If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.

We were on the edge of our seats: The two characters in the central relationship of the show the hubs and I had been fervidly hooked on were finally dancing—literally—close to what had been simmering between them throughout the entire series. Will they or won’t they? We were riveted by their raw intimacy, rooting like hell for them to connect, to acknowledge that the potent feelings they had for each other might be even deeper than they’d realized—even though we knew already from the narrative that the relationship was doomed.

At the same time we were finishing another of our favorite series, where this time the central protagonists had already finally acknowledged their unbreakable bond and were riding high—until one was diagnosed with cancer and was choosing to end her life rather than endure treatment. The scenes where her partner begged her, heart visibly breaking, not to do it, not to leave her alone in the world without her, gutted us.

[SPOILERS AHEAD!]

The shows in question were DTF St. Louis and Hacks, respectively, if you didn’t already recognize them, and the central relationships each show was built around were platonic: not lovers but profoundly close friends.

Friendships often feature in stories—the protagonist’s friends serve time-honored functions: humanizing the character, expanding their world, giving them a sounding board, a mirror, calling them to account. But what struck me about these shows was that these were the primary relationships of the story; both were built around the powerful, complicated, up-and-down friendship between the two protagonists.

Sure, they had romantic attachments too—in DTF both characters were married, with one spouse playing a key role in the plot but the other so incidental that she was often in shadow or at an oblique angle to the camera in her scenes. In Hacks, love interests came and went throughout the series, but none eclipsed the central friendship, and in fact in one instance the relationship broke up because of it, the character’s lover unable to accept the hold of the friendship over her girlfriend.

Neglecting to develop the supporting players in your story wastes the opportunity and potential to make your stories and characters more alive, vivid, and memorable

Friendships often take top billing in novels too, as in recent bestsellers by Kevin Wilson (Nothing to See Here), Alison Espach (The Wedding People), and Annika Norlin (The Colony), but they don’t have to take the spotlight in your stories to play important roles in them; few manuscripts I work on don’t feature some kind of friendship dynamic as part of the protagonist’s world.

But when these supporting players aren’t fully developed as characters in their own right and the relationships haven’t been adequately fleshed out, these important friend characters risk seeming like mere props or devices, shunted into the story simply to serve a narrative purpose.

And that can result in wasted opportunity and potential that robs you of potent ways to make your stories and characters more alive, vivid, and memorable.

Why the Protagonist’s Friendships Matter

Friend characters—even those who may not play a major role—are more than tools or extras you can plop into the story to fill some needed function or give your protagonist someone to talk to. They reveal a lot about who the protagonist is, help make them feel real and relatable, and bring them and their circumstances and world more authentically to life.

In Pretty Woman best-friend Kit humanizes protagonist Vivian right at the outset, forcing the audience to see Viv as more than what may be their preconceived assumptions and assessments of a sex worker, and immediately lets us relate to and care about her. Her loving, supportive relationship with Kit immediately shows that Vivian has a history and a life and pressures and challenges like anyone else. She has attachments and support and at least one person in her life who accepts her wholesale and doesn’t judge her for her choices—all universal human needs and longings. Kit serves as a lens through which the audience forms their own impression of Viv’s character—and Vivian returns those kindnesses for Kit, instantly making Viv likable.

Friends reveal a lot about who the protagonist is, help make them feel real and relatable, bring them and their circumstances and world more authentically to life, and help them move forward in the plot and their arc.

Kit offers encouragement and guidance and sets up one of the key turning points in the story by insisting to Vivian that she not get emotionally involved, laying the groundwork for the entire plot and Vivian’s character journey. She’s comic relief, yes, with actor Laura San Giacomo stealing pretty much every scene Kit’s in, but she’s also a real person with a real and layered relationship with Vivian, and she plays key roles in the story.

Friends can help you paint the protagonist’s character and reveal more about them than you could directly: In the movie Sliding Doors love interest Gerry, who cheats on, lies to, and sponges off of protagonist Helen, has a drinking buddy he turns to with his troubles—but every time Gerry confides what his actions have wrought, Russell collapses into uncontrolled laughter. Of course Gerry’s best friend is an indifferent knob who can’t be arsed to sympathize or support his friend’s stupid, self-serving choices—he’s just like Gerry. Giving Gerry a good friend who humanized him and made him more sympathetic wouldn’t serve the story

In contrast, Helen’s best friend, Anna, gives her the softest of places to land after Gerry’s bad behavior, taking her out to get wildly drunk, giving her a place to stay, fiercely having her back when Helen’s ex comes crawling to their door and Anna calls him out on his assholery, and offering unconditional, steady support and commiseration. Someone with a friend like that is a protagonist we can like and invest in.

Anna is also a lever of Helen’s emotional arc, a mirror helping her see clearly, the impetus and encouragement that keeps her from drowning in pain or self-pity and gives her the push Helen needs to move forward in her life. Anna and her rock-steady friendship keep Helen sympathetic and fend off the risks of stalled momentum and readers losing investment in Helen by not letting her character wallow in self-pity or get stuck.

And friend characters can provide some of the most memorable and enjoyable moments in a story. These are both films I’ve seen countless times, and as much as I enjoy about them, it’s the scenes with the best friends that delight me the most every time and stick with me (I can quote nearly every line).

A friend character is someone the protagonist can be more open and vulnerable with, more authentic. Someone who knows them well enough to hold up a mirror to their situation or behavior with the emotional objectivity a family member or romantic interest may be lacking, and because of that someone from whom the protagonist can hear tough truths more receptively or fully.

It’s someone who can reveal the protagonist’s blind spots and biases that they may be oblivious to; can call them out on their bullshit, their coping devices and defense mechanisms, their facades; who can bolster their flagging resolve or self-confidence and help move the story forward.

They share a history with the protagonist and can help paint a clearer picture of the character’s background or origins, their evolution and their emotional wounds, their strengths and their weaknesses.

All these functions are potent ways of bringing your protagonist and their circumstances and journey more richly and fully to life—but for that to be truly effective you have to develop these peripheral characters and relationships as fully as you do the central ones.

Read more: “Fixing Flat Characters and Flat Stories”

How to Develop Rich Friendship Dynamics

Don’t just plug supporting friend characters in. Spend some time and consideration determining who they are, why they’re friends with the protagonist, and what role they serve in the story.

Who is this character? Go deeper than their predominant traits, just as you do with your main characters. What are they like as a whole person: their personality, the forces in their past that shaped them, their situation in life? What do they do for a living, what are their hobbies, who do they love, what do they struggle with? What’s their day-to-day life like? What do they do when they’re not with the protagonist; who do they spend their time with?

 What are their own particular longings and their lacks, their foibles and flaws, the demons they wrestle with? What is it that they want out of their own lives, and what drives them?

Think about the friendship dynamics more deeply. When did the protag and this character meet, and how? What first drew them to each other? What made them become close, and how did it happen? Just as in a romantic relationship, what is it about the other person that complements and completes something in each character? Where are they similar, and how are they different, and where do those differences enhance their dynamic and where do they create friction? What keeps them choosing each other? How involved are they in each other’s daily lives, and what role do they play within them?

Read more: “Revealing Other Characters’ Inner Life”

Here’s a big one: How does the protagonist help and support their friend as much as their friend supports them? This is an area I commonly see authors neglect to develop, making the friendship seem one-sided and flat, the protagonist always the needy taker rather than also being the good friend to the character that they are to them.

Even characters who may appear in only a scene or two are intrinsic parts of your protagonist’s story. Don’t default to character sketches or stereotypes and tropes. The character can reveal much about the protagonist, and if they are included in the story they should play an important role—but serving their function in the story is not sufficient alone.

As with anyone who appears in your story, even the bit players, make them real if you want to bring your stories to clear, dynamic life: The airline attendant in Meet the Parents who hilariously brought Greg Focker to the breaking point with her meticulous, ridiculous adherence to airline protocol is still among the most memorable characters and scenes in the movie.

In a time when Friendsgiving and Galentine’s Day are becoming well-known holidays, when the disconnects and dysfunctions of family may be more apparent than ever in our increasingly polarized world, it makes sense that people may be feeling more deeply connected to their chosen family of friends. As an author you can tap into that rich vein of meaning and depth and dimension by paying attention not just to developing vibrant, unique protagonists, but friend characters who make their stories even richer and more real.

Your turn, authors: How much attention do you give to thinking about and developing the supporting characters in your protagonist’s story? Do you have specific techniques, exercises, or approaches for doing that? If so, please share! This is an area where I so often see authors neglect to give sufficient thought, and any helpful tools benefit everyone.

If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.