When I was writing my first novel, feeling satisfied about what I’d written, I called a friend of mine who’d successfully written books and asked him for advice on how to get my book in front of agents and publishers.
But he wasn't ready to talk about that painful process.
Instead, he wanted to talk basics.
“David, tell me about your book.”
For the next ten minutes, I told him all about my thrilling plot: a Russian oligarch meddles in American elections, using the weakness of gerrymandering as his backdoor into American power and prosperity. (This conversation took place in 2014.)
My friend interrupted me after ten minutes and cautioned: “David, you have a lot of work to do on your book.”
Surprised, I asked: “Why? Didn’t that sound like a great story?”
“Sure. But you spent ten minutes on the plot and didn’t once mention your main character, which means you’re thinking about your book the wrong way.”
He was right. I may have mentioned that my character was a journalist, and that was probably it. And that was because my main character had very little depth to him at that point. He was just the vehicle to relay my super-exciting plot.
Then my friend said: “David, if a reader is excited by your main character, Iikes that character, is intrigued by that character, that reader will get through a whole lot of plots. But if they don’t know and like that character, that reader won’t get through any plot, no matter how exciting you may think it is.”
As I thought through most books that had grabbed me, it was pretty clear his words of wisdom were right.
Over the coming months, I rewrote the book (“The People’s House”) with far more intense focus on my main character. Jack Sharpe emerges as a gritty, hard-nosed reporter for the Youngstown Vindicator whose own ups and downs in life mirror the hard-scrabble ups and downs of Youngstown as well as the struggles of being an aging print journalist in modern times. I ultimately converted him into first person so the readers could know him even better. And the story becomes as much about how risking his life to uncover the biggest scoop of his life changes him—revives him—as it is about how that scoop upends the country.
That was the first of many rewrites. When this book came out later, in the middle of 2016, I found that people did like the plot (although it scared people too :))—but so many also told me how much they liked reading about Jack Sharpe.
I ended up writing two more “Jack Sharpe books.” Completely different plots. Same character, although always evolving as a person based on what challenges he’s enduring.
I also would take great time and care developing all my other secondary characters. That actually became one of the most fascinating parts of writing fiction for me. Think through the details and nuances of a variety of characters, imagine how they would naturally all react and interact to events and one another, then capture that all through your writing. The characters drive it all. Almost the reverse of how I started that first book.
My friend was so right: “[I[f a reader likes your main character, that reader will get through a whole lot of plots. But if they don’t like that character, that reader won’t get through any plot, no matter how exciting you may think it is.”
Same with Politics!
As I discovered how right he was for fiction, I also have found that this insight applies just as forcefully in politics, and campaigns.
Even (maybe especially) in these wild times, a campaign is all about the main character—the candidate.
If you’re running, more than anything else, your story, how you tell it, what drives you, your authenticity, etc., your passion, is what excites people about the campaign you are running. And it’s why they want to help. Far more than the particulars of the office you are seeking or the plans you lay out of what you hope to do (as important as that may be).
You’re the central character. Like a good book, if they like you, people will follow you through thick and thin for whatever office you are seeking. Especially today, that character is what many are looking for.
And if they don’t find it, forget it.
I’ve seen this play out again and again.
When I met Ashley Cossins and Leslie Jones in Missouri last weekend, for example, I felt it. Their compelling characters—their personal stories—will drive their entire effort. It’s why people will support them, and volunteer for them, and vote for them.
“What’s an Aftab?”
A few years ago, a young, new candidate in Cincinnati personified the truism about plot vs. character more than any candidate I’ve ever seen.
He was running for Clerk of Courts of Hamilton County, an office no Democrats in Hamilton County much thought or cared about because we hadn’t had the office in a century.
At the time, the run for clerk would’ve been considered a pretty dull plot.
But this candidate had a heck of a personal story, and he told it well.
His name is Aftab Pureval.
Aftab would start every speech explaining that people would always ask him, “What’s an Aftab?”
Then he’d explain that his name was Persian for “sunshine.”
Why did his parents name him sunshine?
Well, as he would explain, because his mother had “fled the Communist Chinese regime in Tibet, crossing the Himalayas as a girl, eventually meeting his father in India and moving together in their 20s to southwest Ohio.” To….Beavercreek, Ohio, where they had a son they named sunshine, and found in Ohio a home that allowed Aftab and his family to find opportunity after that long journey. And now, he’d explain, he was running for office so he could deliver the same type of opportunity this state and community had provided for his family.
Now that’s a compelling personal story—an unforgettable character you’re cheering for—and within three minutes, you knew it. And wouldn’t forget it.
And for a year, Aftab started every speech telling his story. Explaining his name, who he was, and why it compelled him to do public service now.
And having established who the main character was, he created a fever pitch interest in a “plot”—running for Clerk of Courts—no Democrat, at least, had found exciting for a long time. And the excitement wasn’t because of Aftab’s plans (which he also discussed in his speeches) to clean up the office. It was because he and his story were the heart of the campaign, and he’d weave them together perfectly.
On the strength of that story, he built a juggernaut of a campaign. But even when he had raised the funds for television, his TV ads at the end of the campaign were still about his name. His story.
And when he upset the incumbent to win this office (again, the first time Democrats had won the office in a century), the crowd who showed up to watch their new Clerk of Courts get sworn in was the largest of any office that year, spilling over into multiple other rooms to watch on monitors. And I firmly believe that crowd would’ve been equally big whatever office Aftab happened to assume that day—in other words, whatever the plot had been. They were there to cheer on the main character who had inspired them.
Aftab is now Mayor of Cincinnati. And still, more than anything, the strength of his own story propelled him there as well.
“If they like the main character, they’ll stick to almost any plot.”
If you’re writing a book, remember that.
And if you or someone you know is running for office—or if you’re recruiting people to run for office (which we must all do, since we need to run everywhere!)—remember it too.
This jibes with my long standing conviction that when dealing with MAGATs, rebutting them with facts does no good (that part is well known to the point of cliche). You have to counter with NARRATIVE that embodies those facts. And narrative is not the same as plot. In a narrative plot combines with character to present a convincing story. Glad to see that Aftab realized this and achieved such success.
Not to be a pest but since I live here I'll comment that it's Beavercreek, one word, not Beaver Creek. ;)
Great lesson though. Thanks for sharing.