Main Character Energy: Understanding who belongs in your story, and how

There's a fairly new organization here in Missoula called Slow Spokes. In their own words, "Slow Spokes provides resources, community, and experiences for non-binary, trans, gender-expansive, and women riders of all abilities to have safe, confident, barrier-free fun bikepacking in the Missoula area." Last week, partially to celebrate their new status as a certified 501(c)3 nonprofit and partially just for fun, they hosted Snail Fest, a bikepacking film fest with a few feature (short) films about bikepacking from a women+ perspective, as well as hand-selected community submissions of micro films, lasting roughly 90 seconds each.

I am my father's child. He was the son of a quiet hero and so am I (more or less); he celebrated and supported his community through the filter and shelter of a camera lens, I also celebrate and support through documentation. I feel shifty when the camera is pointed at me, and tend to back away from group shots and hide my face when I see a stranger snapping photos. I'm surprised when I see myself in a photo, and disappointed when I'm never included in the documentation of events I know I was at. He also loves to turn down an invitation. We do not have FOMO, we love to be where we want to be and not feel bothered or rushed to participate in something we aren't interested in. There's lots to dive into with that, but while I love bikepacking, women+, and the folks at Slow Spokes (one of the founding members is my former Art Director at Adventure Cyclist), I don't go out to many events or rides, and don't like the pressure of saying yes and then having to follow through.

So imagine my surprise when I show up (late) to Snail Fest, just in time to see myself in at least three short films and possibly the introduction. Not for any grand contribution or achievement, just doing what I love: towing my dog in her trailer, riding my bike, eating snacks, laughing with friends, pitching camp. It was 13 ways of looking at a black sheep.

It brought me a somewhat unearned sense of pride, community, and connection to place. It also got me thinking: People talk sometimes about main character energy in terms of people who walk into a room and command it with their presense. But main characters come in all different forms, with all different energies, and variations on how to impact a moment. Just like we don't have to be everywhere consistently and bombastically to make an impression, the important players in the stories we tell don't have to have been in your life (or in your main character's life if you're writing fiction) to be impactful, to come up in the story many times, to be framed and reframed, connected with and reconsidered, through the course of your story.

They also don't need to appear throughout the whole book to have an impact. But that is the thing about important characters, including main characters, isn't it? No matter how short their stay, their impression is a thumbprint on a photograph, a recurring friendly scowl from 13 angles.

There's a reverse of this as well: when characters appear like hiccups, staggered but repeatedly, they can give the impression of importance, set the reader up for a big reveal, or create a feigned connection that might highlight some beautiful moments but doesn't help the reader get where you're trying to take them.

Who was in your life briefly, making an outsized appearance in your retelling? Are they adding insight, growth, and perspective — do they have main character energy? Or are they a darling to leave on the cutting room floor?

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P.S.: Nervous about talking through some tough moments in your manuscript? Received unhelpful feedback from editors who did not know how to handle your story (or you) with care? Me too! That's why I have completed training to become a Certified Trauma-Informed Coach. Whether the story is about something overtly heavy or an issue that has impacted you but doesn't have widespread cultural recognition, we can talk about it in a way that honors both the story and the storyteller — after all, you're the main character.