How to Expose a Character’s Vulnerability, Part 2 (Writing Emotion: Insecurity)

The Writing Emotion series observes one emotion at a time in a story that executes it well. This is so that we can understand better how to do our most important job as storytellers: make readers feel deeply as they engage with your story.

The objective of these posts is less about learning to convey a specific emotion (joy, sorrow, anxiousness, etc.) and more about studying what is going on underneath a scene that makes the emotionality of it more compelling for the characters and the reader alike—

It’s about learning to write emotion.

Emotion: Insecurity
Story: The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale

Insecurity: uncertainty or anxiety about oneself; lack of confidence

This scene is centered around protagonist princess Anidori as she speaks with her father, the king. She has just explained how she spent her day, completing each required task, all of which are fit for a future queen. (Also, her horse’s name is Falada.)

Passage from the story:

““That is wonderful, Anidori,” he said with all the force of a proud father.” And how did you do?”

“Fine.” In truth it had been, from dawn until then, a horrible day full of trips, stutters, and stupidity. She felt her chin tremble a little and covered it with a hand. His assurance that she was wonderful was a stab in the soreness of her insecurity. He more than anyone knew how she tried to be what her mother was, and how often she failed. It was he who in earlier years had held her weeping at his chest and told her that she was good enough, that she was his best girl. She had not sought his comfort in years, trying as she was to grow up, to be independent and queenly enough not to hurt, but she longed for his succor now.

“Or, you know, well enough.” Her voice cracked a little, and she turned away to mount Falada. But he caught her shoulders and pulled her into his embrace. The little girl in her won out, and she sobbed lightly against his chest.

“There, easy now,” he said as though calming an anxious horse.

“I was terrible, Father. I’m so worried that I will say all the wrong things and that they think I’m a dim, sickly, bird-speaking girl that I actually shake, and my mind goes blank, and I just want to run away.”

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “But you don’t, Anidori, do you? You stay and you try. You are so much braver than I. And as you keep trying, the rest will come.””

Lesson 1: An insecure princess

Okay. I know I highlight insecurity in nearly every post, but there’s a good reason behind that.

Authentic, vulnerable insecurity makes for deeply moving, engaging, memorable, relatable, and, of course, emotional stories.

Let’s review that list one more time to really nail it in.

By doing something as simple as sporadically tapping into and showing the reader your protagonist’s deepest insecurities, you can make your story more:

moving
engaging
memorable
relatable
emotional

I talk about insecurity and vulnerability so often because they offer a big emotional bang for their buck. And because sometimes the simplest techniques have the biggest impact.

In this case, Anidori is worried about her ability to fill the role of a future queen. She has trouble connecting with others, finding it nerve-racking and awkward to be around people. She is clumsy and anxious. And she frequently says the wrong thing.

All of these add up to exactly what a future queen should not be (according to Anidori, that is).

Insecurity (which can arguably just be viewed as an extension of vulnerability) is what makes even the vilest villains compelling (I see you, Kylo Ren).

In other words, tapping into insecurity is a technique that can turn a psychotic, emotionally immature, violent, megalomaniac into someone millions of people want to root for. And that is something to take note of.

So:

What is your protagonist’s biggest insecurity? How does it conflict with the pursuit of their story goal? How can this conflict cause friction on a scene level? Posed another way, how does their insecurity make them ill-suited for achieving/gaining their ultimate goal? How does this show up in their interactions with people they don’t trust? What about with people they do?

Remember, you don’t want a protagonist perfectly suited for their ultimate aim. Definitely not at the beginning of their story. That’s just boring.

Lesson 2: The child in you

This is another theme you’ve seen on Project Published before because it’s one I love to look for in stories.

I do this because each time I see a solid story technique—such as this—in practice, the better I understand its angles and possibilities. And the more skillfully I can weave it into my own words.

So let’s talk about Anidori and the way she reverts so quickly into a childlike state.

Something as simple as her father hugging her reminds Anidori how to deal with her emotions in a way that always worked before. This simple act of comfort unleashes her emotions and allows her to speak a truth she has been trying so hard to keep tucked away.

This. is. good.

You want to unlock the most closely guarded secrets in your protagonist’s heart. The thing they try so hard to hide.

What results is an excruciatingly relatable moment. And every story can always use more of those.

If you had to start a sentence describing your protagonist with: “The little child in them won out…” where would it go from there? How would their little girl/boy act out in a moment of deep emotion? What action might cause that inner child to bubble to the surface?

Lesson 3: Stating what is and what will be

In Save the Cat!, Blake Snyder discusses the idea of theme.

He explains that there comes a very specifically timed point in every screenplay where a character states—to the protagonist, usually—the theme that will be learned by the end of the story.

To illustrate this idea in action, let’s take a look at this line from our passage up above:

“He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. ‘But you don’t, Anidori, do you? You stay and you try. You are so much braver than I. And as you keep trying, the rest will come.’”

Talk about foreshadowing.

It takes a lot of time, a lot of trying and failing, and a lot of heartache, struggle, and pain before Anidori finally lives up to that prediction of “the rest will come.” But come it does.

And it only happens because of one, small character trait. Something her father points out in this moment. Something she barely recognizes yet:

Anidori stays. And she tries. And she keeps trying. Until it comes.

In this moment, the emotionality of this statement lands because we as the reader feel moved watching a father lovingly comfort his lonely and insecure daughter.

But a skilled storyteller knows that there are deeper layers beyond that. A skilled storyteller can take an already emotional moment, and add to it with foreshadowing, theme, lovable character traits, and more.

Maybe a reader won’t recognize the mastery taking place until they pick the book up again for a re-read. But I promise you this:

The more thought and attention you give to something, and the more layers you add on, so quietly and skillfully that readers won’t even notice, the more of an impact a single line can make. Without the reader even fully understanding why it affects them so much.

How can you add more layers (and therefore more emotionality and impact) to a single line or moment in your story? Think especially about using foreshadowing and the hint of lessons to come, but you can also play with character traits, theme, callbacks, and more.