Being a Better Writer: Character Competence

Welcome back writers, to more Being a Better Writer! As this post was written well in advance and scheduled to go up while I in theory am boarding an airplane with a secure door plug, I have no news to speak of. Save a reminder that if you’re a Patreon Supporter, to go vote for the next project after Axtara 2!

But yes, this post cannot predict future news, so instead of waxing on what’s going on, we’re just going to dive right into today’s topic, which is a sort-of request.

Why sort-of? The topic itself came from an excellent comment left by reader georgfelis on a previous Being a Better Writer installment. A few weeks ago, when we spoke of uncertain characters, this poster left a great comment (which you can read here) taking the post one step further and creating a four-way graph, with “certain/uncertain” on one axis, and competent/incompetent on the other. They offered examples of different well-known characters representing each corner of the graph, as well as examples of how those characters were used, and suggested I augment the original post in some fashion with that excellent addition.

I’ll admit, I definitely considered it. This post was almost that breakdown. Save that when I sat down to look harder at it, I realized I’d just be repeating what had already been stated in a satisfactory fashion. Hence why I’m linking to the comment above. If you read the original post but didn’t see georgfelis’ comment on it, I’d suggest reading it. It’s a really good addition to how you think about certainty in your stories.

But it did raise a great subject as well, that being character competence. So rather than restating georgfelis’ words on the matter, I thought I’d dedicate a post to the other axis of that comment and talk about how competent our characters may or may not be.

So hit both jumps, the comment link above and the link to the rest of the post, and let’s talk about how competent your characters are.


Now, I want to start by diving into something that was touched on in georgfelis’ comment, but with a bit more depth: There are uses for all levels of character competence.

I bring this up because in the comment, the dreaded term “Mary Sue” was dropped, a term stemming from a parody of Star Trek fanfiction in the 1970s where a character with the name Mary Sue just happened to be better than everyone else at everything (in addition to some other over-the-top enhancements). Now, I want to make it clear that just because a character is hypercompetent, IE capable of solving or doing just about if not everything, doesn’t mean they’re an automatic mark against a story.

See, I do see a lot of young writers (and would-be critics) who assume otherwise. That “Mary Sue” means “anyone with an insane degree of competence, and therefore any story with a hypercompetent character is bad.” But this simply isn’t true. We talk a lot about the writer’s toolbox here on Being a Better Writer, a nebulous metaphysical space that contains all sorts of “writing tools” that are used in various fashion. And a hypercompetent character is a tool of the story, not an automatic failure. It’s just a very powerful tool that carries narrative, like a heavy-duty chainsaw. If you’re not careful, it’ll cut the framework out from under your tale and the walls will come tumbling down. But used well?

Look, one of my favorite childhood books contains a character that would be declared by many inexperienced critics as a “Mary Sue.” The book is called I Want to Go Home and it was written by a genius comedic writer for middle-grade and up readers called Gordon Korman. Now, the protagonist and PoV character in I Want to Go Home is a fairly ordinary kid sent to a summer camp he really doesn’t want to be at. His bunkmate however, is almost supernaturally skilled. As the character himself puts it, his parents have already set aside a place in their house for his future Olympic medals. He is without a doubt the most hypercompetent fifth-grader you’ve ever read about.

Does that make him a Mary Sue though? No. Nor does it tear the story apart, because the entire conflict of the story stems from the fact that this kid is so incredibly competent … and would rather spend his time at camp just chilling listening to music while plotting his escape. See he is like the protagonist. He doesn’t want to be there. And while he’s hypercompetent, he is only a fifth grader in age and size, and still defers to authority. Openly, anyway.

If that sounds like a recipe for potential hilarity to you, then congratulations, you see how Korman uses this character within the framework of the story. The plot is a “buddy comedy,” almost a child-like spin on a prison escape as this hypercompetent character and his new friend both repeatedly plot to escape the camp and run away back to their homes. Meanwhile, the camp counselors are determined to get this all-star camp attendee to settle some rivalries with nearby camps, or at the very least participate in camp activities.

The character is hypercompetent. Arguably he has most if not all the traits of a Mary Sue. But the story was built in a way to allow that character to exist and generate comedy. Sure, he’d be a star player on any team, but he’d rather chill and plot his next escape attempt. Which, naturally, will result in a wide variety of hijinks once his plan collides with every other character in play.

Yes, Mary Sue characters are a problem. Sands, we devoted a whole post to it. But as we noted in that post, a Mary Sue is more than just a hypercompetent character, and therefore not every hypercompetent character is a Mary Sue. They’re just hypercompetent, and that can still work well for a story.

Georgfelis offered in his comment the character of Ethan Hunt from the Mission Impossible series as an example of a hypercompetent character. And they aren’t wrong. Ethan Hunt is insanely competent. But the framework of the setting and the story in each of those films requires someone who is hypercompetent. A whole team of hypercompetent people, in fact. Who are also going up against hypercompetent adversaries.

See? The character is hypercompetent, but the framework around it is built for those characters. The result being that the Mission Impossible films are a huge hit, a lot of fun, and you go for the spectacle of seeing these hypercompetent characters take on other hypercompetent characters. You might not be into that, but it doesn’t mean that the movies aren’t well-done regardless.


Phew! That was a lot of lead-in, so let’s switch gears now. We’ve talked about hypercompetent characters, so now lets talk about incompetent characters. Let’s jump to the other end of the extreme on our spectrum. Don’t worry, we’ll work our way toward the middle after this.

In addition, I’d imagine that it’s a bit easier for most readers to think of examples of well-utilized incompetent characters off the top of their head, especially if they’ve seen any sort of television sitcom. The incompetent character is a well-traveled path of many a sitcom setup, from Homer Simpson to … sands, take your pick of almost any husband in television history starting with the 80s.

Now, the downside to this being such a common trope is that many of you can probably already think of examples of it being either done too much, or used in a case where it came on too strong. Yes, that is valid. Like the other end of the spectrum above, you still need to make sure the rest of the framing works, and that it doesn’t get cut down by the bumbling actions of your inept character.

But when it does work? You can craft a gem. Mr. Bean is an example of a oddball character who makes a lot of incompetent mistakes … and we love it. It’s hilarious. Incompetent characters can work really well in a story. And not just in a comedy, either, though the most extreme examples tend to be from comedies because massive incompetence is a natural setup for a chain of comedic escapades.

But you can make incompetent characters that are heart-rending too. Even tragic. Sands, I think all I need to do is say Of Mice and Men in this context, and those of you who read it will know exactly what I’m talking about. That’s a tragic incompetent character, one who is incompetent through no fault of their own, and not trying to do the wrong thing, but comes to a bitter end all the same.

All these examples work because the creators of the story built a setting and plot that would use the character’s traits, in this case how they were poor at interpreting things or acting on instructions. They used those attributes—planned for them, in many cases—to further the context of the story they wanted to tell.

Up to this point, we’ve talked a lot about how others have used such devices with examples, but we haven’t talked as much about application. Mostly because application of a competent character is pretty well understood: You let them do their thing, and we watch and ooh and ahh. But what about an incompetent character? How can you utilize that outside of the examples we’ve given?


Here we start moving into the middle of the spectrum. Not because you won’t do the same with a character that’s all kinds of incompetent, but because there’s no sense in repeating myself and the same will go for middle-of-the-road characters who may be really good at one or two things but also are really bad at one or two things.

So what do you do? You look at their flaws, and you look at what they can bring to the story. For example, if a character is really a butterfingers, and I mean constantly dropping things … how much tension (or other feel) could you bring to a scene by having them be the ones required to carry the incredibly-dangerous/important-but-fragile macguffin?

This can have a wide range. A character’s lack of skill in something can be central to the plot, central to a scene, or even just humanizing for the character alone, without massive impact on the story. For example, a character who’s really bad at remembering dates might never have a scene in the story where that becomes critically important, but anyone reading the story who suffers from a similar affliction will constantly be nodding at the character messing up dates in their day-to-day and going “Oh, I get that. This character is so real to me!”

Okay, maybe not quite that much hyperbole, but you see the point. Characters with weaknesses, as we’ve discussed before many, many times here on Unusual Things, are realistic. People relate to them. But that’s getting a little off-topic. Point is, character’s lacking competence in an area or skill can be used to make them more real, in addition to being used in other ways.


So then, with all this said … where does that leave you as the writer? Well, I think that it helps, if you’re working in this sort of context, to know first what sort of story you want to tell. A daring heist? A chaotic screwball comedy of errors and mistaken identity? A thrilling chase? A drama?

Some say “start with characters” and for certain types of characters that’s fine. But when dealing with hypercompetent or incompetent characters, recall that we need a careful framework for them to work within, lest they crash through the walls of your story and bring it tumbling down. So if you want to dabble in either extreme, think about the kind of story you want to tell. Maybe even brainstorm some plot elements you’d like to see.

Then, once you’ve got that in mind, begin looking at competent/incompetent character traits that fit inside the framework you’ve begun assembling. What contributes to the path your story is going to follow? Do certain competencies/incompetencies make the story function better, or worse?

How will they aid things, in other words. Make the characters more than actors pulled along by the plot, but active participants whose skill—or lack of it—moves the story along?

Figure that out, and then use your character’s skill or lack of to do exactly that.

Good luck. Now get writing.


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One thought on “Being a Better Writer: Character Competence

  1. I’m flattered, but still have something to add to the competency/confidence angle, and it goes along with the old adage.

    Perception is everything.

    There’s an Estee quote I’ll paraphrase here: “I’m nothing special,” said Twilight Sparkle, the personal student of Princess Celestia.

    There’s two angles to perception, the way a character sees itself and the way others see them, which we generally call reputation. As an example (and showing my age), consider President Ford who played football in college and by all accounts was physically fit and energetic. He fell down an airplane staircase *once* and the video went viral, Saturday Night Live did endless bits on it, etc… Worse, he had a knee injury from college, so even minor stumbles suddenly became big news and blown completely out of proportion.

    So you can have a hypercompetent individual, filled with self-confidence, yet in the perception of others they are incompetent and unworthy to hold onto a position of authority even when they are *right* Or the mirror image of that in Chief Inspector Clouseau who everybody reveres as the famous detective except the people who know him.

    Anybody who knows me too long, knows I love Louis McMaster Bujold’s Shards of Honor. Cordelia is a Beta Colony survey captain, something that screams hypercompetent, but she’s constantly worried about her crew, her home, and… Aral Vorkosigan, who is an officer for Barrayar, son of a count and another hypercompetent who is constantly worried about his home, his honor, and this woman who has thrown his careful plotting on a much greater plan into disarray. He’s known by his political enemies as the “Butcher of Komarr” from a (supposed) early military massacre, while Cordelia Naismith winds up being praised for slaying a Barrayarian war criminal, and the whole thing is a giant ball of perceptions mismatching with characters.

    Reputation inevitably wanders into the territory of honor, particularly if you write in an environment where honor is important such as a Game of Thrones environment. I’ll leave you with this guidance.

    “Reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself… Guard your honor. Let your reputation fall where it will. And outlive the bastards.”
    –Aral Vorkosigan

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