Making Characters Stuck in the Background Pop Out

Maybe you have had some of the experiences I've had when working on a project, one of which is finding yourself with a character--could be a side character, a secondary character, or even a viewpoint character--who seems to be sort of stuck in the background of the story when he's not really supposed to be. In your head, he's a great character, and maybe you even want to showcase him, but for some reason, on the page, he just doesn't shine. Sometimes this sort of thing even happens with the protagonist. Here are four tips to help make characters stuck in the background pop out.

Give Your Character Defined Attributes

You may be familiar with the idea of "tagging" your character--giving your character attributes or key words that are regularly referenced. For example, Umbridge in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is regularly described with the color pink, wearing a bow, "like a toad," and very short and stumpy. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, always has a bowler hat, and he usually takes it off and runs the brim of it through his hands.

If your character is stuck in the background, she may need some tags to help her pop out. Make sure you don't pick tags or details that are so generic, they are forgettable. Instead, be specific and telling.

Round out Your Character

Some characters get stuck in the background because they aren't rounded out as real individuals. I've seen this happen when editing manuscripts that have a heroine who is a borderline Mary Sue. Because she isn't rounded out as a real person, she sort of blends into the background. If this is the case, you'll need to flesh her out and give her some legitimate weaknesses that affect the story, instead of just flaws that are endearing side notes. A quick way to make a character feel rounder, is to make them embody a seeming contradiction--that will definitely help a character stand out. For other approaches on rounding out a character, see my article "Flat Characters vs. Round Characters," and find the subtitle "How to Make a Character Round."

Put Your Character in Situations that Show off His Traits and Abilities

There may be a good chance that the setups and situations you are putting your character in don't show off the defining traits you've given her. In the television show Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is a self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, which means he doesn't relate well to people. That's a character trait that makes him interesting. But if we never put him in significant social situations and only put him in scenes where he solves cases, we never get to the depth or complexity of that character trait. It's never illustrated in a way that fully realizes it.

Other times, it's not so much a trait that isn't illustrated as it is a talent or ability. In Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, one of the main characters, Violet, is an inventor. But if the plot never needed an invention to solve a problem, we'd never see how good Violet is at inventing something. 

If you don't put your character in situations that showcase her defining traits or talents and abilities, she can fade into the background.

Separate Her from "Loud" Characters

Some of your other characters may not necessarily be loud mouths (though they can be), but they are "loud" in that they beg for attention. Jack Sparrow in The Pirates of the Caribbean is a good example of this. He's perhaps the most entertaining and likeable character in the franchise, and when he's on the screen, people watch him. It's like you can't look away. You have to see what he will do or say or even what his mannerisms are. Sometimes we cannot fully appreciate Will or Elizabeth or Barbossa because we are so focused on Jack. If Jack were in every scene, we may not appreciate many of the other characters at all.

Luckily, the writers made sure to separate Jack regularly from many of the others. To make your background character pop out, you may need to do the same thing. And it doesn't need to be elaborate. Separate your "quieter" character from the "loud" ones, so that they can get some of the spotlight, even if it's just temporary. 

If none of these methods seem to work or relate to your story, you may want to consider revamping your character so that she is more relevant, or, if you need to, cut him altogether.

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Flat Characters vs. Round Characters (Definitions, Differences, Purposes, and Examples)

Lately, I've been talking a lot about flat-arc (also known as "steadfast") characters, but these are not to be confused with flat characters. A flat character is a simple, two-dimensional character. In contrast, a round character is a complex, three-dimensional character. 

"Flat" and "round" are not technically, strictly tied to character arc--though there are some common combinations. For example, a flat character is more likely to be a flat-arc character. Today, let's define each character type in depth and explain how and when to use which. At the end, I'll relate it to character arcs. 

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The 8 Types of Conflict (with Examples, Possible Resolutions, and Stakes)

Every story needs a character in a setting engaged in conflict. But sometimes writers get hyper-focused on one or two types of conflict, and never explore or include the other types. This can make a story feel flat or repetitive (similar to what I touched on in my plotlines post). Sometimes the writer senses that there is something wrong, so tries to add more to the story, but they end up either adding more to the same conflict, or simply adding the same type of conflict. Like always, I'm never going to say you can't ever do this, but just that it's almost always more satisfying if you put in a variety. Variety gives a story more depth and breadth--and also keeps things interesting.

Conflict is key in moving plot, character arc, and theme forward--in other words, the whole story forward. No conflict = no story. If there is no struggle, the character never grows. If there is no opposing argument, the theme never carries its weight. If there is no antagonistic force, no climax is earned. 

Early on in my writing journey, I was only introduced to five types of conflict. And indeed you can find arguments about what does and does not count as a conflict type (and some types can overlap). But today I've put together a comprehensive list of the most prevalent categories--and I think just about any conflict will fit within one of them. I'll also share a few things about each along the way. 

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Picking the RIGHT Details

If you've been writing very long, you'll know the importance of mentioning details in your writing. Appealing to the senses and attention to detail is what will ground your reader and bring your story to life. Details often make it so that your reader experiences your story, instead of just reading about it.

So as writers, we might want to mention what a character is wearing, the color of her hair, the smell of a river, or the texture of a tent. Usually we want to tag our characters with a particular description. If you read Harry Potter, you'll know the Minister of Magic, Fudge, always has a bowler hat, that Dumbledore has twinkling eyes and half-moon spectacles, that Professor Trelawney wears shawls and smells like sherry. J.K. Rowling regularly mentions the same details for these characters to tag them. This helps readers remember who the characters are and reminds them of their demeanors and behaviors.

But sometimes as writers, we don't pick meaningful details. We just pick something. We might say that "the man wore a white shirt." Okay. But that's so generic, we might as well not even mention it. It's so generic, that the reader is going to forget it almost immediately after reading it. It's not even characteristically interesting enough to be a tag. So it won't even help us remember the character.

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Sanderson's Character Scales

Hey everyone, today I'm here to share a perspective on characters that comes from #1 New York Times best-selling author Brandon Sanderson. I love learning from Sanderson because he's prolific, experienced, and successful (Wheel of Time, Mistborn, The Way of Kings . . .). I also love learning from him because he shares concepts and techniques that I have found nowhere else. Lately, one of his concepts has been revisiting my mind--his character scales. 

So in this post, I'm going to explain what they are and how they work, while sharing my own ideas and interpretations along the way. Let's dig in!

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Writing Your Anti-thematic Statement

 

Most of us have heard of the thematic statement--the argument or point the story is making about life. But every thematic statement has an opposing worldview. The anti-thematic statement. When we understand what the anti-thematic statement is and how it functions, we can craft better themes. Which means we can craft better plots. And craft better characters. Because all three interweave as the holy trinity of writing 😉.

 

What is the Anti-thematic Statement?

The thematic statement is the truth the story is arguing. 

Disney's Frozen: We must be open to be loved authentically (that might mean we get hurt, but some love is worth the hurt).

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Love is the most powerful force in the world.

M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: We must believe we are extraordinary, so we can do the extraordinary. 

(Yes, I'm using Glass. Yes, I know a lot of people don't like it because it broke plot rules, but that doesn't mean its thematic components don't work.)

But for every argument, there is an opposing argument. For every truth, there is a lie. This is the anti-thematic statement, which is a type of false thematic statement. (I like to use "anti-thematic statement" in this case, because we are talking about the direct opposite of the thematic statement, specifically.)

Here are the anti-thematic statements of the same stories.

Disney's Frozen: We must be closed off and isolated from others to be authentic and safe, otherwise there is hurt, including hurting loved ones.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Hatred is the most powerful force in the world (alternatively, love is the weakest). 

M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: You must believe you are ordinary, because you must only do the ordinary.

Every story makes a statement about life. The anti-thematic statement is the opposite of that. 

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Writing the Influence Character

Much has been written about the protagonist, but few talk about what's called the "influence character." This is a character whose power comes from his or her influence/impact on the protagonist. The influence character has a different worldview than the protagonist, which helps explore the story's theme. This is often who the protagonist is in an important relationship with, in the B story, or perhaps, viewed as a lead role in the B story. It might be a love interest, mentor, friend, sibling, rival, ally, parent, classmate--almost anything. It's someone who has power based on impact. They will challenge the protagonist's perspective, directly or indirectly, either testing the protagonist's resolve or getting them to change. Typically the influence character and protagonist are linked together, usually by a similar goal.

Here are some examples.

In Moana, Moana is the protagonist, and Maui is the influence character.

In The Hunger Games, Katniss is the protagonist, and Peeta is the influence character.

In The Greatest Showman, P. T. Barnum is the protagonist, and Charity is the influence character.

In Hamilton, Hamilton is the protagonist, and Eliza is the influence character.

In Songbirds and Snakes, Coriolanus is the protagonist, and Sejanus is the influence character.

In Legally Blonde, Elle is the protagonist, and Paulette is the influence character.

This doesn't mean the protagonist isn't influenced by other characters, of course, but these are the (or rather, "primary") influence characters--their relationship with the protagonist influences the outcome of the story in significant ways, and for at least part of the story (if not the whole thing), these two people are usually bound together on a similar course or by a similar end goal. This creates a "we" perspective within the audience. We are trying to do X. We are stuck in the same situation. We need to work together. We need each other.

But this relationship is about more than . . . well . . . just being in a relationship. The protagonist and influence character mirror and foil each other in key ways. Often by the time a writer finishes a professional-level story, he or she will have done this (to some extent), even if he or she isn't aware of it.

Let's talk about the key components of this relationship (concepts courtesy of Dramatica).

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Save the Cat! Explained: Beginning

Save the Cat! is one of the most popular modern story structures, used by filmmakers and novelists alike. I admit, out of the most popular story structures, this approach has not been my favorite, even though it's very effective and very famous. But the more time goes on, the more I've come to appreciate it.

Like all the other story structures, I feel like Save the Cat! has both strengths and weaknesses. As I explain the structure, I'll also be sharing my opinions on any concepts I feel could be refined and improved upon. Who am I to think I can do this? Well, I certainly don't have the same credentials of the creator of it, Blake Snyder! But I can back up everything I say, and you'll have to decide for yourself what you think.

But this structure is a great one to learn, in part because it works for so many writers and in part because it includes elements that other structures do not. Also, I know I have friends and followers who have probably had years more experience with it than I have, so I'd like to invite anyone who can refine our understanding of this structure to leave comments, should they so desire.

Again, I'll be referring to Spider-verse--not because I'm obsessed with it, but because I want to again show how the same story actually fits multiple structures--not one, as so many tend to believe. (If I had known I was going to do all this story structure stuff, I probably would have picked a different story, but hey, it won an Academy Award, so yeah!) There is also a bigger point all these structure posts are building up to, which will eventually be on my blog, once I get all the groundwork done. If you are sick of this example, feel free to skip the Spider-verse sections, as you can still get the definitions of the structure.

This structure was developed by a screenwriter, and the title comes from a screenwriting method, where you show the hero saving a cat to make them more likeable, although the method is never in the structure itself (I think it stuck, because that's the title of the book it comes from). The numbers next to the terms represent what scene that term takes place in. If you are writing a novel, you often have more wiggle room. But I've left them as a guideline.

Is Save the Cat! really the last story structure you'll ever need (as the book claims)? I question that sometimes. But I'll let you decide for yourself. For now, let's appreciate and dig into this wonderful thing Blake Snyder created and decided to share to help all of us writers.

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Understanding the Thematic Pendulum

Several months ago, I was introduced (somewhat indirectly) to the idea that the theme in a story is like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. I wondered about that. And I questioned if it was true.

As a structure, I often picture the thematic thread the same as any plot thread, mainly:

The theme topic is introduced early in the story. Typically, the protagonist starts with a false thematic statement (or a "misbelief" or "The Lie the Character Believes"--all different terms floating around in the writing world for the same concept). And through the course of the story, as they encounter conflicts and characters that explore the theme topic, that false belief is brought into question. Near plot point 2, or The Ordeal (depending on what story structure terminology you use), typically the true thematic statement is revealed and then proven true in the story's ending. In some cases, the true thematic statement may come during the ending instead.

This is usually all manifested through the protagonist's character arc.

But the character arc doesn't seem like a pendulum to me.

I mean, it seems more like an arc, or at least a triangle, like above.

Well, also several months ago, I was using a whiteboard to diagram story structure, but I ran out of room to properly draw the thematic thread line, so, I just decided to draw it like this:

With the zig-zags symbolizing the in-between state where things are being explored and questioned.

A little after running into the pendulum concept, I looked at my whiteboard and kind of laughed because I did seem to unintentional diagram a pendulum effect--a back and forth and back and forth swing.

Okay, hang with me, so prior to all this, I did a couple of posts not directly writing related. One was about exactly why failure is key to becoming exceptional and the other was about how we develop discernment and wisdom as human beings. In order to develop wisdom, we have to have a level of discernment. Discernment can only take place when we encounter opposites. Why? Because wisdom comes from learning how to reconcile these opposites. Now, the opposites may not be direct opposites, but rather, something that varies in degrees from something else (for example, the colors pewter gray vs. steel gray--they are both gray, but we can see the difference).

As more time has gone on, I've thought more and more about how storytelling at its finest is really about imparting wisdom (generally speaking, because there are always exceptions). In some stories, that may be wisdom we already know, but we need to re-hear or have validated to us: Never give up! Love conquers everything! You matter! Other times, it may be new concepts we've never put together before, like how language affects our thinking and cognitive abilities (Arrival) or (for some of us) how when you feed and entertain a nation, they lose their political power (The Hunger Games). Sometimes, the wisdom reconciles things we personally, or our society as a whole, has been struggling to reconcile, such as balancing loyalty to another when it's at odds with our own personal morals.

But in order to arrive at wisdom, you must have oppositions of some sort in play. Otherwise it's not wisdom. It's just knowledge or common sense. The wisdom imparted to the audience is the thematic statement.

Back to the pendulum idea.

As I was looking around, I didn't really see this pendulum idea at work--until I realized I needed to widen my scope from the character arc.

See, when I think of diagramming theme, I think of diagramming character arc. Absolutely the character arc almost always illustrates the theme. But remember what we have been talking about? . . . through the course of the story, as they encounter conflicts and characters that explore the theme topic, that false belief is brought into question.

That's when I realized, it's not a pendulum necessarily within the character (though it can be); it's a pendulum throughout the story as a whole. After that, it all started to fit together.

See, the theme topic will be explored by conflict and by other characters.

Often, thematically speaking, there will be a character at odds with what the protagonist believes, comes to believe, or represents

Jean Valjean vs. Javert
Hamilton vs. Burr
Harry vs. Voldemort
Elsa vs. Anna
The Tortoise vs. The Hare
Shrek vs. Donkey
Dr. Jekyll vs. Mr. Hyde

A lot of times, this may be the antagonist. If not the antagonist, it may be someone who is buddied up with the protagonist.

Interestingly, these characters may sometimes start on the same false thematic statement (Harry vs. Voldemort, Jean Valjean vs. Javert), but by say, plot point one, they start deviating. And by the end, they will be completely different. (Harry and Voldemort both start believing hatred and fear is the most powerful force, but by the end, Harry knows love is the most powerful force; Valjean and Javert both believe justice is the most powerful force, but by the end, Valjean learns and proves mercy is more powerful than justice (a reality Javert literally can't live with).)

HOWEVER, notice that pairings that start this way still have the opposite quality manifested in the story. Harry starts completely unloved, but he is tied to Dudley, who is so loved and doted upon that he is spoiled. Justice has made Jean Valjean cold, but the Bishop shows him mercy.

Because there are more characters in the cast and most of the key players should be interacting with the theme topic in some way, you may have more going on than direct opposites. You may have the theme topic represented by three or even four extremes (In the Hunger Games, for example, it's often Katniss vs. Peeta vs. Gale). Or maybe it's illustrated less in character and more in conflict (although, those seem to go hand-in-hand most of the time).

But the point is that early on, the audience is swinging between extremes.

It's the audience that experiences the pendulum, not necessarily the characters.

Now, what naturally happens in real life (and hopefully in the story), is that before we've gained wisdom on the topic, we do swing between extremes. This is the equivalent of a little kid who is trying to "test the boundaries"--it's not because they are a bad kid! It's because they are trying to figure out where the boundaries are. The same thing happens with us.

So near the beginning of the story, the theme topic may seem to be illustrated in extremes, to the audience. (Don't forget, this is the audience's experience!)

But as the characters have different experiences with the theme topic, they explore it, and we show to the audience that the theme topic is actually multi-faceted and rather complicated when it comes into contact with the "real" world.

Again, as I talked about in those two other posts, imagine this process as learning to discern white from black and then gray.

The starting of the story may seem more back and white, because of these extremes.

But as the characters struggle with the theme topic through the middle, we are struggling to come to a better understanding of it ourselves.

Naturally, we start seeing gray.

And more of it.

And still . . .

Our ability to discern is becoming more fine-tuned. It's less about wide-ranging extremes, but more about subtle differences.

To show this a different way, this happens:

Until eventually we reach that critical moment where the true thematic statement is discovered (often as an epiphany by the protagonist).

This is the moment of wisdom.

Which we then must take and validate through the climax of the story.

In some stories, the true thematic statement may not be accurate of either of the original character pairings. For example, Hamilton tries to control his legacy by never throwing away an opportunity, while Burr tries to control his by saying no to any opportunity that doesn't seem safe. But the true thematic statement is that, actually, in the end, none of us have full control over how we are remembered. Because neither character fully grasps and utilizes this information after plot point 2/The Ordeal, it creates a tragedy in the climax.

Once we validate the true thematic statement, we impart wisdom to the audience, enabling them to better navigate this thing called the human experience.

I still feel the thematic thread follows the typical basic story structure. But maybe now, I'd draw it like this.

The climax being the thematic climax, which, in most stories, will happen around plot point 2 or The Ordeal. But again, it can happen during the ending.

So what can we take away from this?

- Look for character pairings (or groupings) where the theme topic is rendered in extreme, opposing perspectives.

- Illustrate extreme oppositions early on.

- Through the middle, question and test extreme perspectives to help with discernment and refinement. Any characters who embody an extreme perspective will be asked/invited/confronted with things that buck against that worldview, that misbelief. Characters with less extreme perspectives will share and show that perspective to the main players.

- Prove the thematic statement true by the end of the climax, and validate it thereafter.

Keep in mind that everything in this post is a guideline and tool meant to help you and your story. There are successful stories that don't follow this, of course. But, knowing this may prove helpful to you.



Related Posts:
How to Write Your Story's Theme
How Theme and False Theme Affect Your Protagonist (Amanda Rawson Hill) 
How to Add Dimension to Your Story's Theme  
Exactly Why Failure is Key to Exceptional Success 
How to Develop Discernment and Wisdom

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The Hero's Journey Explained: The End

For the last couple of weeks, I've been talking about the Hero's Journey (the beginning and the middle), and today I'm back to talk about the ending of the story structure.

Reward: Seizing the Sword

During The Ordeal, the protagonist faced a trial that pushed them to the brink; they died, perhaps literally or, more often, figuratively (the old them died). Almost always this comes from having to confront some inner demon, a weak characteristic and/or a greatest fear (which plays into the theme). Now that they have faced such a crisis, they will be rewarded for it as they are reborn into something greater.

If they did die, literally, they will somehow come back to life--maybe through CPR, a prayer, or a magical item. If it was figurative, they'll be revived through a sudden realization, new information, a heightened level of determination, or perhaps something else.

The Reward may be something concrete--maybe the protagonist literally seizes a magical sword that will make her a more powerful fighter. But it can also be more abstract, like the personal revelation that brought him "back to life." Typically the Reward is what the protagonist truly came to the Special World for (whether or not she was fully aware of it at the time). In Star Wars, Luke rescues Princess Leia and gets the plans of the Death Star. In The Hobbit, the heroes regain the mountain and get treasure. In The Lion King, Simba finally realizes on a personal level who he is--the son of a king and true heir to the throne--as he gets to speak with his father one last time.

In a lot of stories, the Reward may be multiple things, something concrete and something abstract.

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The Hero's Journey Explained: The Middle

In my last post, I started talking about the Hero's Journey, its strengths and weaknesses, and how it differs from other popular story structures. I also broke down the elements of the beginning (Ordinary World, Call to Adventure, Refusal of the Call, and Meeting the Mentor) and decided to again use Spider-verse as one example, to help illustrate how it actually fits multiple story structures. You can see that post here. Today I would like to pick right back up, covering the middle.

 

Crossing the First Threshold

Armed with whatever magical thing she got from the mentor, the protagonist is now ready for adventure. This is another moment that I think can be a little confusing, so I want to pause and talk about a few things. Like I said last time, the magical thing may be real or figurative. It can be a magical pendant or it can be something like sage advice. The character may be armed with a magical thing without realizing it yet. Or the character might be armed with a magical thing he doesn't like or is reluctant to have.

In Crossing the First Threshold, the time arrives for the hero to officially depart from the Ordinary World and enter the Special World. Remember, the Ordinary World and the Special World are relative. This is the moment Buddy the Elf goes to New York. Or Elle Woods goes to Harvard in Legally Blonde. Or Bilbo leaves Hobbiton behind. Or Harry goes to Diagon Alley. Or Katniss leaves District 12. Or Lucy goes through the Wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

But in some stories, the Special World is more a state of the character than an actual place. It might be when a dad dresses up as a nanny to see his kids, like in Mrs. Doubtfire. Or a Chinese girl dressing up to take her father's place in the war, like Mulan--it's a "special world," for the character. And of course, it might have nothing to do with the external. The character might need more personal growth, and the Special World can be him now striving to grow in that direction.

The main idea is that the character is leaving normalcy behind and is now truly entering a new, unfamiliar, or different situation. Some characters may be eager to go, while others may be forced. But the Special World has come, whether they want to embrace it or not.

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The Hero's Journey Explained: The Beginning

The Hero's Journey is one of the most popular story structures. Last year, I shared my personal hybrid story structure that I like to use when evaluating narratives (which is pretty comprehensive, I think), and in it, I argued that despite there being various "story structures" to choose from, they are pretty much saying the same thing, in different ways with different approaches--they simply slice and dice story differently.

With that said, it can still be very beneficial to familiarize yourself with all of the major structures, so you can find which one connects best with you, and also, so you can refine and troubleshoot your own manuscript when writing. Have you ever just needed to hear a different perspective to solve a problem? Or needed another perspective to grasp a concept? Learning all the major story structures can help with just that and give you new insights.

So what is the Hero's Journey structure, and how is it different? The Hero's Journey came into the writing world from a famous book titled The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, but in reality, the structure is much, much older. Campbell was a mythologist who looked at and studied stories across all cultures and noted what patterns they had in common. This became the Hero's Journey. In the 90s another book titled The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler took Campbell's work (which was rather labyrinthine and scholarly I'm told) and made it more accessible and practical for writers today, in part by applying it to contemporary works.

Vogler's updated approach is slightly different than Campbell's, but the patterns are the same.

For this series, I will be using Vogler's version.

Personally, I feel the Hero's Journey approach has both strengths and weaknesses. This structure puts more focus on the protagonist's experiences and growth than perhaps any of the other popular guides, which also means that it's probably better at addressing theme than many others as well. But as a result, I feel it downplays antagonistic forces, which could be problematic to some writers. While the terminology is vivid, bringing to mind mythic moments, I also think it can be misleading, which can lead to confusion. The main thing with the terminology, is that the actual terms are often more specific than what they are defining, which can feel a little backwards to me. The best way to probably deal with that though, is to take them all more metaphorically and less literally.

Another difference worth noting is that traditionally the Hero's Journey is in the shape of a circle, not a triangle. The circle emphasizes a typical journey, where you leave home, go somewhere new, and come back having gained more experience. But you could just as easily diagram this as a triangle, really. It's just emphasis and preference.

In reality, you can just as easily translate this structure into a triangle.

Like the other structures, there can of course be variations and some parts may bleed into other parts. That's okay as long as it serves the story.

And one more thing, I'm going to be referencing Into the Spider-verse again (in short (and along with others)). You might be thinking, woah, you must really like that movie! But in reality, I'm using it again to show you how the same story actually fits multiple plot structures, a sign that really, it is all about how you like to slice and dice it. (And I wish I understood that long ago.)

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Mastering Midpoints (The Saviors of Saggy Story Middles)

I've been pulling my hair out lately trying to fix the middle part of one of my novels, and one of the main problems with it, relates to the midpoint. You see, I plotted and largely wrote this manuscript years ago, before I had an in-depth understanding of story structure--like a lot of us have probably done. Heck, a lot of us don't even like thinking about story structure because it feels too restrictive and formulaic, and that's fine. But whether you plot your stories' structures by the books or just do what you want as you go, understanding story structure can be hecka important. And even if you hate it, at least knowing how it functions can be super useful, especially if you are trying to troubleshoot what is wrong with a manuscript, like I was weeks (months?) ago.

Once I realized that my problem related to the midpoint, I was able to begin brainstorming (and praying) how I might fix it. And a lot of times, the midpoint is key in doctoring a problematic middle. I kind of like to think of it as the savior.

The midpoint typically happens in the middle of the plot (no surprise there). It is the moment when new, significant information--or at least a shift in context--enters and turns the story in a different direction.

(Wow, is that definition vague enough?)

Now, the direction of the story can change completely, like a 180, or it may be very slight and subtle, more like 10 degrees, but it changes in a significant way.

Most often, in a typical story structure, the change is this:

The protagonist moves from being primarily responsive to being more (pro)active, in regards to the main plot.

So, it's usually like:

Character responding to problems --> Midpoint (new information or context) --> Character being proactive toward main problems.

The "new information" is just something that allows the character (or audience) to have a greater understanding of what's going on, so that they can now be more active in attacking the problem.

There are literally so many ways this can play out, which is why the midpoint can seem difficult to grasp, so I'm going to grab some popular examples:

In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the midpoint happens when Harry overhears the professors in the Three Broomsticks and learns Sirius Black is the reason his parents are dead.

Why? Because prior to this, he is responding or reacting to the fact Sirius is after him. But after this, he wants to seek revenge on Sirius, in other words, mentally, he becomes active in "attack mode."

In Legally Blonde, the midpoint happens when Elle realizes that she will never be good enough for Warner.

Why? Because prior to this, she is just responding to Warner's breakup. But after this she is actively trying to succeed at Harvard, with an intensity she hasn't had prior--she buys all new materials, studies hard, answers questions in classes.

In Interstellar, the midpoint happens when Cooper, Murph, and by extension, the audience, realize that there is no real "Plan A"--everyone on Earth is going to die.

Why? Because prior to this, Cooper is responding to the destiny of humankind, but after this, he goes into an active "attack mode" by planning to do whatever it takes to return to Murph and Earth right away.

In Ralph Breaks the Internet, the midpoint is when Ralph realizes he can get the money they need from making viral videos.

Why? Because prior to this, he is unsuccessfully responding to the broken steering situation and the internet itself, and after this, he hatches a solid plan to get the cash, with a better understanding of how the internet works.

But a midpoint can be rather loose, which is why it's hard to define and wrap our minds around. For example, I may use terms like "respond" and "reaction" paired with "attack" and "pro-action," but you could argue from another perspective, some protagonists are doing all of them all the time. For example, from the inciting incident, Ralph is trying to actively solve a problem, and same goes for Cooper. But here's the thing. At the midpoint, new information or a new understanding allows them to "attack," better or more accurately, the focal conflict.

Think of it as a moment that jump-starts the protagonist into a different direction.

In some cases, this may be a rather unexpected direction. 

In Lion King, Simba spends the first part of the story reacting to the fact he will someday be king, but then the midpoint hits--Mufasa dies and Scar tells Simba no one will ever love or forgive him--Simba goes into an "attack" mode of sorts, except his is that rather than just responding to being king someday, he proactively chooses to never be king, and takes action by running away and starting a new life. It relates to the main conflict of the story, but his "attack mode" is to actively, intentionally, run away. After all, he thinks he is the problem, so in a sense, he is "attacking" himself.

The content of a midpoint can be very flexible, as you can see from these examples. If you want to get a better discerning eye for what a midpoint is and how many different forms it can take, start pausing movies smack dab in the middle--there should be something around there that enters the story and pushes it in a new direction. You can also try opening books to the middle and searching around there. Harry discovering Sirius is responsible for his parents' deaths is near the middle. In Stranger Things season one, Will's body is found smack dab in the middle, which is new information that changes context, and therefore the direction of the story. And after that point, the characters have to all decide how to act next.

So now that we have some idea of what a midpoint is (significant information that changes the direction of the story, usually by changing the protagonist), let's talk about how it actually works.

Step One: New Significant Information Enters . . .

In order for a story or protagonist to start going a new direction, there has to be something that causes that. Information. Or an event that is new information.

Or at least a shift in our understanding of the information we already have (context shift), which in a sense, is its own kind of "new" information.

But let's not confuse ourselves quite yet.

In order for the information to significantly change the direction of the story, the information itself needs to be significant.

Remember how I broke down what constitutes "significant" a few weeks ago?

Something is significant when it either:

1) Has important personal consequences, or
2) Has far-reaching, broad consequences

So, new information enters the story that has personal or far-reaching consequences. This means that the midpoint itself is either going to "broaden" or "deepen" the story, or do both. And it's going to do this in a powerful way.

Elle realizing that she will never be good enough for Warner has deep (a.k.a. personal) consequences. Harry realizing that Sirius is responsible for his parents' death has deep consequences.

Cooper learning everyone on Earth is going to die has broad consequences--all of humankind.

Simba believing he killed his father has both personal and broad consequences, as it affects himself and his whole kingdom.

Sometimes the new information is big and mind-blowing, maybe even a juicy twist, like in Incredibles 2 when Elastigirl realizes that Evelyn is the real Screenslaver, and she's in deep trouble. Or it can be subtle, like a character making an important connection between information he already had.

Like I touched on earlier. The new information can come as:

Information

- Ralph learning he can make money by making viral videos is straight up information.

- Harry learning Sirius is responsible for his parents' deaths is straight up information.

An Event

- Scar killing Mufasa and telling Simba it's his fault is an event. Mufasa being dead and Simba believing he is responsible is the "new information" (along with the fact Scar actually killed Mufasa).

- In Stranger Things season one, Will's body being recovered is an event that brings in new information. The characters either have to accept he's actually dead or prove to others he is not.

Or a Context Shift

- Dr. Brand reciting a poem he's recited through the whole movie isn't really anything new. But him reciting it on his death bed in that tone shifts the context and gives it a whole new meaning, which leads to characters' new realizations.


Whatever the case, something significant arrives in the middle that changes how the story has been going. And this something needs to have greater potential consequences than probably anything that has happened since the inciting incident.

Step Two: . . . Which Leads to a New Direction or Understanding

Now that new, significant information has entered the story, it means the protagonist or the audience (or both) will change their approach to the problems, because their understanding has changed.

In some stories, the change may be aggressive. For example, in Incredibles 2, I would consider the results of the midpoint to be more aggressive and drastic. Elasticgirl falls under Evelyn's control, and later, so do other superheroes. The midpoint means that this problem is going to be much more difficult to solve than we first thought. (Note though, how all the of protagonists (the family) change more drastically after that moment.)

In other stories, the change may be softer. Sure, Harry now wants revenge on Sirius, but content-speaking, this doesn't drastically change what happens in the plot, until the climax, when he meets Sirius. The midpoint is still critical, for Harry, and for our understanding of the story, but Harry's "attack" mode is not super aggressive. The midpoint largely changes the story's context. We all now see everything with Sirius in a different light, and we also now have more things to worry about.

In either method, the midpoint kicks up the tension, like a catalyst.

Variations

Like everything in writing, you can break rules and play with variations. Once you understand what a basic midpoint is, you can mess around with it, to an extent.

Often a midpoint is, well, a point, a moment, an instant, or a single scene. But sometimes, like plot points, it might be more of a sequences of scenes. It might be a sequence of information. For example, in Into the Spider-verse, the midpoint is when the heroes successfully get the computer from Alchemax and realize where they can get another goober. Prior to this, Miles and Peter are largely responding and reacting to their situations. During the course of the Alchemax scene, they learn to work together, and Miles learns to use his abilities. They also learn some new information about Kingpin, Doc Oc, and the collider. But in the next scene, it's Gwen who says she knows how to fix their problems. There isn't really a strong, critical, earth-moving moment, but rather a sequence of new things that bring them into "attack mode."

At some midpoints, the protagonist doesn't learn new information, but only the audience does. The protagonist can still get more desperate in solving the problems, but it's the audience alone that has the greater context. Because it still changes the direction--our understanding--of the story, has significant consequences, and kicks up tension, it can still work as a midpoint, if an unusual one.

On the flip side, it may be that the midpoint brings in information that is new to the protagonist, but that the audience already knew or surmised earlier, but the fact the protagonist now knows changes the direction and meaning of the story in significant ways, jump-starting the next part of the plot.

Some stories may place the midpoint a little earlier or a little later than the middle, and if that doesn't mess up the pacing or make the stakes drag, why not?

Some stories may even have multiple midpoints. In Story Engineering by Larry Brooks, he talks about this in regards to The Da Vinci Code. One moment is when Langdon and Sophie decide to meet Professor Teabing, who is "The Teacher," and another moment is when they learn what the Holy Grail actually is. Each moment changes the direction and meaning of the story.

In particular, you may have multiple midpoints when you have multiple plot lines. For example, in Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry learning that information about Sirius is a midpoint, but a lot of the other plot lines hit a midpoint near there as well. Harry hasn't been able to get to Hogsmeade, but in that same chapter, Fred and George give him the Marauader's Map--new information that drastically changes his ability to travel. There is also a plot line about winning the Quidditch cup, and near the middle, Harry's broom gets busted and someone sends him a Fireblot, drastically changing things.

For the werewolf/Lupin plot line, near the middle, Snape substitutes D.A.D.A. and teaches about werewolves, particularly how to recognize one. With the Hagrid and Buckbeak plot line, in the middle, the trio learns that Buckbeak has to go to trial, and they promise to help with it. With the Dementor plot line, around the middle, Harry falls off his broom and then Lupin offers to teach Harry the Patronus charm.

In short, every plot line hits something new and significant that changes the direction of it. It is almost always something greater than anything that has happened since that plot line's inciting incident.

If you find your story middle isn't coming together, check the midpoint(s). Think of the midpoint as the nail you hang your story's whole middle on. It transitions from the first half of the middle to the second half of the middle. It's the story's middle middle. 


Related Posts:
Story Structure Explained: Pinch Points, Midpoints, Plot Points, and Middles
How to Write Stakes in Storytelling
What to Outline When Starting a Story

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How to Write Your Story's Theme

Theme is one of those elusive words that people often use but don't fully understand in storytelling. Worse yet, there are actually a lot of misunderstandings in the writing industry and community about it.

Here's the deal: Whatever we write communicates or teaches something to the audience, whether or not we intend it to.

During His ministry, Jesus Christ used parables (aka, stories) to teach people lessons, morals, new ideas, and change culture and ideology. Whether or not you are Christian, you've likely heard of the parable of the Good Samaritan. What is the point of that story? What is it teaching? It's teaching that we should love, be kind to, and serve everyone--regardless of nationality, religious background, culture, or whatever. Everyone is our "neighbor."

A thematic statement is essentially the teaching of a story. So for the Good Samaritan, the thematic statement is, "We should love, be kind to, and serve everyone."

Let's look at some other famous stories and their thematic statements (teachings).

The Little Red Hen: If you don't contribute or work, you don't get the rewards of those efforts.

The Ant and the Grasshopper: If all we do is have fun and entertain ourselves, we won't be prepared for difficult times.

The Tortoise and the Hare: It's better to move forward at a steady pace than go so fast we burn ourselves out.

These are old, famous fables with seemingly obvious thematic statements. Often in children stories, the theme is stated more directly. For adult fiction, it may be much more subtle.

Here are some more modern examples.

The Greatest Showman: You don't need to be accepted and loved by the world, only by a few people who become your family

Spider-verse: If you get up every time you get knocked down, you'll accomplish more than you thought possible

Harry Potter: Love is the most powerful force in the world

Zootopia: To change biases in society, you first must evaluate and work on your own biases.

Les Miserables: Mercy is more powerful than justice

Legally Blonde: Someone who is beautiful, blond, and ultra-feminine can be smart and taken seriously.

Hamilton: We have no control over our legacy.

(By the way, I realize a reuse a lot of the same examples on my blog, but it's just faster and easier than grabbing something new. What matters is that you understand the concept, regardless of example.)

Thematic statement: You don't need to be accepted and loved by the world, only by a few people who become your family

Okay, so when we take English, language arts, and literature classes, we are usually just taught about thematic statements.

Which makes it difficult when you are trying to create stories, because if that's the only thing we understand about theme, and we try to write with that in mind, we often come off as sounding "preachy." As a result, many seasoned writers have actually told themselves and others not to write with any theme in mind (which has its own potential problems that I'll talk about later).

A good portion of this next section is information that comes from Amanda Rawson Hill and K. M. Weiland, because they are the two people who got me to have a clearer, conscious understanding of theme.

Okay, so we have the thematic statement, but on a broader scope, we have a theme topic. The subject or topic about which something is taught. It's the concept, without the teaching attached. It's what the theme or story is "about," in an abstract sense.

Here are the theme topics of those stories:

The Little Red Hen: Contribution and work

The Ant and the Grasshopper: Preparation

The Tortoise and the Hare: Pacing

The Greatest Showman: Acceptance

Spider-verse: Perseverance

Harry Potter: Love

Zootopia: Bias

Les Miserables: Mercy (and justice)

Legally Blonde: Being respected/taken seriously

Hamilton: Legacy


The theme topic is broader than the statement. The thematic statement is the specific teaching about that topic.

Note: People often use the word "theme" to mean either "thematic statement" OR "theme topic," which is why it can be confusing. I've done this multiple times myself, but am trying to stop. (Plus the fact my ideas on storytelling are regularly evolving, probably doesn't always help with ambiguity on my blog either)

Theme topic: Perseverance

In a strong story, the theme topic will be explored during the narrative, through plot or character or both. The story will ask (directly or indirectly) questions about the theme topic. This can happen through main characters and main plots, or side characters and subplots, or all of the above.

Let's look at some examples to illustrate what I mean.

In The Little Red Hen the theme topics of contribution and work are explored by having the red hen ask multiple characters for help (or, in other words, for contribution and work) and by having the red hen work alone. She herself is asking questions related to the topic.

In The Tortoise and the Hare, the theme topic of pacing is explored and questioned by comparing a slow character to a fast character, and as the plot unfolds, we see the choices each one makes.

In Zootopia, the theme topic of bias is explored, as a prey animal cop (the rabbit) has to interact and team up with a predator criminal (the fox), and each have biases against the other. But the theme topic is also explored in the society as a whole. Officer Hopps is told by society that she can never be a cop. Nick is told by society that because he's a fox, he must be untrustworthy. In one scenario, Hopps is trying to overcome her society's bias. In the other, Nick has given into society's bias--he will only ever be seen as a fox. Side characters and subplots explore the topic of bias as well, whether it's pitting crime on predators or dealing with nudist communities. Everywhere, the theme topic of bias is being touched on. By exploring the topic from all these different sources and perspectives, the audience is naturally confronted with questions (whether or not they are consciously aware of this). Can you succeed in a biased society, or will a biased society keep you from ever becoming what you want? In our efforts to create an unbiased society, do we criticize others' biases while remaining blind to our own? How can we create a safe, unbiased community? Are we prejudice ourselves?

Pretty deep stuff to be asking in a kid show, right? Disney is a pro at handling theme in their animated movies, so they are definitely one I'd recommend for people who want to study well done examples.

In The Greatest Showman, the theme topic of acceptance via love is explored in a similar way. As a child, P. T. Barnum is never accepted or loved by his society. His goal in life is to give the girl he loves an extravagant lifestyle, to prove to her parents, nay, to the whole world that he's worth something. Through the course of the story, he tries to do this in multiple ways: at his job, he approaches his boss with a new idea; he tries to start a museum; he starts a circus; he wants to present an opera singer to the world so that he can gain notoriety. Everywhere, the protagonist is asking for love and acceptance, and it's never enough.

But side characters and subplots explore this topic as well. Charles doesn't want to be laughed at for being small, Lettie doesn't want to be a freak for having a beard, Anne doesn't like being treated differently for being black, Phillip wants to leave high society but will be shunned, Jenny Lind never feels good enough because she comes from a low class. As we see these characters collide with other characters, and society, we are confronted with questions. Can these people ever find love and acceptance? Will they ever feel fulfilled? How can they overcome society's hate and prejudices? Are they willing to sacrifice family, income, security, personal weaknesses to get there? And furthermore, it seems that as you are finally accepted by one group of people, your are only rejected by another--can you be accepted by all circles? And does it matter if you aren't?

Often when writers fail at theme it is because they are only focused on the thematic statement. And they are therefore not fairly exploring and questioning the theme topic.

But the theme statement is the answer to the exploration and questioning, and should not be fully realized until the end. 

The theme topic of pacing is explored by comparing two characters

Let's take this a step further. We have the thematic statement. We have the theme topic. But in most stories, the beginning will have or illustrate a false thematic statement. (Alternatively, K. M. Weiland calls this "The Lie Your Character Believes.") This is almost always manifested through the protagonist in some way.

The false thematic statement is typically opposite of the thematic statement.

The Ant and the Grasshopper: The grasshopper believes that all he needs to do is have fun and entertain himself, and he doesn't need to work or prepare--that's a waste of time. OR "Having fun is more important than preparing."

The Tortoise and the Hare: The hare believes if he runs as fast as he can, he will easily win the tortoise.  OR "If I go as fast as I can, I'll be most successful."

The Greatest Showman: P. T. Barnum believes if he shows the world how amazing and successful he can be, he'll be loved and accepted by all society. OR "Once you prove you are amazing, all of society will love and accept you."

Spider-verse: Miles Morales believes that by quitting everything, he won't have to deal with any expectations. OR "If I don't persevere, I don't have to worry about expectations."

Harry Potter: Because his parents are dead, Harry Potter begins as an unloved and powerless person living in a closet. OR "Death and oppression are the most powerful forces in the world."

Zootopia: Judy Hopps believes she will fight society's biases by proving to everyone else that a bunny can be a cop. OR "To change biases in society, you must start by criticizing everyone else's."

Les Miserables: Jean Valjean was thrown in prison for nineteen years for stealing a loaf of bread and when released continues to deal with extreme justice, which leads him to stealing from the church. OR "Justice is more powerful than mercy."

Hamilton: Hamilton believes he will create and build and control his legacy by never throwing away his shot. OR "If I seize every opportunity to be great, then I will leave a powerful legacy after I'm gone."

You'll notice I left out the Little Red Hen. Her story is different. From the beginning, the little red hen believes in the thematic statement--that's why she is working so hard, but the theme topic is still explored and questioned (and tested) through her interactions with the other characters. This can be done in modern stories too, but it's rarer and harder to pull off. Remember, I said writers often fail at theme when they only focus on the thematic statement, without fairly exploring or questioning the topic. In The Little Red Hen, it's all the other characters that embody the false thematic statement. They think they can enjoy the rewards without having done any work. Take note that the red hen herself isn't preachy or snooty. She adheres to her beliefs, even though it requires more of her (because no one will help, she has to do more work).

In order for stories like this to be successful, we need to see the protagonist have to struggle through more adversity to adhere to the true thematic statement. Remember how the maxim goes, "No good deed goes unpunished." These stories are more difficult to write, so I probably wouldn't recommend them to beginners, but I'm not going to say no definitively. If your protagonist starts with the true thematic statement, she still needs to struggle, if not struggle more.

Legally Blonde is similar. Elle Woods fully believes she can get into law school and get her boyfriend Warner back, despite everyone around her saying Harvard won't take someone like her seriously. Throughout the movie, Elle is constantly told she just isn't "serious" enough. However, her story varies from the red hen's, because as the theme gets questioned and explored she eventually reaches a point (at Plot Point 2), where she succumbs to the idea that no one will truly respect her, when she says something along the lines of, "All people will ever see of me is a blonde with big boobs. No one will ever take me seriously. Not even my parents." But once she receives her "final piece to the puzzle," she returns to and proves the thematic statement that someone can be beautiful, ultra-feminine and smart, respected, and taken seriously.

So the Little Red Hen and Legally Blonde are rarer variations, but keep in mind that they still legitimately question, explore, and test the theme topic (this is key).

False theme statement: To change biases in society, you must start by criticizing everyone else's

In most stories, the protagonist starts with the false theme statement and ends with the (true) theme statement, a process that typically comes about through the main character arc. (You can read more about this specifically here).

So here is how the theme may fit in, in story structure.

Beginning:
Protagonist believes or illustrates the false thematic statement.

Middle:
The theme topic is explored through plot and characters having different experiences and providing different outlooks.

This will lead to questioning: It leads to the audience questioning. In most stories, it leads to the protagonist questioning. After all, he believes in the false thematic statement, and maybe after these encounters, he's unsure how true it is.

(Also worth noting, the middle may test and disprove wrong thematic statements other characters have.)

The middle is the "struggle" part of the theme, and on Freytag's Pyramid, the rising action. We are struggling to come to a better understanding of the theme topic.

At the second plot point, the protagonist may have an epiphany (the true thematic statement) or at least a turning point, where they now take on, embody, or demonstrate the true thematic statement.

Note: In some rare stories, the protagonist may not embody the true thematic statement, which will result in a tragic end for them. If the thematic statement is true, then they can't "survive" (literally or figuratively) if they don't learn to adhere to it. (If they "survive," that means that what you thought the true thematic statement was, was probably just another false thematic statement, and you got them mixed up somewhere.)

Note: Also, the true thematic statement may be stated prior to the ending, but the protagonist will not fully realize or embody it until the end.

Ending:

The climax of the story is the ultimate test of the final, true thematic statement--does it hold up to the test? Is it proven to be true? If it's the true thematic statement, it must.

In the denouement, the true thematic statement is further validated. We proved it true in the climax, now we must validate and show its effects. This can be very brief--one example--or it can be validated again and again through multiple examples.


It's worth mentioning, too, that in a lot of highly successful stories, the antagonist embodies THE false theme statement or A false theme statement (which is one of the reasons why they fail). So Voldemort can never understand that love is more powerful than death and oppression (notice that Voldemort and Harry have similar beginnings in life). In Les Mis, Javert ultimately can't live with the fact that mercy is proven to be more powerful than justice (which is why he takes his own life). However, this tactic is not a necessity by any means, just something worth considering.

As the antagonist, Javert can't survive the true thematic statement

Now does everyone who writes successful stories consciously know and adhere to all the things I've talked about so far in this article?

Heck. No.

Remember the first of this, where I said even seasoned writers may believe you should write with no theme in mind?

Lots of people write successful stories without even thinking about a theme.

But.

If you are aware of how theme functions, you can use that to an advantage and write even more powerful stories (and it will help you stand out from those that don't).

There are lots of stories that are good that don't follow through on this element of story structure--but I sometimes wonder: How much better and stronger could they have been if they did?

Theme is what makes a story "timeless." This is exactly why Christ's parables and Aesop's fables have withstood the test of time. Why audiences trust Disney movies for a worthwhile emotional and intellectual experience every new movie. Why classics like Les Mis or Shakespeare are still taught and studied today. Because they aren't just stories. They are perspectives on the human experience and teachings that influence lifestyle and culture. They can touch hearts and minds and shift ideology.

And even if you write a story without caring two cents about theme, it will still have a thematic statement. Because every story is teaching something--if only through action and character. But there are dangers and problems that can happen (especially in today's world), if you don't pay attention to theme at all. Take the famous children's story, The Rainbow Fish. I loved that book as a kid (and if you aren't familiar with the story, you can listen to it here), but it has problematic, unintentional teachings. It teaches that in order to have friends, you must give away personal boundaries; that you can "buy" friends; that if you want to be liked by others, you need to give them things they ask you for. Sure, it conveys that sharing makes you happier, but it has those problematic parts as well.

Did the writer intend to teach those negative things? Probably not. But in the story, they are "proven" as true thematic statements simply because of the outcome of the plot and characters.

Typically the protagonist moves from a false thematic statement to the true thematic statement

This could get all into some really deep stuff, like minority representation, biases, culture control, and censorship, but for today, let's leave that for the university classrooms. (Not to mention, for someone learning the craft of writing, it can sometimes feel super paralyzing.)

I will say that even in stories where the writer doesn't completely care for or understand theme, even if the thematic statement is good, I sometimes find myself wondering if the theme is "underdeveloped." But that doesn't mean I still can't enjoy and support the story.

For most writers, theme isn't going to make or break your ability to get published. It's not something I would tell beginning writers to stress out about straight out of the gate. But it is something that can move you from great to phenomenal.

You don't need to know your theme topic or thematic statement to start writing. I would wager, that the majority of writers don't. Often what happens is that a theme topic or thematic statement will start to naturally emerge. Then in the revision process, you can use this article to check, develop, and strengthen the theme.

You can have more than one theme. As you are writing, you may realize that there is more than one theme topic and thematic statement. Lots of stories have more than one. Like I talked about in my story structure series, Spider-verse also has themes about choice and expectations. Harry Potter is chock-full of themes. Legally Blonde includes thematic statements about having faith in people. In some cases, one theme will relate and play into another or help refine it. With all that said, there is usually one theme that emerge as the main theme.

 And that's pretty much what's worth knowing about writing your story's theme. 

"First impressions aren't always correct. You must always have faith in people. And you must have faith in yourself."

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