What Are You Willing to Lose? : Writing Characters with Depth in Adult Fiction

Every story starts with a want. A goal. A desire. Something a character is moving toward. Something they're trying to gain, protect, or become. And that's a solid foundation for a story. But at some point, if the story is doing what it's supposed to do, that foundation stops being enough. And we have to shift our question from "What do they want?" to "What are they willing to lose to get it?"

Wanting is Easy. Sacrifice Isn't

It's easy to give a character a goal. It can be as grand as saving their world or as small as simply trying to survive. These goals are understandable—admirable, even. But it's not goals alone that define a character. If you want real depth, you have to start asking yourself how far they're willing to go for those goals. Because the moment something is on the line—something real and personal—the story stops being about just achieving success. It becomes a tale of trade-offs. And trade-offs are where things get juicy.

There is No World Where They Keep Everything

This is where a lot of authors (especially new authors) hesitate. They introduce stakes, but don't follow through on them. The character wants something, and yes, it's difficult. There are obstacles. There are minor sacrifices, and perhaps a couple of major ones are implied or threatened. But in the end, they always find a way to keep what matters because we love our characters. Of course we do. They're our little baby brain children. They win, and they stay whole. But this also means they're getting the outcome without paying the full price.

And sure, maybe that's satisfying. But it isn't honest. Because oftentimes, the most meaningful decisions—you know, the ones that really define who someone is—don't normally happen when there's a clear path forward. They happen when every option has a cost. They happen when there is no version of the outcome where they walk away unchanged.

Sacrifice is Not Just Loss

That's an important one. Sacrifice in storytelling isn't just about taking something away. It's about choosing what matters more. That's what gives it some real weight.

As fun as it is to beat a character with sticks (I'm the CEO of giving my characters the ol' back-alley treatment, believe me), doing that too often tends to get a bit... stale. We want balance. We want give and take. We don't want to watch a character suffer for 350 pages with no wins. But we also don't want a series of only victories.

This is where that give and take comes into play. When a character makes the active decision to give something up—when they understand the cost and move forward toward a goal anyway—that's where the story becomes personal. At that point, we're no longer just watching events unfold (i.e., beating your character with sticks). We're watching them define themselves.

The Smaller the Cost, the Weaker the Story

There is a temptation to protect our characters. Perhaps it's because we don't want to take things too far. Perhaps it's because there's a little piece of ourselves in them that we want to shelter. We want to give them enough struggle to feel earned, but not enough to truly break something in them.

There are some situations in which this works. Not every book or screenplay has to be some highly philosophical debate on costs versus gain, and not every character has to have all this crazy moral conflict and complexity. But if you want a story to really linger, you're going to have to go further. Even in the lightest of reads, a story falls flat without that driving internal conflict.

Cost has to matter. And I don't mean that in a broad, abstract, "the world is at stake" way. At least, not every time. Make it specific. Make it intimate. A relationship. A belief. A fundamental part of who they are. Any author can take away something external. Making a character lose something that they believe defines them, however? That's something else entirely.

Let There Be Consequences

Now, as I said, your stakes don't have to be catastrophic and world-altering. They can be small-scale. But that doesn't mean your character walks away unchanged.

Sometimes, doing the right thing still causes some measure of harm. Sometimes, protecting one person means losing another. And on a grander scale, sometimes survival comes at the cost of something you can't get back. The big thing here is understanding that once those lines are crossed, there is no undoing it. There is no version of the story where everything is okay again. These consequences are what give characters depth, and they often become the things that shape them throughout entire series. To see a character's behaviors shift, to see their priorities re-align in the wake of their choices, that's what makes them memorable and impactful to your audiences. When they can understand the why behind every action, your characters start to become real.

What Stays With Us

Think about your favorite books, movies, and TV shows. What stuck with you the most? Was it the success of the protagonist? Or was it every obstacle and choice along the way?

Let's take a look at Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender as an example. We don't look back on him and remember his character for how he eventually became the Fire Lord. We remember him because of how he gave up everything to do what was right. Even when he could have lost his home, his family, and his title, he stood by our heroes—stood against his own father and nation—to bring balance back to the world. And in the end, it made his return to his home all the more satisfying.

We remember characters like this because of what success cost them. We remember them because of what they had to give up. Because of the moment when they knew exactly what was at stake, and they chose their path anyway. So, next time you start a project, don't just ask what your character wants. Ask what is going to be taken from them. What belief will be tested? What relationship will be strained? What part of them won't survive to the end?

A story is rarely defined solely by what the character achieves. It's defined by what they're willing to do—and willing to lose— to get there. And once you can pinpoint what that is, everything else tends to just fall into place.