Book Review: Turned by Morgan Rice

Before we begin, I will state that there are many spoilers in this review. If you really feel absolutely compelled to read this book, I suggest you close this page and read no further, because we're letting it all hang out here. :)

I read this book on a dare, honestly; it was free for the Kindle, and I read it together with RJ Blain  - it's a good thing I did, because honestly? I'm going to need therapy after this. Having a support group to get through this is a must. If you haven't already, I also invite you to read her review of the same novel.

The Protagonist

I have never read a character I have hated as much as this protagonist. Caitlin is hands-down the must unlikable, self-centered, disgusting "human being" I've ever had the displeasure of reading. She is intended to be a "good" character, some kind of Messianic savior, "The One", but there is nothing about this person who even comes close to that label. In fact, if I had to label her with anything, she's a sociopathic nitwit who is so stupid that it takes her 114 pages to even wonder if there are such things as vampires, and that she might be one of them.

Keep in mind that this is after experiencing superhuman strength, blood lust, and killing a guy by biting him on the neck. She spends half the book all but slavering over people's jugulars, but it never actually occurs to her that this behavior is anything other than mildly interesting and a bit weird.

She's the least reactive, most bland character I've ever read about. At one point, after nearly dying, all it takes for her to wish for a day never to end is being carried around by a hot dude. Never mind that she's an orphaned outcast wanted for murder, homeless, and has half the city's supernatural and mundane authorities out to get her, this day should never end. Because love!

When her would-be love interest is brutally assaulted into unconsciousness, she has her first truly vampiric experience. She fights off the thugs, and then somehow teleports to her home, unharmed.  She never even has a moment of concern about her friend, Jonah, who should by rights be in the hospital. She just has a nice fight with her mom, and pouts in her room.

After her beloved brother (someone we are told she loves very much, though there's little indication of that in the book) runs away, at her suggestion, she's more concerned with her first date with her love interest than the boy who has served as her protector, and the only stable aspect of her life for 15 years. Instead of trying to find him, or calling the cops, or even crying in guilt-ridden remorse that she's ruined her brother's life, she grabs her clothes, forgets her phone, and heads out for her date.

Her mother is abusive, but when she is violently murdered, all Caitlin does is experience a few sentences of mild discomfort before she's again swept up into her own self-absorbed naval-gazing.

Caitlin's pendulum of love, however, is the shining jewel of this entire book. We spend the first half of the book meeting gallant young Jonah, a promising musician and Barack Obama look-alike with glowing green eyes and olive skin. (Yes, olive. He's half black, part Puerto Rican, and part white. With olive skin and green eyes. Sure makes me think Barack Obama!) We know that his eyes glow, because we are told so several times. I actually kinda liked Jonah, and honestly, wanted him to be the vampire she loves. I actually kinda cared a bit when he gets assaulted and his viola is crudely smashed, along with his hopes and dreams.

Caitlin, however, in spite of their deep, instant connection, can't remember him unless he's right in front of her. The moment a new fellow appears on the scene, the dashing Caleb, she has a moment of regret, comparing him to Jonah, before instantly falling into pouting love with the newcomer. And then promptly reacts with a temper tantrum when this person she has known for about ten minutes proves to not be in love with her, and has an ex-wife to boot.

She is actually upset that he saved a complete stranger from certain death not because he was in love with her, but because she happened to be immune to holy water, and therefore might be The One. I actually found myself imagining her with her lip stuck out, stomping her foot.

Caitlin apparently possesses vast powers that she can't control. Except when she can. Her first kill is immaculate, leaving no trace of her presence aside from two perfectly gender-appropriate holes in her victim's neck. A victim that she was watching perform on  stage moment before, and whom she passed up many other potential victims the entire length of Carnegie Hall to reach. Well, that, and the inconveniently dropped incriminating ticket stub stashed in her cocktail dress's pocket that conveniently fingers her as the killer to the cops. She can break bones, leap, roar, gnash her teeth, leap gracefully out of trash cans, exude an aura of "difference" and is an excellent speedometer.

Rank stupidity is a common vampire trait, however, so her complete and total idiocy is not out of place. A 3,000 year old vampire waltzes casually onto a crime scene swarming with humans, clamping annoying politicians' mouths shut at will, mind-raping alliterative cops willy-nilly, but it never actually occurs to him that this illegal vampire killing might be anything other than a vampire invading his territory to send his coven a message. Even after capturing her, not a single vampire he meets actually suggests that she might be a newly-turned vampire who doesn't know any of the laws. But hey, we have to assume that after 3,000 years or so, the brain cells are a bit mushy.

The entire vampire race (well, both of the individual "races" we've been presented with) appears to be little more than a squabbling nursery full of very old toddlers, so hidebound that they're unable to see even the most obvious of truths in front of their noses.

The Plot

I honestly searched for something good to say about this novel. The one positive plot point I found was in the very first chapter, when Caitlin finds her first love interest unconscious and being beaten by three thugs, that Jonah never leaps up and tries to save her. I expected him to be the enigmatic vampire, caught off guard, who then rises to defend her. It was actually a bit gratifying when no one saved her from the boys who were no doubt going to give her a very violent noogie.

Beyond that, however, the plot was formulaic, predictable. There was no rhyme nor reason for anything to happen; vampires acknowledge they must let the police find her, since they can't, but magically, they appear in the next scene in her living room. She simple appears next where she needs to be; unless she happens to be in yet another of the novel's endless, pointless chase scenes. She magically acquires her phone from a room no doubt swarming with cops, and is able to use it (even though the investigating police officers no doubt would have collected it when they investigated her house and found her dead mother.)

Caitlin is never truly in danger at any point in this book. In spite of being threatened with absolute death a number of times, or even grievous bodily harm, she never takes so much as a scratch. To be honest, I still have no idea what the point of this book was. As far as I can tell, it all exists simply to carry Caitlin around and how off what she can and can't do to who. She wakes up with no memory of how she arrived wherever she is so many times it starts to become a joke.

The only true relief is that the pointless, abrupt ending wasn't nearly as painfully awful as the rest of this book. It was simply stupid, contrived, and random.

The entire novel feels more like blunt-force trauma than skilled storytelling. Rice has a weak grasp of the English language, often misusing words, or repeating them clumsily as she echoes herself sentence to sentence unnecessarily. Her dialogue is stilted, unnatural, and does not change whether the speaker is a 15 year old boy or a 10,000 year old vampire. She shows no imagination at all in naming important entities. The "good" vampires are the "White Coven", and the "evil" ones "The Blacktide Coven." I use quotation marks because I honestly could not tell the difference between the two. there are no characteristics of these or any characters that distinguish them as good nor evil.

The main antagonist, the debonair, ancient Kyle, is a Deputy Leader.

I am reminded of the evil bunny Boingo from Hoodwinked as he pans one of his minion's lackluster evil name:

"Dolph, tie up the brat; Liesel, hold the book; Vincent, get the truck; and Keith... darn it change your name, please. That's not scary and I'm embarrassed to say it. Boris, try that. Keith, ya know, OOOO Watch out for Keith!"

I wonder if, while witnessing the crucifixion of Christ, someone nudged this evil fellow and said, "Hey Kyle, check out that Jew up there!"

I understand that this is a novel written for teenagers, but surely you could come up with a better Evil Council name than... The Assembly.

My one true solace that clumsiness aside, the simple language makes this blessedly short novel a very quick read. I was able to finish it in about an hour.

My final verdict: Trash the whole thing. Hire an editor. Because this shit is unsalvageable.

Organizing my World

After following a fabulous blog series on creating Story Bibles by Rebecca Blain, I decided that I could stand to organize the world of mine. I have a lot of details floating around in my head, but they tend to change, and I don't have them written down anywhere, so it can be hard to keep things consistent. I have at least two books planned in this series, perhaps more.

I have a few sparing notes in Scrivener, but otherwise, this is just a very basic sketch. So today, after some abortive attempts to find office supply stores to buy the things I needed, I found what I was after. (Click images for closeup view)

I am using a 1 inch 3-ring binder, with nice tabbed folder dividers for each section. I used a sheet of my daughters' colored construction paper for a cover to make it nice, since I haven't drawn anything worth using in years. Lots of construction paper. :) I have sections tabbed out, so I can start filling them. When I feel like it, I'll add to it, and start building on it. I even sketched out a rudimentary continental map that I've had floating in my head for a while. It's rough, and half of the countries aren't named yet, but it gives me some spacial references.

So yay for productivity! My transcription challenge is going well. In spite of one day of under 1,000 words, I'm still well ahead of my target right now for words. 6,338, and I haven't written yet today.

It's a simple start, but a pleasing one. I feel accomplished! Now to get back to my transcription.

A series of unfortunate lectures...

As an early Christmas present, my as-yet-unpublished favorite author in the world gave me a little... errr... lecture. You see, I have a problem. I start novels... but don't finish them. In the entire time I've done NaNo (since 2002) I have only finished TWO novels to the end.

Ms. Rebecca Blain was not happy with me. So she lectured me. And then wrote me a story about lecturing me. The words out of my mouth in this story are actual words I said while being lectured. And this is almost word-for-word how she lectured me.

The unedited end result is hilarious. ;) Although it stung. Quite a bit.

=============

It was so cold outside that the snow refused to fall. Heather hesitated at the door to the Creative Writers’ Fiction Association – Fantasy Branch Administration offices. The dragon carved on the frame glared at her as if knowing her sin.

Her knuckles scrapped against the rough-hewn wood. A splinter stuck out from her skin. The silence that followed was long enough for her to pick the sliver out and shuffle from foot to foot.

“Enter,” a muffled voice demanded.

Heather gripped the cold, bronze knob. The dragon continued to glare at her in rebuke. The door creaked open.

The woman behind the desk didn’t look any older than fourteen – maybe fifteen. Short-cropped hair shadowed the eyes of the superintendent, and Heather couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“Three minutes and forty-seven seconds,” Rebecca said, looking up from the stack of papers strewn over the large oak desk that dominated the cramped room. An expectant silence followed. When Heather said nothing, Rebecca let out a long sigh. “Late, that is.”

The woman’s sweet smile sent chills down her spine.

“That’s never good,” Heather replied, shuffling from foot to foot.

“No, ma’am, it isn’t. I’m so glad we didn’t have to talk very long about that part.” Rebecca leaned back and crossed her arms over her red sweater. “Why don’t you sit down, Heather.”

Heather hurried to obey, taking the seat that Rebecca gestured to with an expedient dip of her head. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“It has come to my attention that you haven't been finishing projects. This is very, very concerning. Would you like to talk about what has been going on?” The sweet smile didn’t fade from Rebecca’s lips, and the serene quality to it sent another shiver racing down Heather’s spine.

She shifted on the chair and stared down at the edge of the desk. Another dragon carving glared at her. “Well, it all started in 2008.” Heather’s laugh was forced from her throat. She clasped her hands on her lap to keep from shaking. “Well, 2002, technically.” She paused and glanced through her red hair hopefully. Rebecca watched and waited, as unmoveable as stone. “I begin many novels…”

The serene mask cracked in favor of an arched brow, but the woman across the desk didn’t speak.

“…but I don’t finish them. This is why I rebelled this year.”

Rebecca sighed, a long, drawn out and theatrical, and Heather trembled at the sound. “Do you understand the consequences of your behavior, Heather?”

She jerked her head in a nod and stared down at her white-knuckled hands.

“It is really important that you finish what you start,” the superintendent of the Fantasy Branch office continued. Another pause. “This is why I pulled you into my office today. How are you planning on rectifying this situation?”

Heather drew in a hissing breath between her teeth and shook her head in denial of the truth. She wouldn’t crack. She wouldn’t break beneath the pressure of that woman! The words splipped out before she could control herself. “By fucking finishing a novel. Preferably two.”

Silence.

Heather risked a glance upward. Rebecca was smiling.

That was never good.

“Yes, Heather, you are going to rectify this by 'fucking finishing a novel', as you so eloquently put in.
And, to ensure that you do, in fact, finish at least one novel, we're going to have to take some steps. Some important measures.” Now Rebecca was openly grinning, with blue eyes blazing with malicious delight.

A cold sweat dripped from Heather’s brow.

Rebecca made a trilling sound that reminded Heather of a cat’s purr. “It has come to our attention that you have a little... problem... with a certain story.”

The gasp came out unbidden. Tears burned in Heather’s eyes. She knew!  But how? She hadn’t told anyone – well, err, not that many people. It shouldn’t have gotten back to the superintendent. Who had betrayed her? Why? How?

The tips of Heather’s fingers tingled from the force that she clutched her hands together.

“We have spoken with the administrators that oversee this story and have made an arrangement with them to ensure that you maintain adequate productivity.  In short, if you wish to continue to have access to scenes as they are completed, you will need to display evidence of forward motion on the first project that you wish to finish,” Rebecca said. Another pause, and the woman’s grin widened further. “You will be required to hand in a status sheet upon the availability of each story piece so that we can determine if you have earned your privileges.”

Heather struggled against the urge to weep. Her one weakness, and that woman had found it.

Was the dragon grinning at her?! Heather glared at it, but the carving didn’t move.

“Do you understand, Heather? We really didn't want to have to go to such lengths, but we are very concerned about your recent progress and behavior.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.

Rebecca stood. “Very good. I expect to hear good things about you from now on, Heather….”

Heather squirmed and bobbed her head.

“… or else. You may go.”

Heather fled from the office.

How to make a million dollars writing

Write.

Amazing, isn't it? I bet you thought I was going to sell you something, or tell you a secret that only a select few knew.

Nope. Just write. Writing well helps, but isn't necessary. It really helps, though.

Do not do what I'm doing at the moment, which is surfing blogs, writing blogs, reading webcomics, and not writing.

I'm going to take my own advice now, and write.

Obsession and time

I hear about this sort of thing a lot, especially on the NaNoWriMo forums. Someone will talk about a story that they've been writing for years, often five or more. You'll hear about a book that took seven years to write, and now the writer is trying to find (unsuccessfully) representation for it. Justine Larbalestier wrote of one such who is so defensive about their magnum opus that they literally will NOT ever accept any criticism, positive or negative, regarding their work. They still have no representation.

Part of being a writer is learning that no matter how wonderful you think a scene, a character, or even an entire novel is... that other people can and probably will think differently. When you invest so much of your life and heart into one work, you literally become unable to separate yourself from it in any useful fashion. I see truly talented writers get lost in a sea of obsession over a single piece, a single character. I've seen good novels go in the toilet because of a single scene that detracted from the meaning, but the writer was too invested in it to cut it.

Being a writer, a successful one anyway, means being able to step back and look at your work objectively.

Not only that, if you spend all your time and effort on one tale, your other tales get lost by the wayside. When and if you finally get published, your agent and your publisher aren't going to want you to stop there. They'll want you to keep writing, because that's what a career is: writing books. Plural. So if you've spent all your life writing one, you're not going to really KNOW how to write the next.

All writers need distance from their work in order to really be able to improve it. I spent five years away from Nightblade's Fury. That was probably longer than I should have gone, but my life was tumultuous. When I did finally pick it back up, I was able to read it with fresh eyes. If I couldn't see where something was going, I knew that my readers certainly wouldn't be able to. It gave me perspective, and I was able to whip out my red pen and brutalize it.

Here's what my novel looked like when I picked it up after five years and started reading:


2576 x 1932 (807 kb)

Do you really think I would have been that brutal with it right after I was done with the first draft? I cut whole chapters... probably half the novel, lost to the red pen. But when the chaff was gone, I had wheat. And I had a product that I was actually not ashamed to show to others. It's not perfect, and still needs a lot of work, but I think that the end result will be great, and salable. But I won't stop there; in fact, even though I'm not done with this one, it's out of my hands, and I'm already working on the next project. An object at rest tends to stay at rest. Thanks to my completion of Nightblade's Fury, I've got motivation to really work on other things... I want a backlist of novels to submit. When Nightblade goes out to the agents? I'm going to keep writing. Because it may not get accepted, no matter how great I think it is. I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket.

Eureka!

Just goes to show, you can always learn something, even when you think you know everything about something.

I've been struggling with stylistic concerns, lately. You may remember a previous post about conjunctions (or that might have been an LJ post, or even an email... it doesn't matter. Someone feel free to correct me, and I'll repost here for your benefit, if you're all that interested).

I've been struggling with the flow of my prose, how things sound. Since I've been doing the latest pages in Nightblade's Fury by hand, in a notebook, I noticed that hasn't been bothering me as much.

I figured out why.

I'm thinking too much about it. I'm concentrating so much on the technical aspects, that I'm losing my style. It doesn't MATTER if it's technically correct, what matters is that it flows. I need to focus on the story, and worry about the technical stuff.

What I may be perceiving as a problem may not actually be one at all; it will depend on what others feel about it.

Check out Orson Scott Card's writing class on style... this is what really got me thinking. He speaks of people so choked by their obsession with "correct style" that they couldn't write at all! You get so caught up in not using too many adverbs, or obsessing over showing-not-telling that you get away from what matters... the writing. It doesn't matter if it's technically correct by MLA standards if people like your storytelling ability.

I'm feeling more up to tackling Hacker Dragon, now. I was thoroughly intimidated, because that story was begun in a feverish haze of emotion and character, and I wasn't sure I could recreate the tone and intensity. Now I know that I can... I just have to stop worrying about HOW, and just write!

101 Reasons to Stop Writing

http://101reasonstostopwriting.blogspot.com/

This guy is brilliant.

There are far too many people on this planet who have no business picking up a pen. Or a keyboard. They wouldn't, if they had to pick up a pen to do it. They spew their drivel over the pages like so much vomit, and then are Hurt and Amazed when the rest of the world thinks it's utter crap. These are the people who get their mommies to sent hate mail to agents who reject them, who send hate mail to agents who reject them, who refuse to do edits, or who finally turn to POD when no one else will take it. Or, God forbid, the Christopher Paolinis of the world, with rich enough parents to convince people to buy their book. Those are the worst. They've been told, wrongly, that they can write.

Here's the thing. Write your story. Go for it! I'm a hearty proponent of the NaNoWriMo experience. Writing is fun. I've done it for most of my life. But just because you've written something doesn't mean it deserves to be published.

Don't get your panties in a wad when people not related to you or who aren't your friends aren't interested.

Writing and publishing is a tough business. If you aren't willing to accept the realities and hardships involved, then this isn't the business for you. I expect it will take me years to break in, if at all. I'm realistic about my odds. But you can be damn sure I'll never burn my bridges because someone else thinks my deathless prose blows chunks (After all, they might be right!). I think I write better than Anne Rice ever has. But she has something I don't: a fan base.

One day, maybe. But I swear, in front of God and everyone who reads this blog (all three of you) that I will never, ever, EVER be too damn good for an editor.

And you can quote me on that.

On the rules of writing

Learn the rules. Inhale the rules. BE the rules.

Because only once you understand the rules, may you break them.

The greats who break the rules regularly can do so because they know what those rules are, and know why they're breaking them. That's what makes them great. Breaking rules because you don't know they exist just makes you uneducated.

When you're just getting started in this wild and wooly world of writing and publication, you have to know your craft. To steal from another blogger: You wouldn't want a doctor who doesn't know anything about bones, nor a lawyer who decides to study the laws after passing the bar, would you? No! Don't try to become a published author on sheer ideas alone.

You can have the best idea in the world, but if your technical ability blows, you'll never get past that agent's assistant. The world is full of many people who think they can write; don't be one of those who blames the publishing industry for the fact that they suck.

Also understand that you're not as good as you think you are. Just because your family, your friends, and your dog tells you that they love your stuff doesn't mean anyone else will. I know I'm a good writer... but I also understand that I have a LONG, long way to go before anything I write is publishable. To quote Hemingway: "The first draft of anything is shit." That also means the second, third, and fourth drafts will probably suck, too. And that's okay. As long as you never reach Anne Rice proportions and decide you're too good for editors, you'll have a chance.

Methylisothiazolinone and Phenoxyethanol

What do you need to be a writer?

I mean, NaNoWriMo was created for everyone's "someday", so that instead of waiting until you retired to write that Great American Novel, you do it now, and get yourself really started. So what makes a person want to write a book in the first place?

For me, at least, it was being a voracious reader. The sort of reader who got in trouble for reading in school. I mean that quite literally... I have the report cards from elementary school to prove it. In the comments the teacher would say things like "Must stop reading during lessons." Some kids would get busted for hiding porn in their textbooks... I was busted for hiding C.S. Lewis novels.

My parents would search my bookbag before I left to make sure I wasn't smuggling in fantasy stories. The library had my signature in most of the checkout cards. The librarians all knew be by name, and absolutely lit up to see me enter.

At the breakfast table, I'd read the back of cereal boxes, the ingredient list, everything I could get. In the shower, I learned that methylisothiazolinone is an ingredient in most shampoos. I couldn't stop reading.

And so I learned to tell stories myself. It started with little notebook paper books, ten pages, maybe a hundred words total, stapled and illustrated... and hasn't stopped. I wrote most of the literary magazine my senior year myself.

The great thing about this is it gave me a pretty good idea of what it takes to write a book. When you read so many, you learn what works, and what doesn't. I hope to take that knowledge and turn it into something marketable. And hopefully profitable!

Never underestimate the power of a good mug

I think that every good writer needs a good mug.

I don't necessarily mean for coffee-- while caffeine is almost a necessity for late-night writing sessions, coffee doesn't have to be its sole vehicle, and some folks (like myself this time last year... nine months pregnant!) can't have it at all. It can be for tea, milk, soda... whatever your greedy little heart desires.

But you need to have a good mug.

I finally found my mug, the one that makes you giggle with glee and contemplate taking it places with you. That you go to writeins with and fill it up with whatever. The mug that you clasp in two hands and savor every sip, because being in that perfect mug makes it taste better.

It might be a mug that your kids made for you in crafts out of clay and glazed with a godawful puke green and with a weirdly twisted handle. It might be a monogrammed, gold-inlaid custom order from Paris that you paid entirely too much for. It might even be that NaNoWriMo mug that I want so much. But you need a mug. If you don't have it yet, then I highly suggest you go on a hunt for it.

My mug is lavender, one of those oversized ones that you get in specialty coffee shops. I got it at Books a Million's Joe Muggs, and it's absolutely perfect. It is a pleasant shape, holds a dangerous amount of coffee that needs frequent amounts of warmups because you get down halfway and it feels too empty. It's the perfect shape and size to press both hands into to warm up my arthritic knuckles (yes, I know I 'm only 27, but hey, you can't tell genetics that I'm too young for this affliction). But best of all, it's BUMPY.

It is covered with evenly spaced raised bumps that I stroke when I'm thinking. When your fingers are achy from too long typing, you can rub them along these magical bumps and they are soothed into pounding out a few more words. And it only cost me $5. $4.55 to be exact, thanks to Violet's discount card.

You should find your mug. Make sure it's a big one (getting up to refill too often is a distraction... even if it's a good idea ergonomically speaking) Just having it can make you feel writerly. Use it only for writing, too, so that when you pour a mug of whatever-you're-drinking, your brain gets shifted into the right place to really get into writing; If you sit down, with no distractions, and your super writing mug (whatever form it may take) - hopefully you'll churn out a masterpiece!

What makes a character compelling?

Some people struggle with characterization. I've seen people work on creating characters for years, and never quite master it, and for the life of them, can't figure out what they're missing. There's no magic formula, of course, and I'd be lying to you if I said I knew the answer.

However, here's what I do to create interesting, compelling characters that readers want to read about. They may hate them or love them, but they'll keep reading to learn more about them. Take this however you like; it's not a bible, it's just what I do. People tell me I have interesting characters.

1. Mystery: Don't tell everything about your character up front. If your readers learn everything there is to know about your character in the first chapter, what reason have they to continue reading? But YOU should know. Don't tell all, but know all. It'll come through in your writing.
   
2. Change: The best characters aren't static. Sometimes they start out innocent, and grow into maturity and disillusionment. Sometimes they start out evil, and become good. However, it's fun to play things in the opposite end of the spectrum. Look at Saruman. He was once good, and became a compelling character because of his corruption to evil. The person holding the chalice at the end of the story shouldn't be the same person who set out in search of it at the beginning. Sometimes, a lack of change can be interesting: a character who refuses to change in spite of travails can be fun... as long as they're not perfect to begin with. Which segues into our next criterion:
   
3. Lack of perfection: Perfect people are perfectly boring. Look at your characters, and tell me what's wrong with them. Nothing? BIG problem. No one wants to read about perfection. People who look right, act right, and do everything right make you want to punch them. Give them flaws. I mean real flaws, too. "She can't be mean to anyone, ever" is not a flaw, it's a virtue in disguise. Make them petty, jealous, unable to see the evil in others, whatever. Make it a serious enough flaw that it's going to cause them real problems.
   
4. Challenges: if your character doesn't face genuine challenges, that require sacrifice of some sort to overcome, then they're too perfect. They shouldn't meet all challenges with heads held high, and pass with flying colors. Grind their noses in the dirt. Make them suffer. Make them curse the gods for ever letting them be born. It is from such adversity that true heroes are born. What makes Frodo a hero isn't that he succeeded at a challenge... it's that he went on even through great hardships, unbearable loss, and certain failure. He paid dearly for that moment, and it scarred him forever.

I think the biggest problem people have with characters is the fear of letting go. They invest so much in a character that they really don't want to hurt them, so they can't quite bring themselves to really do so. Which results in a boring story. The Lord of the Rings wouldn't have resonated so much had the characters not truly suffered. And if you'll notice, the ones who get lost are the ones who suffered the least, or in the most superficial ways.