I believe that the desire to write is, to some degree, about personal growth — the unconscious desire to evolve.
When a journalist asked mountaineer George Mallory why he would risk his life to climb Mount Everest, he simply said: “Because it’s there.” And when you commit to a story, you risk embarrassment, failure, and futility. And yet, we write.
In this article, I’ll talk about both the personal growth of your characters and your own personal growth as a writer. Spoiler alert: they bear some similarity. Lastly, I’ll give you a Story Weapon to help you experience only the growing pains that are strictly necessary.
Personal growth in fiction begins with a character’s dilemma — the tension between a conscious goal and an unconscious false belief that keeps them restless until they’re forced to change. Writing that transformation mirrors the writer’s own growth, since confronting a character’s inner conflict often means confronting the writer’s own. The most compelling material comes from running toward the uncomfortable, unresolved parts of the psyche rather than staying in safe creative territory.
Character growth
The best characters aren’t static or vague, but lived-in costumes for fragments of the writer’s soul. They take on different forms and, outside the world of the story, come to exist in your reader’s imagination. When the story starts, we get to see characters take off on a path to transform.
A classic adage about screenwriting is that a movie isn’t about someone’s life, but the most interesting ninety minutes of their life. We visit these characters when they’re not yet fully formed and watch their choices challenge who they are.
At the heart of every story is a dilemma: a problem that can’t be solved without creating another problem. This dilemma is universally relatable, the thing that connects us as human beings.
There are two aspects to a dilemma: a primal desire, and a false belief. And it is this restlessness that keeps your character from feeling any peace with their current mindset.
There’s something that must be resolved before they get a happy (or tragic) ending.
As you consider your characters, ask yourself what they need to feel whole. Is this an illusory goal? What are they really chasing? Notice that we typically have a conscious goal, and an unconscious desire.
“When I get the promotion, then I will be validated.”
“When Sally loves me, then I will be complete.”
“When I graduate from college, then I will be a success.”
“When I defeat my enemy, then justice will be done.”
In other words, it is not the goal, but the meaning we make out of the goal that drives us.
There’s this inner instability at the core of the story. The call to adventure becomes irresistible. We don’t all put on our rusty armor when the dragon kidnaps a villager. But perhaps the humble blacksmith hears the call. There’s an opportunity to grow.
The refusal of the call is common, both in life and in story. Because this is where the dilemma lies. We want adventure, but we don’t want to risk losing that which is familiar.
Once you connect to your character’s dilemma, you begin to recognize the tension between what they want and the obstacle standing in their way. This is the definition of personal growth. It comes at a price. The purpose of a well-told story is to reveal a transformation, and transformation is always bittersweet. You cannot gain wisdom without losing your innocence. You cannot become an adult without saying goodbye to your youth.
Growth is painful and scary. It’s only when comfort is no longer an option that the character has no choice but to start walking their path. Along the way, the challenges they face are mere phantasms designed to challenge their beliefs, poke at their dilemma, and reshape their worldview.
When your protagonist is broken down with no choice but to surrender, something magical happens. They have a chance to grow in a new way. They change. The humble blacksmith is transformed and a hero is born.
“We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.”
– Jean-Paul Sartre
Your personal growth
The wonderful irony of it all is that you are the humble blacksmith. The desire to write is deeply connected to the desire to evolve.
Like an adventurer willing to risk some bruises to resolve their dilemma, you’ve made a promise to show up to the page. It’s difficult work at times. It can be slow, painful, even boring. Why would a sane person wile away their hours in abject isolation toward a goal that might never bear fruit? Because just like your characters, and whether you’re aware of it or not, you are beset by the same dilemma.
Somewhere in you, there’s an impulse to grow. You’re hearing the call to adventure.
Let’s borrow some language from Joseph Campbell, whose research on the “monomyth” gave us The Hero’s Journey that so many stories follow today:
The agony of breaking through personal limitations is the agony of spiritual growth. Art, literature, myth and cult, philosophy, and ascetic disciplines are instruments to help the individual past [their] limiting horizons into spheres of ever-expanding realization. As [they cross] threshold after threshold, conquering dragon after dragon, the stature of the divinity that [they summon] to [their] highest wish increases, until it subsumes the cosmos.
Though literature is grand and beautiful, it serves at the beck and call of your spirit.
Without the attention and ardor of the loyal reader, the libraries are empty and the pages are blank. As you give more of your time and energy to your story, something profound occurs. It starts giving back. Somewhere in the depths of imagination, the spark is lit into a flame.
As you trudge through your drafts and ignore temptation and distraction, you’re using the instrument of language and story to expand your horizons by going within. The more willing you are to confront the inner hobgoblins of your psyche, the more you may grow as an individual.
Your story weapon: Court your shadow
There are some safe aspects of your story. Perhaps you’re writing in a genre that excites you and there’s some aspect of a magic system that you find intellectually satisfying. You might enjoy the reputation of being a writer. It’s a good excuse to brood and decline invitations. This is all great and you should enjoy it fully, but it’s not where the real fun lies.
As the old adage goes, ships are not built to stay in the harbor.
When you’re brainstorming new parts of your story, run toward what scares you. Find the parts of your psyche that make you uncomfortable. Those aspects in your imagination that feel forbidden are strongholds for good story ideas.
Let the thrill of creation be your reward.
There are some wounds and mysteries that time alone will not resolve. You can talk things out in therapy (and should, if that’s of interest to you), but the hidden parts of your psyche need coaxing to emerge. They may prefer ink, paper, and the quiet thrill of exploring dangerous themes while you’re physically safe.
There’s a teaching from the time of the Latin alchemists that translates to “Visit the interior of the earth, and by rectifying, you will find the hidden stone.” This piece of advice is for both your characters and you. The underworld your character visits is your internal underworld. The justice your characters mete out and the parts of themselves they shed are the parts of you that seek rectification.
Our sole purpose as writers is to build a body of work, and in doing so, we are inevitably led to greater personal growth.
Every story offers an opportunity to develop not only stronger characters but also greater insight, resilience, and confidence as a writer. The skills you build on the page often extend well beyond it, shaping the way you approach creativity, challenges, and personal growth. If you’re ready to deepen your craft in a structured and supportive environment, join one of my next workshops: The 90-Day Novel, The 90-Day Memoir, Story Day.
