The Heart of the Story: Why Flawed Characters Make the Best Heroes I used to believe worldbuilding made a great story—until I realized the emotional journey of flawed characters is what truly hooks readers and makes dystopian fantasy unforgettable. Every good story starts with an interesting premise—the “what if” statement. Then, it gradually integrates character development, emotional arcs, and familiar genre tropes. It feels like constructing a living, breathing entity. For me, story premises are sometimes clear, sometimes not. But without an interesting idea, you may struggle to write an interesting story. If you don’t know what a premise is, here are a few examples of worlds I’ve built so far: What if a giant spaceship crashed and introduced alien technology to a planet and some people developed the ability to wield the elements while others didn’t?–Forbidden Chronicles What if there was a perfect society of space-faring elemental wielders, descendants of the architects of the universe, whose sole mission was to protect people from calamity but faced an ancient evil that was unleashed?–The Progenitor Chronicles But these ideas aren’t enough to make a great story. Ideas are only the starting point, the skeleton of the story, if you will. It’s pure world building which is vastly important for science fiction and fantasy stories, but it’s not the main component to be good. And what you’re really missing is the heart. The heart of the story is your main characters. They will drive the emotions of your readers. If you really want to connect with them, the main characters’ problems must mirror our world. There is nothing more important than giving your characters’ flaws. This is something I didn’t fully grasp with my debut novel, The Progenitor. What was even more difficult is that I created a perfect world with flawless fairytale like royals who didn’t have problems. So I broke utopia. Quickly my main character became a shy princess who hated being in the spotlight, which reflects how I’ve lived my whole life. But that wasn’t enough for the story. She had a single flaw, but she didn’t have a problem to fix. So, I broke it further by taking away the very person who made her feel secure. How would she react when she found out after that person died he had lied to her? Who could she trust now? How would she face the rising darkness that was overtaking her people? And every time I wrote another book in the series, my goal was to break the utopia so that she could rise to fix it. What was my lesson? Never make a perfect character or world ever again. If I had learned that lesson earlier, I wouldn’t have had a ton of drafts for The Progenitor. When I sat down to write my next series (Forbidden Chronicles) I did it with intention. My main character would still be a morally good character, but her past would color her with flaws. Her flaws would become emotional arcs that the main side characters would help her overcome. For example, in the first book of the Forbidden Chronicles, Clarissa wants nothing more than to leave her current life behind. She studies hard to get into medical school, but it’s also her weakness. Her caretaker exploits it to control her, but she doesn’t see how to get out of it. Consider this situation from Rising Ember: Clarissa is being put in an impossible situation where she could lose everything she’s working for: “I really hate asking for help, but given the time frame, I don’t have much of a choice. ‘I have to steal something from the town’s selectman’s office.’”–Clarissa, Rising Ember We learn a lot with this one line. Clarissa doesn’t enjoy asking for help, but she’s desperate, so she’s asking for it anyway. What do desperate people forget to do? Think. And often they become impulsive or rash. After a little back and forth where her friend learns why she’s been asked to do this, Luna pushes back on her: “You know you have other options, right?”–Luna, Rising Ember Her friend is basically pointing out that she doesn’t have to obey her guardian if she doesn’t want to, but it never occurred to Clarissa. She’s been groomed from a young age to fear the consequences of her caretaker, which shapes her identity—a common theme within dystopian literature. And this is a major flaw that she must overcome if she’s going to become the hero her people need. These interplays between characters that fully flesh them out, building them into real human-like figures that make us want to care about them. It makes us want to fight alongside them. It helps us explore ourselves through their struggles. However, people are complex. We often have more than one flaw and so should our characters. And to help them overcome those flaws, we have to use the antagonists in our stories to pull on our character’s emotions. One of the most powerful emotional arcs is love. It’s also an emotion that can easily be exploited by the villain. Every great antagonist places a hero’s loved ones in danger, maybe even making an impossible choice. While I don’t believe a romantic arc has to be at the heart of every story to make it good, love is often the driving force of many stories. Just think of Katniss’s driving force. It wasn’t Peeta or Gale—it was Prim, a sisterly bond. The love story was just a bonus, or a path to a life that she had to choose. However, if the romantic plot is a driving force for the main character, the focus should be on the relationship rather than the physical aspect. Having that deeper relationship actually makes the almost touches and kisses more intense. I think it’s much more entertaining reading about two characters sitting side-by-side crushing on each other. Their heart rate speeds up, and they become hyperaware of the other person. That their hands are only a few inches away from each other is their sole focus. Their pinks slide across the distance and just when they’re about to touch, the teacher asks them a question. It just makes you want to scream, doesn’t it? I adore stories that adapt racy romance clichés into a clean, family-friendly format. Rising Ember utilizes forced proximity, a favorite trope of mine. It creates banter and tension between the characters that would not otherwise be there if they could stay apart. It forces them to be together in a way that deepens their relationship as the story goes on and creates conflicting emotions within the main character. When small moments like this happen: “Gabriel’s presence looms over me as he inches closer, close enough for his breath to tickle my neck, causing goosebumps to rise all over my body.” -Clarissa, Rising Ember Hopefully, you’ll feel those goosebumps too! Once you have your heart in place, the rest of the body will form into a story your readers will love. And of course, when they’re hooked, fully focused on the love story, that’s when you throw in the plot twists, cliffhangers, and rip it all away. Which will likely leave your readers screaming for more. Want to explore more about Clarissa’s journey in Rising Ember? The spark of this alliance starts right here. Sara Wright YA dystopian fantasy High-stakes—elemental powers—no-spice Sarawrightbooks.com