In Praise of Flaws: They Not Only Make Us Human, They Make Our Writing Better

“The crime was that below the down jacket, she was wearing latex bicycle shorts. She wears latex bicycle shorts nearly every day, and I will tell you why: because she can. …
I smiled back at her. I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.”

I snort-laughed when I read this passage from Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies. Because I saw myself in all the petty reactions in this whole chapter (and, let’s be real, from much of the rest of the book).

One of the reasons this book works so well is Lamott’s way of eyeing herself critically, and talking about her flaws. Given the opportunity to make herself look good, she doesn’t. The overall effect is hilarious and utterly relatable. Because which one of us doesn’t have a hangup somewhere?

Lamott’s book is a type of memoir, and memoir is the most obviously vulnerable kind of writing. But all writers have to deal, at some level, with the feelings of exposure and how they portray themselves through their work.

In other words, with their FLAWS.

Even (Especially) Heroes Have Flaws

Let’s revisit the phrase Achilles heel.

Achilles is one of the great heroes of Greek mythology. He is strong, courageous, and loyal. He’s basically unbeatable in battle. In fact, if Homer hadn’t made him vengeful and short-tempered, he’d be insufferable.

When he was an infant, his mother dipped him into the river Styx to make Achilles immortal. But the spot on his heel where she held him did not touch the water and so remained vulnerable. We can already sense the foreshadowing.

And in the end, that’s what gets him.

We now use the term Achilles heel to refer to a weak spot, often the only one to be found in a sea of strength. And every hero needs to have one. Perfect people don’t exist in real life.

Take a look at the characters in your book: what are their flaws? Whether you’re writing fiction, nonfiction, or memoir, flaws should be evident, even in the most heroic of heroes. In fact, I’d argue that they can’t be heroes unless they have flaws. Think about it: a story exists in the space between what a character (or the narrator, or the audience) is/has/does and what they want to be/have/do. If they have no Achilles heel, if they’re perfect, where can you find that space?

For that matter, will we (readers) even believe this character exists?

Flaws Drive a Story Forward

I recently started watching Game of Thrones for the first time, with a friend (first time for me, a re-watch for her; I have read the first three books, though, back when they were new on the market). I’ve never been a fan of the violence, but I love how complicated the characters are. We currently see the noose closing in around Eddard Stark, and my friend and I got into a discussion about how Ned’s problem—his flaw, if you will—is his bullheaded allegiance to honorable choices.

We agreed that we’d love to be that person: the one who does the right thing, come what may. We agreed that Ned has guts. And at the same time, that doing the right thing all the time is Ned’s fundamental mistake. It’s his Achilles heel.

What a wonderful flaw!

Your character does the right thing, and paradoxically, this is the wrong choice.

For them, of course. Characters making wrong choices are what make stories go round. This especially includes your protagonist/main character/yourself if it’s a memoir.

I say this from a structural perspective, not simply because of the believability factor. Even something as simple as getting lost while traveling fits this mold: arguably, getting lost was a “mistake,” but that’s where the structure of the story starts.

If your story seems to be lacking momentum, you’re probably not making the most of your flaws.

Bottom Line

In writing, as in other parts of life, we may be tempted to make ourselves look good. But both life and reading continue to convince me that while this impulse is normal and human, it’s counterproductive to good writing.

Flaws are what make us relatable. Who do you relate to? The person who looks like they have it all together, or the one who manages to put their foot in their mouth at the worst possible moment?

A little imperfection will take your writing a long way. It’s worth considering how to bring your “flaws” into any story, whether the stakes are life and death, or feelings of parental inadequacy.

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Struggling with your imperfections, either in the story or in the writing process? Let’s chat about whether a book structure intensive may be right for you.

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