The last thing I wanted to write about

I’ve now been reading unpublished manuscripts and query letters for over twenty years–first as a publishing assistant, then a literary agent, now as a freelance editor–adding up to tens of thousands of pages.

Read that much, and there are bound to be some bêtes noires that will pop up for any reader. I want to talk about one of my big ones today. No, not queries starting with rhetorical questions, though a shiver ran up my spine even thinking about those. I’m talking about this one:

“The last thing [CHARACTER] wanted/needed…”

Nails on the chalkboard.

Yes, it’s a common figure of speech. It’s not usually meant to be taken literally. But I positively loathe this setup. When I’m editing manuscripts, it’s an instant delete.

My reasoning for banishing “the last thing X wanted” is more than just a pet peeve or the fact that it’s a cliche that sledgehammers what’s usually apparent from context (Yes, the last thing I too would want is getting dunked in a boiling vat of alien acid).

In this post, I’m going to unpack the perils of focusing on negative desires (i.e. what a character doesn’t want) in order to reinforce the importance of keeping the reader in tune with what a character does want.

At least signal the stakes

Before I get to the problems with “The last thing X wanted,” let me start with the glimmer of potential it holds. When paired with more information, this phrase can be an avenue for establishing what’s at stake.

The stakes in a novel essentially boil down to what happens if a character succeeds or fails. If they achieve their plan, what’s the reward? If they mess it up, what are the consequences?

While it’s still a cliche and I’d swap it out for something more individualized, “The last thing X wanted” can at least signal peril and discomfort, provided we also know the specific downside the character is now imagining. It’s better to tie the setback to very tangible consequences than a simple, universal feeling, so for instance, “now I have to go live with my nagging aunt in a shoebox of an apartment” feels more palpable than a vague, general sense of dread.

But “The last thing X wanted” is still a somewhat limiting phrase. Okay, we know one big, bad thing the character doesn’t want. It may even be their biggest fear. And then what? What do they want?

Negative desires just don’t tell us very much

When novelists get too hung up on the things characters fear or don’t want, they can start to feel negative and a bit petulant. Which can work if you’re trying to give a character room to grow. But if you only focus fear and disgust, you may find your readers struggling to understand what makes your character tick.

The major problem with focusing solely on what characters don’t want is that there is a universe of choice in life. Even more so in a novel, because you can simply change rules and laws of physics with a stroke of a pen.

Don’t want your characters to be beholden to gravity? Boom they’re in outer space. Can’t afford to live on a yacht in the Mediterranean? Well, your character just won the lottery. Anything is possible in a novel.

A negative desire just closes off one possibility out of infinity. It’s like shining the world’s tiniest flashlight in the world’s biggest cave.

An affirmative desire, on the other hand, tells us precisely what makes a character tick. Out of everything in the entire universe that’s possible, this specific thing is what our protagonist is going to go after. It’s far, far more illuminating.

It’s “The last thing George wanted was to be humiliated at school” (yeah no kidding, who does?) vs. “George would play the tuba in the cafeteria every day until Sarah realized she wanted to go to the prom with him.” One is way, way more vivid than the other and tells us much more about what makes George who he is.

Nail those hopes and dreams

If you find your novel wandering and aren’t quite sure why, chances are you haven’t worked out what your character really wants. You may even know them quite well! You know their likes and dislikes, you know their personality backwards and forwards.

But until you know your character’s north star, that unshakable thing they’re going after, you won’t have yourself a story. The more specificity you can bring to bear around hopes and dreams the better, all the way down to the plaintive melody George has planned for his dented but well-polished brass tuba. Think: that song at the start of Disney musicals that tells us what the character is going after.

Telling us what your characters don’t want can have its place. But until you tell us what they do want, the story will be stuck in neutral.

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Art: James Tissot – An Interesting Story