MOTIVATION
A reason or incentive to do something.
Why do we do what we do? What motivates us? Most often it’s something like fear, greed, jealousy, desire, revenge, to name just a few. These are emotions, which can certainly drive a scene or short story. But emotions are transitory, and may not last. To drive your protagonist—we’ll call her Prot—through an entire novel, she’ll need something more substantial, something more long-lasting. She’ll need a story GOAL.
Note that goals are not for the passive. Passive characters do not slay dragons, save the world, nor solve the mystery. Only active, determined characters do those things. A goal can be forced on Prot, but Prot cannot be passive in pursuing the goal. (Even the best authors can’t make a “silk purse” novel out of a protagonist’s passive “ear.” See Bernard Cornwell’s STONEHENGE for confirmation.)
So where do Prot’s goals come from? James Scott Bell tells us all stories are about death, and that there are three kinds of death Prot will go to any lengths to avoid: 1) Actual physical death; 2) Psychological, or spiritual death—as in Prot will die inside if the goal is not met; and 3) Professional death—when what Prot does for a living is in jeopardy.
Avoiding physical death as a goal is pretty much self-explanatory. The latter two, however, could use a little explanation.
A nearly-forgotten psychologist named Prescott Leckey, who was overshadowed in his time by Freud and Jung, proclaimed, “Every human’s most vital task in life is the preservation and enhancement of his concept of himself.” In other words, everybody—including Prot—acts or refuses to act based on what they think they are, or aren’t. “I’m just that kind of guy!”
A detective, as an example of professional death, works long hours for little pay, doggedly chasing down one clue after another, because she sees herself as a detective—it’s her duty, it’s her job, it’s her concept of who she is.
Psychological, or spiritual death, can be seen in the sacrifice of a soldier. Why would someone risk physical death for someone else? Because “letting down his buddies” is more abhorrent to how he sees himself than losing his own life.
The classic Western, HIGH NOON is a great example of all three deaths. Will Kane, the marshal, faces physical death (there are 4 gunmen coming for him, after all), psychological death if he runs away, as everyone urges him to do, and professional death in his duty as a lawman. So why does Marshal Kane stay? Because he is determined to preserve what he believes about himself.
How does Prot come to these beliefs about herself? They start in childhood—or backstory, if you prefer. This is why it is important to have a fully fleshed-out protagonist, complete with backstory.
Lisa Cron, in her book STORY GENIUS, proposes that the author needs to write 3 complete formative scenes from Prot’s childhood (and, preferably, any other viewpoint character). Cron talks of the “misbelief” Prot builds up about herself, though the idea could apply to any developing concept of self. She urges that the 3 scenes—written out completely, mind you—are the scenes from different stages of childhood and adolescence that first creates, then enforces, and finally reinforces the misbelief of herself that Prot needs to overcome in the novel.
While overcoming an errant belief about oneself makes for a fine plot or subplot, it may not apply to your novel. But creating that kind of deep backstory goes a long way toward turning Prot—or any other viewpoint character—from a mere character into a person the reader can understand, root for, and ultimately bond with.
And for any author who thinks that is too much effort, remember: The more work you do, the more compelling your story will be.
