Tony Tips Tuesdays™: Writing Fictional Secrets

One of the fastest ways to make a story feel thin is to fill it with characters who only exist because the writer needed somebody to deliver information, start an argument, die at the right time, ask the obvious question, flirt with the hero, betray the team, or stand in the background so the main character does not look lonely.

Readers can feel that. They may not always stop and say, “That side character has no purpose beyond plot convenience,” but they will feel the emptiness. They will feel when a character is not really a person, but a tool with a name. They will feel when someone walks into the story only to hand the hero a clue, say one dramatic line, and disappear. They will feel when a best friend exists only to listen, a love interest exists only to motivate, a parent exists only to die, or a villain’s henchman exists only to get knocked across the room.

That is why today’s quote matters: “No one exists just to serve the plot.” Every character does not need twenty chapters, a childhood flashback, a secret journal, and a dramatic monologue under the rain. That is not what I am saying. Some characters will only appear once. Some will only have a few lines. Some will serve a small function in a big story. But even a small character should feel like they walked into the story from a life that existed before the reader met them.

That is the difference between a living world and a decorated stage.

Purpose Is Not the Same Thing as Screen Time

A character does not need a lot of page time to matter. Some characters walk into a story for one scene and change the temperature of the whole room. They may reveal something about the hero, expose the villain’s cruelty, challenge the theme, provide a moral contrast, remind the reader what is at stake, or create a moment that stays with the audience long after the scene ends.

That is purpose. Think about the characters in The Lord of the Rings. Not every person in Middle-earth gets the same attention as Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Gandalf, or Gollum. Yet many smaller characters still feel connected to the world and the story’s larger meaning. A farmer, a soldier, an innkeeper, a frightened villager, or a fallen warrior can remind us that this war is not only about kings, wizards, and rings. It is about ordinary people whose homes, families, and futures are at risk.

That matters because purpose is not measured only by how many pages a character gets. Purpose is measured by what changes because the character exists. Did they reveal a truth? Did they add pressure? Did they expose a wound? Did they make the world feel larger? Did they force the main character to choose? Did they help readers understand what kind of story they are in?

If the answer is no, the character may not need to be there.

Stop Writing Human Props

Some writers do not write supporting characters. They write human furniture. The friend who only exists to say, “Girl, you should call him.” The old man who exists only to hand over ancient wisdom and vanish. The bully who exists only to be mean because the hero needs a hard life. The girlfriend who exists only to be kidnapped. The younger sibling who exists only to make the hero look protective. The police officer who exists only to ignore obvious evidence. The pastor, teacher, coach, boss, cousin, neighbor, teammate, or clerk who is only there because the plot needs somebody standing in that spot.

That kind of writing makes a story feel manufactured. Real people have motives, even when they are small. The store clerk may want to get through the shift because her son has a game that night. The coach may be hard on the hero because he sees wasted potential and remembers his own failure. The best friend may give advice, but they may also be tired of being treated like an emotional dumping ground. The mentor may offer wisdom, but they may also be hiding regret from the one battle they never won.

You do not have to explain all of that in the scene, but you need to know enough to make the character feel like more than a prop. A little purpose can change the way they speak, what they notice, what they avoid, and what kind of energy they bring into the story.

Every Character Should Want Something

One of the simplest ways to give a character purpose is to ask what they want. Not every character needs a grand destiny. They do not all have to want the throne, the ring, the championship, the cure, the confession, or the final victory. A character may want to keep their job. They may want their child to come home. They may want respect. They may want peace. They may want revenge. They may want to be left alone. They may want to prove they are not weak. They may want to protect a secret. They may want to avoid being blamed for something they did.

Desire gives a character motion. In The Dark Knight, even smaller characters are often defined by what they want. Harvey Dent wants justice and believes he can help clean up Gotham. Gordon wants to protect the city while navigating corruption and impossible choices. Alfred wants Bruce to live and not be consumed by Batman. The Joker wants chaos, but more than that, he wants to prove that people are not as noble as they pretend to be. Those desires collide, and that collision gives the story force.

That is what writers should study. A scene becomes more interesting when everybody in it wants something, even if they do not all want the same thing. The hero wants answers. The witness wants protection. The detective wants the truth. The corrupt official wants silence. The grieving mother wants justice. The villain wants time. Suddenly, a conversation is not just dialogue. It is a battlefield.

A character without desire is usually dead weight.

Give Characters Thematic Purpose

Some characters matter because they carry part of the story’s message. They may represent what the hero could become. They may show what happens when someone chooses fear instead of courage. They may challenge the hero’s beliefs. They may prove the villain wrong. They may reveal the cost of injustice, the beauty of mercy, the danger of pride, the pain of silence, or the power of faith.

That is thematic purpose. In Black Panther, Killmonger is not just there to give T’Challa someone to fight. He forces the story to confront hard questions about isolation, responsibility, pain, abandonment, and the relationship between power and justice. Nakia, Okoye, Shuri, Ramonda, M’Baku, and even W’Kabi all bring different beliefs, loyalties, values, and tensions into the story. They are not just orbiting T’Challa. They help define the moral and emotional world he must lead.

That is why the story feels full. Supporting characters can carry arguments inside your theme. One may believe mercy is weakness. Another may believe truth without love is cruelty. Another may believe survival matters more than honor. Another may believe faith is foolish until they see it hold someone together. When those beliefs collide, your story gains depth without needing long lectures.

Do not just ask what your story is about. Ask which character embodies each side of the question.

Let Supporting Characters Change the Hero

If the main character can remove a supporting character from the story and nothing changes, that supporting character may be in trouble.

A purposeful supporting character should affect the hero somehow. They may encourage, challenge, irritate, humble, expose, tempt, wound, teach, or confront the hero. They may bring out a side of the hero the reader would not see otherwise. That is important because no main character should reveal every layer of themselves alone.

In Good Will Hunting, Sean does not exist merely to give Will therapy scenes. He becomes the person who sees past Will’s intelligence and calls out the pain, fear, defense mechanisms, and self-sabotage underneath it. Chuckie is also not just “the funny friend.” He loves Will enough to tell him the truth about wasting his gift. Those characters matter because they pressure Will in different ways.

That is what good supporting characters do. They do not simply stand beside the protagonist. They pull something out of them.

A best friend can reveal the hero’s humor. A rival can reveal insecurity. A child can reveal tenderness. A parent can reveal old wounds. A villain can reveal fear. A love interest can reveal vulnerability. A mentor can reveal potential. A stranger can reveal compassion. When you understand what each character brings out of the protagonist, your cast starts working with purpose.

Let Characters Have Lives Outside the Hero

This is where many stories fall short.

The supporting characters only seem alive when the hero is looking at them. They have no problems of their own, no relationships outside the protagonist, no private fears, no dreams, no contradictions, no responsibilities, and no emotional weight unless it somehow connects directly to the main character.

That makes the world feel small. In Stranger Things, part of the fun is that the ensemble characters have their own relationships, fears, friendships, crushes, conflicts, and emotional struggles. The story may have central mysteries and major heroes, but the supporting characters are not empty pieces being moved around a board. They have their own energy. They argue. They bond. They misunderstand each other. They form unexpected teams. They bring humor, fear, bravery, and heart into the story.

That is a good reminder for writers. Your side characters should not feel like they are sitting in a closet until the hero needs them. They should feel like life is happening to them too.

Even if you do not show everything, give them enough off-page life that their scenes feel real. Let the reader sense that this person has somewhere to go after the conversation ends. Let them carry a worry that is not about the hero. Let them have a point of view that does not automatically bow to the protagonist’s needs.

That is how fictional worlds become believable.

Do Not Confuse Purpose With Likeability

Every character does not have to be likeable. Some characters are supposed to frustrate us. Some are supposed to make the hero uncomfortable. Some are supposed to expose hypocrisy. Some are supposed to pressure the protagonist into bad choices. Some are supposed to make readers angry because their purpose is to reveal something ugly about the world of the story.

That is fine. Purpose is not the same as charm. Dolores Umbridge from Harry Potter is a character many readers love to hate because she serves a clear purpose. She represents a kind of polished cruelty, institutional abuse, control, and power wrapped in fake sweetness. She is not there simply to annoy Harry. She shows how evil does not always enter the room looking like a monster. Sometimes it wears pink, smiles, quotes rules, and uses authority as a weapon.

That is a purposeful character. A hateful character can be useful if the story knows why they are hateful and what their presence reveals. The danger comes when a character is unpleasant and pointless. If readers are irritated by a character because the story wants them irritated, that can work. If readers are irritated because the character feels unnecessary, that is a problem.

Give Villains More Than Evil

A villain should not exist only because the plot needs conflict. A strong villain has purpose beyond opposition. They test the hero’s beliefs. They expose weakness. They reveal the cost of failure. They embody a lie the story wants to challenge. They may show what the hero could become if they surrender to pride, grief, rage, fear, or power.

In Breaking Bad, Gus Fring is not just an obstacle for Walter White. He is controlled, patient, disciplined, terrifying, professional, and strategic in ways Walter wants to be but cannot fully maintain. Gus becomes a mirror and a warning. The more Walter tries to rise, the more we see how ambition, ego, secrecy, and power are transforming him. Gus matters because he sharpens the story’s understanding of control and corruption.

That is what a good villain does. They do not just fight the hero. They reveal the hero.

The same principle applies to henchmen, rivals, monsters, corrupt officials, demons, bullies, and antagonistic family members. Ask what belief they carry. Ask what pressure they bring. Ask what they reveal about the hero, the world, and the theme.

Evil for evil’s sake can be boring if it has no shape. But evil with purpose can shake the story.

Small Characters Can Carry Big Moments

Do not underestimate a small role. Sometimes a minor character can deliver the emotional punch that makes the stakes real. The dying soldier who asks the hero to tell his wife he was brave. The old woman who refuses to leave her home. The child who believes in the hero when the hero no longer believes in themselves. The janitor who notices the truth because everyone else looks past him. The stranger who chooses kindness in a cruel world.

Those moments matter when they feel specific. A minor character should not feel like “random person number three.” Give them a detail, a desire, a fear, a voice, or a point of view. Let them be memorable without stealing the whole story.

In The Hunger Games, many characters outside the central cast help reveal the brutality of the world. Some appear briefly, but their presence still matters because they show what the system does to people. Rue, in particular, is not simply there to make Katniss sad. She brings innocence, tenderness, alliance, sacrifice, and moral clarity into the story. Her death changes Katniss and helps ignite something much larger than one girl’s survival.

That is purpose. A small character can become the match that lights the whole story.

Cut or Combine Characters Who Do Not Matter

Here is a hard truth: if a character has no purpose, you may need to cut them. That does not mean your story needs a tiny cast. It means every character should justify their place. If three characters all do the same job, maybe they need to become one stronger character. If a side character delivers one piece of information and never matters again, maybe that information can come through a more meaningful source. If a character has no desire, no effect, no personality, no connection to theme, and no influence on the plot or emotional world, why are they there?

Writers can get attached to names. We can create a cousin, neighbor, coworker, classmate, guard, teammate, or church member and keep them around simply because we invented them. But the story does not need every invention. It needs the right pieces.

Cutting a pointless character does not weaken your world. It can strengthen it. Combining two weak characters into one purposeful character can make the story cleaner, sharper, and more memorable.

The goal is not to crowd the page. The goal is to make the people on the page matter.

What This Means for S.O.L.A.D.™

This idea fits perfectly inside S.O.L.A.D.™: Soldiers of Light Against Darkness™, because the story is not only about Kevin and Juanita becoming Angelo™ and Angeline™. Their journey matters deeply, but the world around them matters too. Wiseman J, Jeff, Melanie, the people of Dark Earth, the villains, the families, the lost, the wounded, the tempted, and the faithful all help shape the meaning of the story.

Wiseman J is not just there to explain the mission. He carries wisdom, history, grief, faith, leadership, and the weight of years spent fighting darkness before Angelo™ and Angeline™ arrive. Jeff is not just an action hero with a staff. He brings courage, humor, pride, pain, battle experience, and his own struggles into the story. Melanie is not just someone to rescue. She brings personality, connection, vulnerability, and human stakes to a world under attack.

Even the people of Dark Earth matter because they remind readers what Angelo™ and Angeline™ are fighting for. A world under darkness cannot feel urgent if the people inside it feel disposable. The villagers, families, leaders, survivors, and victims give the war emotional weight. They are not background decoration. They are souls worth saving.

That is also true of the enemies. The Demon Master and the demons are not merely obstacles to defeat. They represent corruption, deception, bondage, temptation, pride, fear, destruction, and the darkness that wants to consume everything good. They test the heroes physically, spiritually, emotionally, and morally. They force Kevin and Juanita to become more than people with powers. They have to become people of purpose.

That is the lesson for writers. Do not fill your story with empty bodies. Give your characters a reason to exist. Give them a desire, a wound, a belief, a responsibility, a secret, a temptation, a relationship, a fear, a faith, a flaw, or a function that matters. Make them shape the hero, challenge the theme, deepen the world, raise the stakes, or reveal the truth.

Because no one exists just to serve the plot. Not in life. Not in strong fiction. Not in a story worth remembering.

Ready to step into a world where faith, purpose, courage, spiritual warfare and light against darkness collide? Order your autographed copies of S.O.L.A.D.™: Soldiers of Light Against Darkness™ today at https://ttonyreed.wixsite.com/tyronetonyreedjr/the-shop.