Autumn is upon us, and change is in the air. As the lush green cloak of summer unravels, revealing a depth of color long forgotten under the spell of perpetual sunshine, I find my mind wandering inward, curious about my own inner workings and what lies beneath the surface. Shifting realities can be a rich catalyst for the writer’s creative spark and constructing the prolific story arc of characters navigating great change. Tales of personal metamorphosis inspire readers to embrace the opportunities that lie within real-life transitions and overcome fear of the unknown.
What is it about change that terrifies us? The uncertainty of what one can expect next, the concentrated effort it takes to formulate new habits and cast aside old ones, the longing to preserve cherished moments in time that are fleeting, and disillusionment in the face of life’s harsh reminders that nothing lasts forever all come to mind. The Buddhist philosophy of impermanence highlights the transient nature of all that is palpable and largely attributes human suffering to the worldly attachments we cling to that will inevitably vanish from existence. The silver lining of this viewpoint is that suffering, too, is impermanent. A source of pleasure and joy escapes us, and discontent ensues, yet a source of pain and frustration dissipates, and we breathe a sigh of relief with renewed optimism.
Most of us waste a good deal of energy, consciously or not, trying to evade change altogether. Growing up in a nomadic lifestyle including seven different school placements by the time I reached senior graduation, I became very familiar with the pros and cons of change at a young age. And while letting go of familiar friends and places never ceased to be heartbreaking, I learned to harness the forward momentum of change to my benefit. Change offers us the unique opportunity to declutter and release that which no longer serves us while reaching for the next best version of ourselves. In other words, without change, how would we ever evolve? The growth that results from reinventing ourselves with every major shift along our life path—expected or unexpected—is, for many, the very definition of success.
Enter centuries of literature designed to inspire readers through tales of heroic characters in the throes of upheaval determined to master the winds of change. Many of these characters are boldly answering a call to adventure, single-handedly exerting physical power and conquering unthinkable enemies on their way to attaining wealth, status, and glory—think Odysseus, Wonder Woman, and Luke Skywalker in A New Hope. Their stories follow the narrative structure known as the “hero’s journey,” first delineated by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949) and revisited by Christopher Vogler in The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers (1998). Outside of this familiar plot line lies another style of narrative portraying personal transformation.
Despite being less widely acknowledged, the “heroine’s journey” is more commonly experienced by everyday readers and no less extraordinary. This character quest stars a protagonist in the midst of crisis who must confront the shadows of their own inner landscape and unearth the dormant aspects of their moral tapestry, the repressed pieces of their true nature that hold the key to their self-realization. Through this psychospiritual passage, they learn how to alchemize their pain and come to find that their greatest struggles will define their greatest success—think Barbie (2023 film), the Harry Potter book and film series, and Frances in the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. Notice both the hero's and heroine’s narratives are based on the type of quest they are on and do not depend upon biological makeup or gender expression. A female protagonist can experience a hero’s journey, just as a male protagonist can undergo the journey of a heroine.
While the term “heroine’s journey” was first coined by Maureen Murdock in 1990, three modern-day authors have reenvisioned this character arc, presenting it in a new light that writers today will find especially inspiring. In 45 Master Characters: Mythic Models for Creating Original Characters, Victoria Lynn Schmidt decomposes the heroine’s journey into two subcategories: the “feminine journey” and the “new masculine journey.” On the feminine journey, the main character faces a crisis of identity, realizing their sense of self is founded on familial/societal conditioning and does not encompass their fullness of being. They surrender this false identity for the sake of rediscovering their true values and reclaiming their power. This pathway is cyclical in that the knowledge gained by the central character is passed on to future journeyers and their legacy preserved for the benefit of generations to come.
On the new masculine journey, the champion of the story realizes their ego and power-driven mindset are, ironically, hindering their own growth potential. Once an “invitation” to self-analysis arrives, they face an internal conflict between “awakening” or “rebelling.” The choice to awaken leads to victory in the form of both self-actualization and an external bounty retrieved for the benefit of the entire community, which has faithfully cheered them on from beginning to end (think IronMan), whereas the choice to rebel leads to failure by one who is blinded by outer ambition and has lost touch with a deeper ethos (think Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith). Also found in Schmidt’s book are craft tips for both journey types and analysis of over forty-five archetypes (the revised edition including forty-six) that writers can use as a guide to developing strong, creative character arcs.
Carly Mountain's take on the heroine’s journey presents a fresh angle in Descent & Rising: Women’s Stories & the Embodiment of the Inanna Myth (2023). Mountain takes a closer look at how patriarchal societies have promoted the hero’s journey almost to the exclusion of the heroine’s journey altogether, placing higher value on physical prowess and material rewards than inner growth and strength of character. She expertly distinguishes balanced masculinity from toxic masculinity and notes how the former contributes to the transformative wisdom found along this alternate path—by seeking power with rather than power over others. By examining real women’s stories aligned specifically with the Sumerian myth of the descent and rise of the goddess Inanna (also a model for Schmidt’s “feminine journey”), Mountain reveals deep insights into the nature of the heroine's journey that can be applied just as easily to a strong fictional character arc as to the healing journeys of actual readers and writers.
As Inanna, Queen of the Upperworld, descends into the underworld, she must surrender a key piece of her divine identity at each one of seven gates until she is “naked and bowed low,” as translated by Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Kramer in Inanna: Queen of Heaven and Earth (1983). The cyclical nature of the heroine’s journey is, again, reflected in Mountain’s depiction of Inanna's trek through the underworld and back as a spiral path traversed downwards and upwards as well as revisited when the cycle repeats itself, accentuating the lead character's newfound wisdom that frames old issues in a new light. In a culture that values highlight reels over the nitty-gritty of the tedious work required to get from one milestone to the next, Mountain eloquently emphasizes the ways in which the heroine’s journey signifies the importance of the in-between, where we rediscover our own agency.
Gail Carriger’s map of the heroine’s journey offers an alternative option for writers in The Heroine’s Journey: For Writers, Readers, and Fans of Pop Culture (2020). Her approach to this narrative structure is focused more on external achievements than inward reflection yet still diverges from the traditional hero’s journey in that connection, rather than isolation, is a critical ingredient. The protagonist of Carriger’s journey is a networker and a unifying force who leverages their servant leadership style and talents as a delegator to propel both themself and their allies toward greatness. This character represents the epitome of team building, collaboration, and compromise for the greatest good of all involved and reverberates the ideal of holding power with rather than over others in the spirit of collectively rising together. The theme of this heroine’s quest is the disintegration and subsequent restoration of their most beloved social circles as opposed to individual fame and glory. Carriger expertly equips writers building this type of character arc with a myriad of models found in literature and films as well as guidance on when to follow prescribed structure and when to add nuance in order to sculpt a distinctive storyline.
These works of Schmidt, Mountain, and Carriger all embody invaluable resources for writers aspiring to craft intriguing character arcs that incorporate the heroine’s journey. Which approach feels right for your story? Which approach can you relate to most on a personal level? To learn more about creating the perfect journey for your fearless protagonist (and how to distinguish your tale of heroism from similar story maps), grab a copy of these masterful reads to add to your professional library. On the theme of turning inward with the season, I leave you with these wistful lyrics from Ray LaMontagne's "Long Way Home":
Lying in the meadow green,
Dangling legs in a mountain stream,
From the limb, we could jump right in
Again and again and again and again.
Up in the orchard on the hill,
Sat right down and had our fill.
And though the clouds are touched with gray,
We know no rain will fall today.
So let's take the long way home
And circle ’round the standing stone.
Through the fields and the old barway,
We fill our pockets up with pecan along the way.
All along the railroad track,
Slip off that rail; break your back.
Hear the sound of the croaking toad,
The sun so round and red and low.
Summertime, summertime,
Summertime must yield to fall,
And that's what hurts me most of all.
Summertime, summertime,
Said goodbye at the garden wall.
From the house, I can hear my momma callin’.
Winter come to us all, my friend,
Just as every childhood has an end.