Aristotle, an ancient Greek philosopher, once outlined a pattern he saw within stories (specifically tragedies, but the theory can be applied to many types of stories)-- a path that all characters follow along their journey:
Hamartia: The presence of a "fatal flaw", or limiting characteristic/ condition a character faces.
Anagnorisis: A state of realization triggered by an event for the character themselves that they have this flaw.
Peripeteia: A decision that the character makes as to how they are going to respond to this flaw (run from it, confront it, rise above it, etc.)
By using Aristotle's theory as a guideline, it clearly outlines the character's situation, flaws, development/ regression: all key components of a compelling character arc and intriguing story.
Example:
Operation 13: Sample Chapter
“Hey,” I greeted.
No answer. Quinn and Jess just set their bags down on the opposite side of the room and marched right back out into the hallway from which they came.
“Guys?”
But the door had already closed behind them. I figured they were just getting their heads in the game, so I went back to taping my stick. It wasn’t long before June came through.
“Hey,”
Silence. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye. One by one, the rest of my teammates showed up, and they spoke to each other freely, but as soon as I opened my mouth they refused to acknowledge my presence. It made my stomach churn.
The silent treatment continued all through warm-up, and practice, and by the time I’d untied my skates I’d had enough.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”
Lane shrugged. “I don’t know, Hales, you tell us, since we’re obviously not good enough for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re not stupid,” she scowled, “we know you tried to abandon us for the men’s league.”
I shook my head. “No, you’ve got this all wrong. I’d never abandon you guys, ever, I was just trying to--”
“To be a hero,” Smids sneered. “You’re no better than the rest of us, Jamie.”
“I know! I never said I was!”
The walls began to cave in, and the circle of angry faces around me grew tighter. How could they have found out?
Before I could even begin to search for an answer, a pair of squinting brown eyes locked on mine from the back of the room. They stared with a coldness so bitter that it sent shivers down my spine, and they watched the chaos unfold as if they were the cause of it. I grabbed my bag and charged through the gap in the crowd.
As soon as I made it outside, my phone rang. I answered immediately in hopes to hear a reassuring voice.
“Noah, I don’t know what happened, but the girls know. They just tore me apart, they called me a traitor, they--”
“I just got a call from Jake. It’s over.”
My heart dropped. “What do you mean?”
“We got ratted out.”
I thought about the look in Coach Zanders’ eyes back in the room, and I connected the dots.
“Well do they know who’s in on it?”
“No, thank god, but the NHL’s on high alert. We couldn’t get you anywhere near the building.”
I couldn’t breathe. I stood still in the middle of the sidewalk. Paralyzed.
“Jamie?” he asked after a moment. “Here, I’ll be at your apartment in ten minutes, we’ll talk then.”
He hung up.
I didn’t remember walking back to my apartment; it was like one minute I was staring at the concrete, the next at the tile in my kitchen.
Noah took a seat across the counter. “So what’re we gonna do now?”
“I-I don’t know. I guess I still need time.”
“Well we could…”
All of his words merged together, whizzing around in my mind so fast that there was no chance I’d be able to catch them. My head began to pound.
“Look, I understand--”
“Don’t try to tell me that you understand,” I snapped.
“That’s not what I--”
“I’m not finished. You will never, ever, ever, ever, understand, and I don’t need you to. I don’t need you to understand, Noah, I don’t need to be saved, I just…” My voice ran up with the last couple words, and a tear rolled down my cheek, then another, and another. “I need you to listen.”
“Jamie,” Noah said, reaching for my hand.
I shuddered away from him. “Please go.”
He left without another word.
That was the last time I saw him for a long time. Since I was still jobless I ended up moving back in with my mom, and she was just happy I was home again. We were always close-- I used to visit all the time when I first moved out, but over the past few months it had dwindled down to sparse phone calls just to check up that everything was alright. She offered some words of encouragement to lift my spirits, and even cooked up her world famous lasagna for dinner one night; I wish I could’ve tasted it, but everything about me was just so… numb. It seemed like I was drowning in this thick haze, and I could barely keep my eyes open half the time. But, when I sent myself to bed, I found myself connecting the dots in the popcorn ceiling.
It was while staring at that ceiling when the fog cleared up a little bit, and I found the strength to confront the heart of my exhaustion by asking the clearest question I could focus on:
“Why?”
Well, so many of us women have been made to feel like we’re alone in our frustration-- powerless against this menacing beast that’s crawled into the minds of everyone, everywhere: sometimes it screams, sometimes it whispers, and sometimes it stands silent as an undeclared, solid wall between people. No matter how it chooses to infect individuals, it really tears us apart -- twists our insides in weird ways. So, I guess that in our suffering, we crave the presence of someone to share the burden with, and, remarkably, we can find some fragile shred of peace with the ease of company. However, when someone threatens to wage a war against the injustice, the frustration resurfaces. We become restless, but instead of joining the battle, we destroy those who disturbed the peace. We betray the children we once swore to protect. We feed the beast.
--
There was something about watching little kids play hockey that always cheered me up. Maybe it was because their equipment made them look like marshmallows, or how they waddled around the ice in disorganized shoals, all following the little black dot aimlessly; it was so simple, and I needed a little bit more “simple” in my life right now.
It wasn’t long before a ponytail in a pink helmet caught my eye. She had to be no taller than my hip, with the balance and strength of a spaghetti noodle. She bumped into everyone and everything until she finally got the puck to stay on her stick. After gaining some distance from the pack, she made her way to the net, and slapped the puck away towards the goalie who could barely cover a quarter of the net. As the puck crossed the goal line she threw her gloves in the air, swarmed by her teammates who jumped (and fell) for joy. I was able to get a glimpse of the number on the back of her jersey: thirteen.
I thought about how she’d be when she could stand on her own two skates; when she’d start working out; when she’d grow taller. I thought about all the friends she’d make, how hard she’d work to climb her way to the top, only to be shunned by all of them and knocked right back down. I thought about her sitting next to me with the same frustration, asking all the same questions, and I couldn’t bear it.
I didn’t care how I’d do it, but I was going to change it all. I had to.
I put my phone to my ear and paced the stands.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Noah, it’s Jamie.”
“Oh, hey,” he greeted brightly, “I was starting to think I’d never hear from you again.”
“Yeah, I know.” I took a deep breath. “I just wanted to apologize for how I left things. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that, I know you were only trying to help; it was just, you know, a lot for me to take in all at once.”
“I’m sorry too. I sounded pretty insensitive back there, I guess it’s a lot easier to process from the outside.”
“Yeah. When are you gonna be back in town?”
“I’m actually in town right now. Mason and I are here till Wednesday.”
“Oh, sweet! I figured the rink would be the best place to get Operation Thirteen up and running again. Tuesday work for you?”
“Of course. I’ll see you then.”
“See you.”
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