Character’s Flaws
And how they make your story better
Character flaws are funny things.
When it comes to real people, we’re incredibly good at spotting them. We notice them. We talk about them. We vent about them to friends over coffee. But when we sit down to write fiction, something strange happens—suddenly our characters become polished, agreeable, and suspiciously well-adjusted.
Or worse: we disguise strengths as weaknesses so our characters can stay “likable.”
She’s too competent.
He cares too much.
She’s too nice.
That’s not a flaw. That’s cosmetic damage.
If you want to write characters with real depth—characters that feel human, layered, and alive—you have to give them flaws that actually cost them something. Otherwise, the absence of meaningful flaws becomes the flaw, and readers will notice. Quickly. Loudly.
And yes—this is how you end up with readers using the dreaded phrase Mary Sue or Gary Stu. No one wants that. There are readers who actively hunt for these weaknesses, and they will tear a story apart when they find them.
So don’t be timid.
Let your characters be flawed.
Real flaws aren’t pretty—and that’s the point
A character flaw isn’t there to make your protagonist “relatable” in a vague, aesthetic way. A real flaw should:
Complicate the plot
Create tension with other characters
Lead to bad decisions
Increase stakes
Sometimes make things worse instead of better
If the flaw never interferes with the story, it isn’t doing its job.
Write what you know—or what you understand
One of the simplest ways to write convincing flaws is the old advice everyone loves to hate: write what you know.
In Queen of Swords and Silence, my main character struggles with alcoholism. It made sense for her—she’s tied to the Norse pantheon, where drinking is often portrayed as revelry, bonding, and celebration. But there’s a difference between drinking for joy and drinking to cope and she was doing it for the latter.
I know that difference well.
Writing that flaw wasn’t about dramatizing addiction—it was about understanding how someone uses a behavior to avoid pain, stress, or fear, and how that choice quietly erodes everything around them.
In Fine Print, I wrote a character who becomes obsessive about organizing and planning whenever she feels out of control. That response came from watching real people—especially women—who turn to hyper-organization as a survival mechanism. I saw it often while volunteering at a women’s domestic abuse shelter.
You don’t need to share your character’s flaw—but you do need to understand it.
Flaws should raise the stakes, not decorate the character
You can also choose flaws strategically—ones that make the story sharper.
One of my favorite examples comes from a multi-POV story where a character struggles with gambling addiction. For a long time, we watch him fight it quietly. Later, that same addiction is exploited by an antagonist to extract information—putting the entire group in danger.
That’s excellent use of a flaw and it doesn’t just exist. It changes the outcome.
“But what if my character’s flaw is that she’s too nice?”
No.
Get out.
“That she’s too nice” is not a flaw—it’s a vague accusation often used to imply dishonesty without substance. It tells us nothing about behavior, consequences, or internal conflict.
If you want to dig deeper, ask:
Does her niceness cause her to avoid confrontation?
Does it enable harmful people?
Does she sacrifice herself until there’s nothing left?
Now those are flaws.
Understanding the impact level of flaws
Not all flaws operate at the same intensity. Broadly speaking, flaws tend to fall into three functional categories:
1. Minor flaws: texture, not trajectory
Minor flaws make a character feel human. They add realism, personality, and small moments of friction—but they don’t drive the plot.
These flaws:
Appear in everyday behavior
Create mild conflict or humor
Rarely cause lasting consequences
Add flavor rather than direction
Think of minor flaws as rough edges, not structural weaknesses. These traits make scenes feel lived-in, but if you removed them, the story would still function.
Where minor flaws fail:
When they’re the only flaw a protagonist has
When they never escalate or connect to stakes
When they’re treated as evidence of depth on their own
Minor flaws should support the story—not carry it.
2. Major flaws: the engine of conflict
Major flaws actively work against a character’s goals. They complicate decisions, damage relationships, and shape the plot.
If minor flaws are texture, major flaws are friction.
These flaws:
Lead to bad or risky choices
Create recurring conflict
Force consequences
Often define the character arc
A story cannot move forward cleanly while a major flaw is unresolved. The character must confront it—or suffer for it.
A flaw is major if it:
Repeatedly complicates the character’s life
Affects key plot events
Strains important relationships
3. Fatal flaws: the point of no return
Fatal flaws are flaws taken to their extreme.
These are traits a character cannot or will not overcome, even when given the chance. Under pressure, they don’t soften—they intensify.
Fatal flaws:
Override reason and self-preservation
Escalate instead of resolving
Lead to ruin, loss, or death
Are tragic, not accidental
This doesn’t always mean physical death, but it does mean irreversible consequences. A fatal flaw answers this question:
What part of this character refuses to change, even when it costs them everything?
A fatal flaw is the character choosing the flaw over growth. That choice is what makes the ending feel earned.
A Spectrum of Character Flaws
A single flaw can move between categories depending on how deeply you lean into it. Vanity, for example, might be mildly annoying in one character and utterly catastrophic in another.
Social & interpersonal flaws
Socially awkward, unable to read rooms or cues
Tactless, speaking truth without care
Obnoxious, driving others away through irritation
Gossipy, trading trust for attention
Meek, surrendering agency to avoid conflict
Emotional & psychological flaws
Naïve, trusting when caution is needed
Gullible, easily manipulated
Paranoid, seeing threats everywhere
Obsessive, unable to let go
Self-destructive, sabotaging their own happiness
Moral & ethical flaws
Manipulative, using people as tools
Disloyal, abandoning commitments when tested
Machiavellian, justifying any means
Remorseless, incapable of regret
Treacherous, betraying others for gain
Behavioral & temperamental flaws
Lazy, avoiding responsibility, accountability
Capricious, acting on impulse
Stubborn, refusing to adapt
Violent, escalating to harm
Cruel, taking pleasure in suffering
Vanity, pride, and ego
Prideful, unable to admit fault
Vain, obsessed with image
Shallow, avoiding depth or consequence
None of these are inherently good or bad choices. What matters is how the flaw interacts with the story.
One last practical step before your next revision
Before your next revision pass, try this exercise. Choose one flaw your protagonist has—the one that matters most to the story—and identify a real success they currently achieve despite it. Not a small win or a cosmetic setback, but a meaningful success that allows them to move forward too easily.
Look closely at where the character succeeds in spite of the flaw, which moment feels suspiciously effortless, or which consequence they manage to avoid. Once you’ve identified it, take that success away and let the flaw fully assert itself in the story.
Make the flaw cost the character something they can’t immediately fix—a relationship they relied on, trust they won’t easily regain, an opportunity that won’t come back, or even their safety or reputation. Resist the urge to patch the damage right away. Let the story reshape itself around that loss and force the character to move forward with it still unresolved.
If the plot becomes harder to navigate as a result, that’s a good sign. If the character has to adapt in unexpected ways—or doubles down on the flaw instead—that’s even better. And if it feels uncomfortable or a little painful to write, you’re probably pushing the story in the right direction.
That’s the difference between a flaw that exists on paper and one that actually works.
Want help defining flaws that matter?
On Wednesday, I’ll be sharing a guided worksheet for paid subscribers to help you:
Identify a character’s core flaw
Decide whether it’s minor, major, or fatal
Map how it affects goals, relationships, and stakes
It’s designed for both outlining and revision—especially for characters who feel a little too polished.
Because compelling characters aren’t protected from their flaws - they’re tested by them. Make sure they get an A.