I used to think I was different from other children, outcast in my views, alone on an island where the flora was black and twisted, and the theme music always sinister. As I got older and more insightful, I realized that there was nothing unique or rebellious about me – that my foible is, in fact, shared by fiction and movie enthusiasts the world over. If you’re reading this, I’d bet dollars to donuts you feel the same way.
I love a good villain.
Whether I was watching Doctor Who or Star Wars, it was the antagonist, not the hero, that stole my attention. Same deal with comic books and novels. I’d leap up and down in my seat as the Caped Crusader kicked ungodly amounts of ass (the more onomatopoeia, the better), but it was always the inexhaustible lineup of stylish supervillains that were the most engaging aspects of the Batman universe (except for Polka-Dot Man – that guy sucked!). I remember reading Dracula and secretly rooting for the immortal bloodsucker. Watching The Terminator as a teenager . . . sure, I was invested in Sarah Connor’s plight, but let’s be honest, that movie belongs to Arnie.
And don’t get me started on Jaws.
“The more successful the villain, the more successful the picture.” So says the great Alfred Hitchcock. He’s referring to screen villains here, but the opinion translates to all forms of fiction. Mr. Hitchcock is absolutely right, of course. But what makes a villain successful? And how can we apply that to the antagonist in our own writing?
There are dozens of articles online about how to create a wonderfully wicked character, and they largely say the same thing: give them a strong motive, construct a convincing backstory, engender empathy in the reader by coloring your villain with distinctly human traits, and so forth. These articles are worth your time. They invariably offer excellent suggestions . . . but I’ll achieve nothing by retreading that ground here. I want to approach this from a different angle and offer a suggestion that has always worked for me, and that should help establish a solid three-way connection between you, your antagonist, and the reader.
Right off the bat: You need to forgive your antagonist, the same way you’d forgive a loved one who has let you down in some way. Understand that this unsavory character is going to live inside your head for however many months (or years) it takes you to write your novel. They are going to say and do some very bad things. It’s only with forgiveness that you’ll be able to get close to them, and you need get close if you have any hope of understanding them.
On the subject of getting closer . . . there’s a quirky little thing I do with my characters that, on the surface, may seem strange: I converse with them. Sometimes it’s a few passing comments while waiting for the toast to pop up. On other occasions, it’s a more in-depth discussion – an interview, of sorts (I’ve been known to go full Late Show, with a house band and opening monologue). It sounds . . . questionable, I know, but shooting the breeze with my characters in candid, one-on-one situations helps establish the intimacy I need to make them believable. And when they do murderous, despicable, unthinkable things on the page . . . hey, I don’t always like it, but I at least understand it.
You can keep this dialogue in your head, or – in the words of Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley – you can shout it out loud. And if neither of these options appeal . . . well, you can stick with what you’re used to and write it down.
Johan … what the hell were you thinking, man?
Don’t judge me. I did what I had to do.
You had to kill the guy? Really? Killing him was your only option?
A tad extreme, perhaps, but it sent the right message.
Dude, you had an ax pressed to his throat. Don’t you think that’s message enough?
Write it down, shout it out. Whatever you’re comfortable with, just give it a shot. Talk about their actions, sure. Talk about the other characters. Talk about the weather, books, baseball, your favorite Netflix shows. Become their confidant – their friend. Doing so will add a multidimensionality to your character that you’ll apply to the page without even realizing it.
My new novel is called No Second Chances. It’s a gritty, fast-paced crime thriller set against the backdrop of the Hollywood drug trade, with my two protagonists – Luke Kingsley and Kitty Rae – working together to escape a dangerous and damaging situation. Luke is a disgraced actor believed to have killed his wife. Kitty is a brilliant young woman seeking fame and fortune in Hollywood. I’m proud of these characters, their interaction with each other, and the way they connect to the reader. They are sweet, flawed, determined, and very human. But it’s my antagonist, Johan Fly, who furnishes the novel with tension and menace, and provides its most exhilarating moments. Johan is a young, charismatic YouTube star, a Viking wannabe with a replica ax and sociopathic inclinations. He comes from a place of wealth and privilege, and believes himself to be both irresistible and untouchable. Johan and I shared many conversations outside of the story, and to good effect. An early review over at Best Thriller Books said that Johan Fly is “one of the most malicious, deranged, all-time great bad guys ever to grace the pages of a novel.” Stephen King – who knows a thing or two about creating bad guys – called Johan “The best villain since Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels.”
I guess hanging out with Johan Fly was time well spent.
So yes, give your antagonist a backstory and a motive, create empathy, do all those good things … but get some serious one-on-one time going as well. Sit alongside them, study their mannerisms, search their dark and mysterious souls.
If nothing else, it’s devilishly good company.
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