Writing Likeable, but Difficult, Characters

Writing Likeable, but Difficult, Characters

Emma Barry

We’ve all seen the reviews that say, “The protagonist wasn’t likeable. Two stars.” But what does it mean for a character to be likeable?

For me, it’s rooted in relatability. If a character is too perfect, they will likely feel aspirational. I might want to be them, but I don’t necessarily want to be friends with them. But if I understand what the character wants and if I want those same things, if I’m invested in their journey, even when they stumble on the way, and if their voice is endearing and funny, then I’m going to root for them. Even if—especially if—they’re flawed and complex.

Quite frankly, while I respect and admire Superman, I don’t necessarily like him. Lois Lane is a different story. Lois is smart and tough. She’s invested in her journalism, and she uses tenacity and humor to get to the truth. Lois worries that Clark Kent might be overshadowing her at work, and she’s upset when she’s attracted to Superman because she’s supposed to be investigating him. Now those are some relatable conflicts!

But it took absolutely no time at all for me to find reviews complaining that Lois is “selfish,” “too stupid to live,” or even a “bitch.” So how do you balance likeability with traits that some readers might find difficult?

In my most recent book, the protagonist is a comedian on Comedy Hour, a sketch show that’s based on Saturday Night Live. After reading a dozen books about SNL and memoirs from cast members, it was clear to me that, as a group, these are difficult human beings. Hilarious, yes. But uniformly kind, mature, and stable? Um, no.

I could write Sam as the cheese that stands alone, as the one calm person in the sea of banana pants. The Jane Curtain, if you will, of my fictional SNL. Or I could embrace the warps and knots of his personality and try to make him likeable in spite of his messiness.

I went with door number two, and in pursuit of that goal, my lodestars were Han Solo, Robin Hood, and Howl Pendragon. In other words, charming rogues.

Like many babies of the 80s, I fell hard for Star Wars resident scoundrel. Han Solo can be selfish and cynical; he’s a literal smuggler for crying out loud. But because he can laugh at himself, because he constantly seems to be flying by the seat of his pants, and because you get the sense that most of Han’s nihilistic pronouncements cover up vulnerability, you root for Han. And it doesn’t hurt that he looks like Harrison Ford.

With Robin Hood, he’s a thief, sure, but he’s a thief for good. He tries not to use violence, though he will if necessary. All of his greatest exploits are more about wit and justice than raw brawn and vengeance. And Robin balances the moral scale against the cruel Sheriff of Nottingham and the vacuous King John. What could be better than that?

Howl, from Diana Wynne Jones’s classic Howl’s Moving Castle and the wonderful Studio Ghibli film, is vain, histrionic, and self-absorbed. But he can also be brilliant, protective, and funny. Sure, he doesn’t notice that Sophie moved into his castle for a while, but he alone can see through the curse that the Witch of the Waste put on her, and in the end, he has the good sense to fall in love with Sophie.

That last bit was the breakthrough that helped me to write Sam. Likeable jerks are often redeemed by winning the right partner. Someone who isn’t afraid to call them out on their worst excesses, who can match them wit for wit, and who is in every way their opposite—and therefore their perfect match. Lois needs Superman. Han needs Leia. Robin needs Marian. Howl needs Sophie. And in Funny Guy, Sam needs Bree. 

The truth is, loveable assholes have more fun. Just make them relatable, show us the vulnerability underneath their shells, set them against rotten villains, and give them perfect matches, and we’ll follow them anywhere.

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Find out more about Emma on her website https://authoremmabarry.com/

FUNNY GUY

From the author of Chick Magnet comes a heartfelt friends-to-lovers story about what can happen when a funny guy and his childhood best friend are stuck together in a small New York City apartment.

Sam can’t escape the smash hit “Lost Boy” because, well, he is the lost boy. His pop-singer ex immortalized him in a song about his childish ways, and now his comedy career is on the line.

At least he still has Bree, his best friend and confidante. Bree has always been there for Sam, but she’s never revealed her biggest secret: she’s in love with him. To help herself move on, Bree applies for her dream job across the country—and doesn’t say a thing to Sam.

But as Sam tries to resuscitate his career, he turns to Bree for support—and maybe more. In the confines of her tiny apartment, they share a different dynamic. A charged dynamic. But she’s his friend. He can’t be falling for her.

Except he is.

Are his feelings for Bree just funny business? Or is their smoldering attraction the real deal?

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips