When characters refuse to follow the plot – and why that's a good thing. JC Spark on creative loss of control, literary Valkyries, and a Julia who just wanted to be different.
If you want to be in control when you write, you shouldn't invent characters. Or at least not characters like Julia.
Many people imagine writing to be like directing a film: you give instructions, assign roles, control the scene. At first, you think you have everything under control. Character profile, backstory, arc. And then it happens: a character does something completely unexpected – and it fits. The character stops, turns around, and simply goes in a different direction. And you follow them because you sense that this is the right path.
That's what happened to me while working on Raum Zeit. More specifically, when the character Dr. Julia Tamos was born. I had her—as they say—fully fleshed out. She had a detailed backstory, a psychological touch, a reference image (yes, I'm one of those authors who does that), and I knew exactly how she fit into the story: an elegant, petite, blonde, somewhat mysterious psychologist in her mid-forties. Classic. Stylish. Cool and a little aloof.
And then she stepped into her first real scene. In the text. On page whatever. And—well. She wasn't blonde. She wasn't elegant. ... And she wasn't forty either. Not even close.
Instead: an imposing figure, more Valkyrie than elf. Mid-thirties. Flashily dressed. Purple hair. Not exactly loud, but with an unmistakable presence. And she suddenly had a detail in her biography that completely contradicted my plan. I sat there, reading the finished draft of the scene – and knew immediately:
This is not the Julia I had planned. This is the real one.
Of course, I could have called her back. Nothing had been published yet, not even my wife had read the draft, and everything could still be rewritten. But I didn't. Because the way she was now, she felt real – much more so than my previously conceived concept. So she stayed. And I fell a little bit in love with this new, colorful Julia.
However, I was now missing a character with the original backstory. And at that very moment, a door opened in my mind and Agent Claire Fox stepped through. It was as if she had been waiting for Julia to make room for her. And what can I say: looking back, it was the best thing that could have happened to the story.
With both of them – Julia and Claire – I can explore narrative paths that would never have worked with just one of them.
Such “character revolutions” happen to authors more often than you might think. A character who was only supposed to be a side plot filler suddenly demands the spotlight. Or, as in my case, she's supposed to appear as an elegant lady and leaves the scene in rainbow colors.
And I'm in good company. Stephen King wrote about the creation of Misery that Annie Wilkes completely took him by surprise.
Originally intended as an antagonist, she became more and more complex as he wrote—so much so that King said she started talking to him and he had to listen. (Which is ironic, considering that she teaches his protagonist to listen with a sledgehammer.)
When a character refuses to follow the plot, it's often not a mistake. It's a sign that they're alive. That there's more to them than you thought. And that as an author, you're not an all-powerful puppeteer, but rather a chronicler—someone who writes down what wants to unfold, who discovers the story and its protagonists along with the reader.
Of course, there are rules, structures, and plot outlines. But sometimes it's good when a character ignores those rules.
Because it's often these characters that make our stories truly unforgettable.
Which character in your favorite book do you think secretly invented themselves?
Write me your theory or your own “character with a life of their own” experience – I'm curious!
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