Here’s to a Saturday confession from a woman whose fictional heroine is somehow more emotionally stable than she is. There comes a moment in most writer’s lives when you realize, slowly, painfully, with a sip of ice cold water, that your protagonist is living a healthier emotional life than you are. She’s fictional. She’s made of vibes and plot points. She doesn’t even have a social security number and yet here she is setting boundaries like she’s been through three rounds of therapy and a spiritual retreat in Sedona. Meanwhile I’m out here googling “how do I say no politely but also nicely but also with hurting someone’s feelings but also without sounding mad.” Welcome to my deeply humbling art of writing in character.

My protagonist seems to have more of a backbone than I do lately. It’s a specific kind of whiplash that has been happening as I’m writing this character. She refuses to take any nonsense with the grace of a woman who has already done her inner work. She can enter a scene, scan the emotional temperature, and respond with clarity, confidence, and a level of self respect that makes me pause mid sentence and ask myself how’d she learn that. It’s such a surreal feeling. I’m sure most would say I’m writing about the woman I wish I was and I can see that. She doesn’t over explain. I’m awful about that. She doesn’t shrink. She doesn’t spiral and I live on a spiraling roller coaster. She doesn’t rehearse conversations. She says what she thinks and doesn’t care if it sounds silly. She just handles….life. I’m over here staring at my keyboard wondering if I need to be mentored by someone who isn’t even real. She’s never paid taxes in her life. So naturally I got distracted with a deep dive into what my problem is and here’s what I’ve come up with.

Fictional characters might just make the best boundary coaches. Characters aren’t carrying around our real world baggage. They don’t have to worry about being too much or too sensitive. They don’t have to fear disappointing people. They aren’t stuck in the emotional quicksand of life. They get to act from a place of sass, self protection, and emotional clarity. They’re rooted in self respect not defensiveness. They don’t require a 31 minute voice note to over explain why they’re at Taco Bell at midnight, in their jammies, wearing a hair and face mask, looking like they should be wearing a straight jacket. When you write a character like that, you’re not just building a protagonist. You’re building a blueprint. A model. A version of yourself you haven’t fully stepped into yet.

No one warns you that your character’s behavior might start leaking into your real life. You’ll be at brunch, someone says something sideways and suddenly you feel your protagonist rise into your chest and here comes the “Were not doing that today.” I’ve caught myself saying “no” without a dissertation. I’m starting to match energy instead of over giving. I’m leaving texts on read without guilt. I’m walking away from chaos like it’s a clearance rack I’ve outgrown. My character has weirdly become my emotional stunt double. IS that a thing? I guess it is now. And honestly? It’s addictive. Once you’ve written a woman who refuses nonsense, it becomes harder to tolerate it myself.

Writing a book isn’t just about plot arcs and pacing. It’s about becoming the version of yourself who can tell the story honestly. Sometimes that means letting your protagonist grow faster than you. Sometimes it means letting her drag me, lovingly and stylishly, into my own revolution. She’s not just a character. She’s a mirror and a mentor. She’s my slightly judgmental, impeccably dressed guide. So, if she has boundaries better than me? Great. That just means I’m writing about someone who’s worth becoming and who’s worth investing in.

XOXO,

Savi Monroe