How to Write Monsters in Fiction
During my first school visit as an author, I found myself facing a room full of skeptical elementary-age kids. Some looked bored, others merely curious. A few kind souls offered me timid smiles and shy, little waves. I took a deep breath, introduced myself, then read them several chapters from my debut middle-grade novel, Theodora Hendrix and the Monstrous League of Monsters, which follows the adventures of a 10-year-old girl being raised by a family of monster superheroes. No sooner had I finished speaking than one girl’s hand shot straight into the air.
“Are you a vampire?” she demanded, her owlish gaze pinned to mine.
(My Approach to Combining Romance and Comedy With Vampires.)
A hush fell over the class. The students exchanged nervous glances, wondering if I was, in fact, a vampire. I could see why they might think so: I have pitch dark hair, bone pale skin, and happened to be wearing a shade of lipstick labeled “blood red.” Concerned that I was in some way offended, the teacher let out an anxious, high-pitched giggle. She needn’t have worried…if anything, I was flattered! Vampires are among my favorite monsters—and I’m familiar with the whole lot.
Well, I should be—I’ve been writing about monsters for nearly a decade. Here’s what I’ve learned along the way.
1. Defining What a Monster Is…
The word monster conjures up specific if varying images: a fire-breathing dragon, a flesh-eating zombie, a werewolf howling at the moon. But the definition of the word—at least, as it applies to storytelling—is not limited to these more traditional examples.
Instead, a monster can be defined as anything which interrupts the patterns of everyday life, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty and fear—creating chaos. The options are endless: a wild, rabid animal; a serial killer masquerading as a housewife, or even an unrequited love, callously stringing the protagonist along.
Nor does a monster have to take the shape of a physical being: It could be a natural or man-made disaster, a disease. Regardless of type, including a monster ups the stakes in nearly any genre, forcing characters to make increasingly difficult decisions which not only deepen their characterization, but which also propel the plot forward.
2. …And Isn’t
Is the monster the story’s villain? It depends! Monsters have specific, but not necessarily intentional, motives: A flood doesn’t deliberately strive to cause drownings; these are simply unfortunate byproducts of its nature.
On the other hand, villains have specific, intentional motives—think a wicked fairy choosing to imprison a princess like in Sleeping Beauty. In this instance, the monster is a sleeping-sickness sweeping across the kingdom, thwarting the prince’s rescue efforts.
In other scenarios, the monster and the villain are one and the same, a single entity acting with intent to cause chaos. A good example is the shark in Jaws: While all great whites have the potential to be monsters, the (small!) threat they pose to human life is rooted in their most base instincts: There’s no intent. What makes the shark in Jaws both a monster and a villain is that it’s deliberately seeking out people to eat: There’s intent.
Different combinations of the above will benefit different narratives. Whichever model you choose, clearly defining the role of your antagonist will help to clarify the story’s objectives, conflicts, and stakes.
3. How to Create Your Monster
Once you’ve chosen your monster’s type and role, the next step is to give it substance. To define its external characteristics, I like to consider: What kind of monster is it? What does it look, smell, and sound like? Can it communicate with humans—and if so, how? To define its internal characteristics, I reflect on: Why is the monster feared? What does it want? What are its strengths and weaknesses—how can it be defeated? Answering these questions will provide a basic character sketch upon which you can build.
It’s also useful to think about the purpose the monster serves in furthering the plot. Why does this particular monster need to be included in this specific narrative? To that end, it’s of the utmost importance that the monster logically fits in with the story’s broader world-building. Readers will happily suspend disbelief—if the established “rules” are being followed.
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4. Subverting Expectations
Once you’ve established the basics, consider what makes your monster unique. This is especially important if you’ve selected a more conventional monster with well-established lore.
Take my favorite: vampires. The typical Western depiction is based upon Bram Stoker’s Dracula: a strong, seductive, soulless creature with pale skin, black hair, and fanged teeth used for draining the blood out of unsuspecting humans. We’ve seen this version of a vampire so many times that it’s officially a trope. And although any given trope can feel overdone, it can also add great value to a tale—especially if said trope is turned on its head.
A great example is Stephanie Meyers’s Twilight: Edward Cullen, a vampire, shares many of Dracula’s traits: He’s strong, seductive, believes himself to be soulless, and has pale skin and fanged teeth. His introduction into the protagonist’s life also wrecks total chaos on multiple fronts. But unlike Dracula, Edward fights the impulse to kill humans, even falling in love with one; he does not want to be a monster. Subverting expectations gives readers a fresh take on old tropes.
5. Don’t Forget the Fear Factor
This might go without saying, but your monster must induce a level of fear. Even in the above vampire example, Edward is undoubtedly a dangerous predator despite his efforts to be good: If he were to lose control for even an instant, his human girlfriend would face a horrible, painful death.
With creature-based monsters, provoking fear is a bit more straightforward. But any type of monster can achieve this: Cancer can’t typically be seen, but it’s presence and its unpredictability—any one of us can get sick at any time and may or may not recover—is terrifying to most people. Adding a healthy dose of fear ups the stakes and makes the reader root even harder for the protagonist.
6. Introducing Your Monster
Once your monster is fully realized, the next thing to consider is when to introduce it. There’s no right or wrong answer here; it will depend upon each narrative’s needs and nuances.
Some tales—especially those aimed at young readers—might benefit from introducing the monster early on. Each interaction becomes increasingly tense, ultimately culminating in a spine-tingling climax. More complex narratives might be better served by first hinting at the danger to come, revealing the monster at a later time for an even greater payoff.
Finally, a bait and switch—in which the protagonist thinks the monster is one thing, only to discover that it’s another—can also add a fun twist; Hitchcock’s Psycho is an excellent example.
And as for my response to the student’s query as to whether or not I’m a vampire?
I allowed my gaze to rove over each student’s face, all of which were shining in anticipation. “Well,” I said slowly, taking care to flash my canines at them. “Monsters are everywhere….”
Indeed.
Check out Jordan Kopy’s Theodora Hendrix and the Monstrous League of Monsters here:
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