rube Goldberg, illustrated by Robert Neubecker, Brand New Bubbe, illustrated by Ariel Landy, and Abzuglutely!: Battling, Bellowing Bella Abzug, illustrated by Andrea D’Aquino.

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