Brian J Mundell
Table of Contents
Writing Style
Effective writing techniques require more than just a mastery of grammar and punctuation. Great writers know how to connect with their readers. The difference between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway, or Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov, or J.K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin isn’t a matter of technical mastery of the language, but rather their worldview, their life experience, and the kinds of stories they are inclined to tell. The differences between their writings are as vast as the differences in their personality because writing is a form of self expression. These differences—the words that they use and the ideas that they muse on—results in what we would refer to as a writer’s style.
All writing is communication and the style of writing says something about the way the writer thinks about the ideas they’re trying to communicate. Writing in its purest sense is an expression of thought, so naturally, writing reveals much about the writer, including attitudes, habits, and biases. Good writing, that is, a good writing style, is concise and impactful, all without losing a sense of the writer’s voice. Developing a personal writing style takes years of working on the craft, adopting rules and guidelines (and knowing when to break from this from time to time), and remaining unafraid of sharing one’s perspective.
A good style of writing is ultimately the difference between a good writer and a bad one. You can do all the research and plan every scene, but if your style is abrasive, pretentious, or clunky, the reader will put your work down as casually and carelessly as they picked it up. To put it simply, it doesn’t matter how accurate and important your work may be; if the reader doesn’t like the way you talk or the things you talk about, they’ll lose interest.
So what does a good style of writing consist of? For starters, a good style of writing is one that is grammatically correct. That’s not everything, but it is something. A big something. Spelling has to be correct, punctuation should be used appropriately, and words should be used in the proper context. It’s easy to forget a rule one time and repeat the same mistake over and over, forming a bad habit. I shutter every time I see the phrase “should of” thrown around. It’s “should’ve,” as in “should have,” “would have,” and “could have.” There is no scenario where “should of” is even remotely correct.
But I digress. I don’t intend to write a list of grammatical rules to follow, mainly because style is itself much more than a list of grammatical rules, but also because such a list would have no end. Furthermore, bad habits aside, we should all be familiar with the basic rules of language. So instead, I’d like to talk about not just the basics of style, but what makes a writer’s style pop.
Style is those aspects of a piece of writing that distinguishes the writer from other writers. The style of a piece, of course, depends on the goal of the piece. Journalism should read more like a report, a rattling off of facts, whereas fiction writers should apply a narrative to the events that unfold in their story, paying attention to meaning and emotion. This can vary further depending on the genre of fiction. Romance reads differently from horror because the writer focuses on different meanings and emotions. Somehow, bonding with someone over liking the same flavor of ice cream loses its significance when you’re both being chased by a guy already covered in blood and swinging around a chainsaw, wearing a hockey mask. The thing that really distinguishes a writer and makes them identifiable by their writing alone is their choice of words and sentence structure.
Hemingway is famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) for short, simple writing. He’s quoted as saying big emotions don’t come from big words. He’s right, of course, but it takes a lot of work to cut down your writing to its core essentials. It’s easy to overwrite, or write in a breezy manner that comes off more conversational, as if you’re writing whatever comes to mind without thought or intention. After an hour of writing you might find yourself with a few pages of pure babble, only to be left with the task of cutting that down to what you actually intended to write about. If you tend to overwrite, be sure to revise often and delete aggressively. Overwriting will confuse your reader; even after you’ve written volumes, if the point of your work is hidden in superfluous passages, your reader will see that and struggle to get past the first chapter. You’re better off tightening up your work and ensuring every sentence is worthwhile to the reader, keeping them engaged, and throwing them into the next sentence effortlessly.
If you’re like me, however, you might have the opposite problem. Before I became interested in writing fiction, my background and writing experience was in philosophy. There are two kinds of philosophy writers: those who are excessively long winded and cryptic, as if they’re trying to confuse their reader in order to appear intelligent, and those who are direct and concise in their writing because they’re only trying to get to the point. The latter may even use shorter sentences which read less like an inquiry into the meaning of life and more like a math proof, but that’s because many of the great philosophers in history are also accomplished mathematicians. I probably gravitated towards this writing style because I studied math and philosophy in school, an experience I’m grateful for, but one that left me with the habit of writing short sentences and the feeling that writing more truly is like drawing blood.
Nonetheless, taking caution not to overwrite is more so a caution not to write on things that are irrelevant. As long as what you’re saying is relevant and written in the most concise, efficient manner possible, then the more you’re able to write, the better. And there is plenty to write about if you’re observant enough.
The goal in writing with style, then, becomes a question of how do you write without overwriting. For one thing, while your aim should be clarity, this doesn’t mean you have to write in short sentences. If you have an idea, and another idea, and corollary point of interest, roll these into one flowing sentence. Your ability to do this will test your mastery of sentence structure, but more importantly it will test your ability to logically connect ideas. Conjunctions are different from disjunctions, which are different from conditional statements. And to combine those, layer them into one another, turn them into an exclamation or an interrogative statement to fit the passage is a lot to keep track of. But this is why the best thinkers are the best writers. The ability to think clearly allows you to keep track of the different ideas you’re trying to tie together into one or two sentences, and the ability to do that while keeping the writing clear and focused will encourage the reader to digest more information in one spurt. If you want a reader to process more of your writing, lengthen your sentences. Or at the very least, don’t cut them short; don’t break up ideas unnecessarily.
Assuming your writing is all relevant, overwriting typically comes from “fluff” words. Fluff words can be repetitive or expounding. To avoid repeating yourself, don’t say “he was hostile and threatening” when a plain “he was hostile” will do just fine. To avoid overexplaining yourself, avoid making statements that are better off leaving the to reader to infer based on the context. “He said despairingly,” can be reduced to “he said” if the context makes it clear what “he” just said put him in despair. Similarly, Stephen King has notably taken a stand against the use of adverbs altogether. Why say “he ran quickly” when you can say “he sprinted”? Other accomplished writers advise to use adjectives sparingly, claiming sentences should be focused on nouns and verbs.
Often when cutting the fluff, our deletions spur new thoughts, and even lend themselves to more details and writing of a more poetic nature. The revision from “he said despairingly” to “he said” might prompt you to add a detail about his voice trailing off or an emptiness in his eyes. The advice to avoid overexplaining yourself is very nicely complemented by the advice “show, don’t tell”. For every deleted word, a new addition can be made; whether it’s clear or not, there was a reason you included it to begin with.
The “show, don’t tell” approach urges writers to replace dry explanation with lively demonstration. Don’t say a character is excited; point out that their heart is racing, their eyes are dilated, time slowed down, they’re buzzing with energy, they started walking faster, etc. As writers, we want to make the reading as easy as possible for the reader, but that doesn’t mean we have to do their thinking for them.
The best writers in history aren’t known for explaining every detail of their work. They let their work speak for itself. And, more importantly, they let the reader do the work. They don’t talk down to their reader. Instead, they assume the most out of their reader and treat them as an equal, as someone they’re bringing along for the ride, someone who deserves to be on the ride. If you don’t trust the reader to formulate their own thoughts, your writing will be hindered by the compulsion to over explain. Don’t speak down to any one, just speak the truth, and let the truth be known.
This brings me to what I think is the most important point on style: authenticity. Achieving eloquence in your writing isn’t about tips and tricks. The very nature of a trick is deceptive. You’re not trying to pull one over on your readers; you’re trying to lead them to a place you think is worth going to. Yes, you want your work to be enticing and poetic, but more importantly you want it to be transparent and trustworthy.
When you write, you’re striking a deal with the reader. You’re telling them, “I know something you don’t, but if you stick around I promise I’ll tell you.” If you want a reader to keep reading your work, you need to earn their trust and make them believe you’re going to fulfill your promise. If you don’t fulfill your promise, you’re wasting their time, and if you don’t earn their trust early on, they’re going to assume you’re wasting their time. You earn their trust through authenticity.
Since good writing is authentic writing, and writing is merely self expression, you need to be authentic. Don’t promise the reader something you can’t pay out, and don’t try to be something that you’re not. Often, good writing is having one big idea and carrying it out with as few mistakes as possible. When writers are trying too hard, they end up using sophisticated words that stick out like a sore thumb and fancy prose that incorporates the word “beauteous” when “beautiful” works just fine. Style isn’t about sounding great, it’s about being honest. To call something “beauteous” is dishonest because beauteous and beautiful are perfectly interchangeable and beautiful is the colloquial term. If you wouldn’t use a word or phrase in your everyday life, don’t use it in your writing.
Working out the beginner mistakes and achieving an authentic style of writing can take years of repetition of both reading and writing. Discovering what good writing is is as much about learning the key principles as it is about seeing those principles in action. Reading some bad writing every now and then can be helpful, too, if you’re looking out for mistakes and can avoid picking up bad habits.
The best way to improve your writing is to get honest feedback on it. If you’re still in school, listen to your teachers and professors. If you are, or want to be writing professionally, be sure to share your work with friends and fellow writers. Working with editors and other professionals is the surest way to get honest feedback, particularly from people who know what they’re talking about. And once you do get feedback, good or bad, be sure to keep writing!
The Basic Elements of a Story
There are four key elements to telling and understanding any story. These elements are setting, characters, plot, and theme. The four elements are interdependent of each other; one often depends on the rest and each element should not be considered in isolation. However, for clarity’s sake, we’ll discuss one at a time.
There are, of course, other elements that every story has, including symbolism, conflict, and point of view, but these other elements typically fall under the four basic elements of a story. Separately, style is a key element of storytelling. The four basic elements of a story are what is left when the story is stripped down to its core. Good storytellers know how to structure a story to make it interesting. This requires an understanding of setting, characters, plot, and themes. Great storytellers know how to present their stories in a clear manner with the ability to evoke emotion. Storytelling allows you to present ideas. Writing style is the way in which you express those ideas.
Fiction is both an art and a craft. To write an interesting story, one must be able to build a world, craft believable characters, develop a plot, and explore themes in such a way that gives the reader a new perspective.
Not everything in a story needs to be planned ahead of time, but becoming familiar with the four basic elements of a story and understanding how they relate to one another can help give you, as a writer, additional clarity and direction for how your story should unfold.
The Four Basic Elements of a Story
Setting:
The setting is perhaps the most fundamental element of the story in that it is where and when the story takes place. It sets the rules for what’s possible. Are you writing a fantasy epic? Dragons and sorcerers are encouraged. Are you writing a deep space sci-fi adventure? Dragons are probably a no go, but you can conjure up a beastly alien with scales, a long tail, and big wings that dwells in the cave of a terrestrial planet with an atmosphere that allows the beast to breathe fire. Pretty dragon-like, huh? Ultimately, anything is possible with fiction, but the setting of the story sets parameters for just how something might be possible.
The setting is the context in which your character is created. Your character is one link in a long chain of history extending back centuries. They live within a culture and their actions are in part a response to the world around them. You may develop a character prior to developing the setting, and if you do you need to make sure the setting and the character are complementary to one another. Complementary, but not necessarily compatible.
If you want to write about a revolutionary figure, he needs to exist in a world that is stagnant and ripe for change. If you want to write about an explorer you need to write about a world full of places unknown to man, and you need a way for your character to get there. The contrast in your protagonist and the world they find themselves in will interest the reader and drive the plot.
Good world building takes into consideration the characters of the story, but it also serves up a good platform for the plot and themes. If you want to explore themes of the relationship between mind and body, ideas and reality, free will and purpose, you might construct a world that is a simulation within the real world in which the protagonist wakes up and finds himself in a human population oppressed by overpowering machines, Matrix-style. If you want to explore human nature and the relationship between the individual and society, you might construct a world where everyone partakes in drugs to ease their social anxiety and emotional discomfort, a world where the nuclear family is a thing of the past and is replaced by a strict caste system perpetuated by selective breeding of the human population, or a world where the youth are indoctrinated from the very beginning to subscribe to the radical ideologies of this world, ideologies that go against their very nature. This would indeed be a Brave New World, and a setting with plenty of opportunity for commentary on individuals and society.
As a writer, you have to determine what kind of setting will best set the stage for the story you want to tell. But ultimately, the story is about more than the setting. Sometimes you may have a fantastic setting in mind, layered with a history, multiple clashing cultures, and technologies that press the limits of human capability—and that’s great. World building is a fun part of crafting a story. But it will all fall on deaf ears if the plot isn’t interesting. And the plot won’t be interesting—it will hardly even exist—if you dump all of that information on the reader unnecessarily. Planning your setting ahead of time will give your story the kind of rich detail that will excite the reader’s imagination, but those details need to be revealed as the plot unfolds and not all at once. While the setting is the most fundamental element of a story, the plot is the story. More on that in a bit.
Characters:
In a sense, characters are the story. The story is defined by what happens. The character is defined by their actions. As such, the character creates the story through their actions, or at the very least, through their reactions. There is no story without a character because an inherent part of a story is meaning and there is no meaning without a character to find that meaning. It’s the character’s actions and reactions that push the plot forward and establish meaning.
Every good story has a compelling character. They’re exciting. They’re calculating. They’re unpredictable. They do things that other people can’t—or won’t. Every good story has a compelling character because good stories have plots that are character driven. At the end of the day, the story that you’re telling is the story of a person: who they are, where they want to go, what they have to do or learn to get there, and how the experience changed them. The story revolves around the character. So how do you develop a compelling character?
Creating characters is a necessary skill for any fiction writer. Not every main character has to be relatable, but they do have to be believable; they have to have a personality and motivations that is consistent with their past. Good character development stems from a good understanding of psychology.
The psychology of a character is the result of their past and dictates their present and future. It determines why they do what they do and how they go about doing it. That’s true for everything from how they dress to how they deal with a powerful and vengeful ice queen hell bent on taking over Narnia.
A good place to start when developing a character is by building a character profile. This would include age, gender, appearance, physical traits, mannerisms, worldviews, etc. When crafting the character profile, you should consider the character in both the beginning and the end of the story, because the story will likely change them. What kind of climax are you picturing? What do you need from the character to make the story unfold the way you want? Is the character going to change mentally and/or emotionally throughout the story? Will their worldview change? Will they acquire new skills? What change does the character need to experience in order to make your point? What should the character’s starting point be?
Getting a clear answer on some of these questions early on will help guide in writing your character from scene to scene. Getting a basic direction for your character is important to do before you start; you can fill in additional details and quirks about your character as you go. Not everything from your character’s profile needs to make it into the story, it just needs to help you understand your character better. The parts that do make it into the story should be introduced as needed. You shouldn’t dump information about the character onto your reader, much like you shouldn’t dump the details about the setting of the story onto your reader. Character details and backstory should be parsed out and conveyed in a timely fashion. Context matters.
While I don’t believe a main character has to be relatable, it is a good idea to make them relatable. As a writer, you need to establish a connection between your character and the reader. A common word of advice on making a character relatable is to point out their flaws. Even in the most alien, supernatural world setting, a character’s battle with a short temper or laziness will still translate to the real world and help the reader identify with the main character.
But flaws aren’t the only way to establish a connection between the main character and the reader. In fact, anyone who says that must think very little of their readers. Readers want someone to inspire them; they want a character that has goals they can identify with. It’s true that no one is perfect, but that’s only because perfect is different for everyone. Your character is perfect for the story, and that’s what matters most. What some might see as anger, others will see as passionate and emotionally invested. What some might see as difficult, others will see as rebellious. Just as readers may relate to a character’s short temper or laziness, they’ll also relate to the character’s resilience, creativity, and integrity.
The deeper reason why showing your character’s flaws is the common advice for making your character relatable is that readers will relate to a character’s struggle and making a flawed character dramatizes their struggles that much more (as well as making for an interesting plot). The thing this advice overlooks is that struggle doesn’t have to be born out of a flaw.
Throughout a story, a character will inevitably encounter struggles and conflicts. These conflicts will serve to challenge him and force him to adopt a new perspective and rise to above the obstacles. Conflict is a necessary part of any character’s arc and will ultimately shape what the plot of the story looks like. Conflict comes in six different varieties, but the specifics of a conflict can vary as far as the writer’s imagination. You’ll notice most of them are external conflicts. That is, they’re not conflicts based on some internal character flaw, but rather an external entity or sequence of events beyond the character’s control that the character must face. The six types of conflict are character vs. character, character vs. society, character vs. nature, character vs. technology, character vs. supernatural, and character vs. self.
If you’re using struggle and conflict as a way to dramatize the story and push the plot forward, and you take away the handicap of a flawed character, you simply have to raise the stakes and reign hell on your character in order to dramatize the story and push the plot forward. While some stories carry their character through an arc that changes them forever, others keep the character exactly the same and serve to demonstrate how their way of life prepared them for the challenges they faced and ultimately overcame.
Whether your character is perfect, or flawed, or perfect for the world they live in, or tragically flawed and irredeemable, the reader will be able to identify with your character’s struggles. The key to making your character relatable is not in showing off their weaknesses, but rather by showing they are authentic. Perfect or flawed, your character has to be real and their behaviors and actions have to be consistent—or at least consistently inconsistent. Your character will be authentic to the reader as long as there is transparency in their motivations.
Plot:
The plot is the story. Earlier I said the character’s actions are the story, and this is true, but the character’s actions are also what drive the plot, so ultimately the plot is the story. Plot development is the progression of your story, both in the planning phases and the unfolding of the story itself. Plot structure is the way you organize the events within the story.
There are many time tested story templates you can use in the writing process. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. When you’re unsure of where to start, start at the beginning. You could also start at a flashback. You could also start in the present, and then spend the first half of the story building up to that scene in the present moment. You might want to start as close to the action as possible and fill in background information as you go. As the writer, you control the order in which you release information, and exactly how you do that can create a lot of suspense for the reader. But, the most straightforward way to tell a story is with a beginning, middle, and end.
A variation of the beginning, middle, end structure is the three act structure. The three act structure breaks your story up into three smaller stories, each with their own beginning, middle, and end. But of course, these three acts appear consecutively and, while each has a beginning, middle, and end, each act serves a different purpose in the larger story.
The first act presents the main character with a problem or obstacle. It establishes the context of the story, reveals the character’s motivations, and sets the character on a path toward act two. The second act is where the struggle and conflict occurs. The main character is tested and forced to take action. The third act is the resolution. The main character solves his problems—or at least finds a way out of them—and has to live with the consequences. The three act structure was standard in Greek dramas as well as Shakespeare’s plays.
Another common storytelling template that is based on mythology and has been popularized among Hollywood screenplay writers is the hero’s journey. The hero’s journey was established by Joseph Campbell, a professor in comparative mythology and religious studies. The hero’s journey was first outlined in his book, The Hero With A Thousand Faces, published in 1949. I’ve written on the hero’s journey elsewhere because it is a powerful template and deserves additional attention, but I’ll provide a very brief summary here.
The main character, or hero, is called to action. An irresistible force compels the hero to accept the call.The hero crosses into a new, unknown world. The hero confronts grave danger and acquires some ultimate truth, or enlightenment. The hero is unsure he can leave the new world. But finally, the hero does return to the old world, assimilating what he’s learned into his old life, never seeing things the same way again.
The hero’s journey can be used in any genre of fiction. There are seventeen plot points in all, but I laid out a core six of them here. The hero’s journey and the plot points it contains are based on a plethora of plot points within myths from ancient civilizations all around the globe. It’s fascinating to read about how this template for storytelling evolved independently from vastly different cultures, and even more so to consider the implications and insights it has for the human psyche.
Another approach to developing a plot is the action-reaction method. Those writers who are more imaginative and wish to develop the most exciting plot possible might choose to fly by the seat of their pants and make it up as they go. This would consist of starting with some action, then bring in a conflict which causes a reaction. The reaction ripples and a new plot device is introduced to create further conflict, which requires more actions and reactions, and so on. At every stage of the game, the writer conjures up the most exciting turn of events imaginable. It’s hard to keep a narrative straight like that, and it’s even harder to dig into a character’s motivations and develop an honest message in the story, but this method can produce a story readers won’t be able to put down.
Often in longer stories you’ll find, not just a plot, but also a subplot, or subplots. Subplots are smaller story arcs that unfold alongside the main plot. These subplots could center around the main character, but could also serve to develop villains or side characters. Using subplots to develop side characters is a great way to ensure your reader finds at least one character they love and are rooting for. Some of the most memorable characters are side characters. Subplots are great for adding length and depth to any piece of fiction.
It’s not necessary to use a template per se, but stories tend to fall into these templates naturally. And using a template isn’t cheating either. These templates are very generalized structures for your plot. The story is in the details. The beauty is in the quality of writing. The skill is in the world building. The insight is in the lessons your character learns and the themes you explore. These templates provide a framework, but there are endless variations you can make and infinite room for creativity.
Theme:
The themes are the more abstract ideas the story explores. It’s not uncommon for people to confuse the premise of a story with the theme; theme and premise are similar in nature, but remain separate on a technical level.
The premise is what your book is about. More specifically, and not to avoid confusion with the plot, the premise is the underlying idea that is demonstrated by the plot. In this way, your story is a specific example of a more abstract idea. Because of this, you should establish the premise of your story before you begin writing your story. That is, you should establish the abstract idea that you want your plot to demonstrate as true before you begin developing the plot.
The premise is the foundation of your plot. It’s the statement you want to make with your story. It’s the one essential truth that you want your reader to understand because they saw every angle of it being considered throughout the story and know that there was no alternative truth—at least not for your characters. It is this truth that will be your guiding light as you develop your setting, characters, plot, and themes.
The theme of your book is the narrative concept within your story. It is the premise as it exists in the context of your story. The theme is not the premise. Nor is it the message or moral of the story.
The difference between premise and theme is that the premise is a statement about certain ideas while the theme is the idea itself. For example, the premise of a story might be “Love conquers all,” while the theme of the story is simply “Love.”
There can, of course, be multiple themes within a story. A story with the theme of love might also have themes of honesty, respect, loyalty, choice, and responsibility. These are all important ideas to explore if we want our reader to understand what our concept of love is, and ultimately, to prove the premise that love conquers all. There can be multiple themes within a story, but there is only one premise. This is because a story can explore many ideas, but there is only one outcome, and while the beginning of the story puts the premise into context, it is the resolution of the story, the outcome, that makes a statement about the ideas that have been explored and concretely demonstrates the premise.
Because themes are just ideas and not statements, they are meant to be multidimensional and explored from many different perspectives. To make a statement about love, you first have to define what love is. This becomes a pretty open-ended question. The same is true for any theme—freedom, truth, happiness—because the very nature of a theme is that it is simply an idea. As the writer, it’s your job to put the themes being explored into context and give the different perspectives on that theme a voice.
Just as a deep conversation about what love is might beg the questions what is honesty, what is loyalty, can you only love by choice, what is choice, etc., exploring a theme in one scene might lead you to explore a corollary theme in the next scene. In this way, one theme evolves from another. Typically, though, the story continues to circle back to a main theme until there is finally a climax and a resolution and a statement about the main theme is made. The outcome of a story determines what statement can be made and, in hindsight, judges what perspectives on a given theme were correct or not.
Theme is not the moral of the story. A moral is a lesson, a teaching. In stories, the moral often involves judgment on the good or bad behavior of one or more of the characters. This comes off as a lesson aimed directly at the reader. The most obvious examples are in classic fables and folktales and in mythology.
Moralizing a story is risky and must be done well, or not done at all. The moral of the story should be conveyed through the actions and behaviors of the characters and the judgment of the world around them on those actions and behaviors. However, if sections of the story come off as preachy sermonizing, the reader will be left feeling attacked rather than enlightened; the story will become unpalatable and lose its impact. As a writer, your responsibility to the reader is to construct an authentic experience, and preaching in a work of fiction rarely comes off as authentic. It’s better to communicate your ideas through the actions of the characters, while ensuring the actions of the characters are believable.
A story is like a science experiment. The main theme is the initial question. The different perspectives on the main theme and subsequent themes serve as varying hypotheses. The plot is the data and the premise is the conclusion we arrive at after gathering the data. As the writer, you get to determine what gets said and express what you believe to be true. You have the opportunity to develop an entire theory and convey that through specific examples and exciting scenarios. Understanding how setting, characters, plot, and theme will help you better analyze and create compelling and impactful works of fiction.
The Hero’s Journey
The hero’s journey, as outlined in Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, is the product of the study of thousands of myths going back millennia distilled down into seventeen common motifs and plot points. Not every story includes all seventeen points—in fact, most don’t— but these plot points are important for the hero’s development throughout the story and include fairly universal symbolism to convey the importance of the scene as the story unfolds. The seventeen plot points are categorized into a typical three act structure, the departure, the initiation and the return. Since Campbell published his work, the hero’s journey has served as a template for hundreds, if not thousands, of novels, movies, video games, poetry, marketing material and any other medium of storytelling imaginable—the most famous being Star Wars by George Lucas. The Hero with a Thousand Faces is a book studied by writers of all kinds and below is a thorough outline of the hero’s journey.
Departure
The Call to Adventure
Campbell begins with the tale of a king’s young daughter. The princess enjoys leaving the castle and entering a dark forest where there is a spring. Usually she brings along a golden ball to toss around. One day, she drops the ball into the spring. The spring is deep and dark and she cannot see the bottom. Realizing her ball is gone, she begins to cry. At this time, a frog pops out of the spring and asks what’s wrong. She tells him about the lost ball and he offers to get it for her if she will adopt him as a pet and close friend. She agrees without thinking. The frog retrieves the ball for her, but when she receives it, she runs away leaving the frog behind.
Oftentimes the call to adventure is initially triggered by a mistake or mishap—in this case, dropping the ball. Freud points out that mistakes are not accidental, but rather “the result of suppressed desires and conflicts.” It is the subconscious mind forcing you into a problem so that you may come out of it with a better understanding of the world and yourself.
The frog in this story represents the “herald,” a messenger of the call to adventure. His very appearance signals something to come for the girl. The herald’s message can be a reminder to live, a request for sacrificing, instructions for a large undertaking, etc. The message outlines what the adventure is.
The adventure always requires the hero to step outside their comfort zone. The call to adventure marks a change in the hero’s thinking and perceptions. Simply being aware of the call, the message, forces the hero to consider their world, what their world could be and what the hero is capable of. The call to adventure is the beginning of a transfiguration, a rite of passage, a dying and a rebirth. Old ideas, concepts, and behaviors must be thrown out the window and something new must take their place.
Note: The tale here contains symbols of the world navel—symbols of continuous creation. The spring and the tree are such symbols. Alternatively, the ugly frog, who is the herald and messenger of the call to adventure, is a creature of the underworld (the deep, dark spring) and the call to adventure is a call to make a change and journey into the unknown. The frog is meant to be serpent-like in nature. As a representative of the unknown, the herald is judged as evil and takes the form of a beast, a monster, or other horrific and unsightly figure. And yet, there is something alluring about the strange figure. The conscious mind fears it. The unconscious mind recognizes it. The herald and his message are the tip of the iceberg—an indication that there is more to be faced and, ultimately, more to be learned. Everything the hero knew about the world becomes undone; their normal routine becomes meaningless.
Refusal of the Call
Often in stories and in real life the call to adventure will go unanswered. The herald will share their message and indicate the existence of a deeper truth, a world unknown, and the hero doesn’t bite. No further action is taken by the hero and he returns to normalcy—or at least tries to.
The refusal of the call to adventure is rooted in the hero’s static worldview. The hero desires to preserve the status quo and sees no need in changing his current system of ideals, goals, behaviors, etc. He fails to see the opportunity in the call to adventure. He fears rebirth because it requires death.
The refusal of the call to adventure pushes the hero down a negative path—one of boredom and stagnation. The promise of growth and excitement that came with the call to adventure shed light on the lack of growth and excitement in his life at present. Although the hero remains the same person, the knowledge that things could be different and there are unanswered questions is enough to off put him. Any attempt to return to the status quo will fail from the outset. After refusing the call, a hero can return to his comfortable world and become a master of it—he can build an empire within it. But the world will remain a small one and his actions in it will feel meaningless. The longer he refuses the call, the more this feeling amplifies.
The call to adventure only presents itself to those who are ready to answer the call. If they weren’t ready, they wouldn’t recognize the call to begin with. Once they are ready and they do recognize the call and they refuse, they begin to see it everywhere. Their mind is ready for a higher level of consciousness, but they’re refusing to undergo the process for achieving that higher consciousness, so they get stuck with recurring visions containing a call to adventure and new iterations of heralds with the same message. The refusal to undergo the process of achieving a higher consciousness results in a torturous cycle of self consciousness. A vindictive storyteller might even frame these recurring calls as bad omens and plague-like disasters that affect not just the hero, but the hero’s entire world.
A common cause for the refusal of the call is not just a preservation of the status quo, but the preservation of a child-like state of innocence and irresponsibility. The hero wishes to remain in the safety and security of the world their parents built for them. They want to remain under the wing of their superiors, favoring security and stability over freedom and independence. They may even be encouraged by their parents to remain in their lower state in life. Sleeping beauty is such an example of this.
Often, the refusal of the call can push the hero into a state of introversion and self reflection. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. Turning inward will result either with clarity and the hero’s choice to finally answer the call, or a cycle of self-destruction and isolation along with the deterioration of consciousness. The deterioration occurs from too much attention on the depths of the self in the pursuit to finding meaning where there is none, and not enough attention on the world around them and their actions in the world.
Entire stories can be written about a character’s refusal of the call to adventure and the consequences that follow, but this is no longer a hero’s journey. This plotline may be entertaining, but its impact will be weaker and its message will fail to resonate.
Out of the core plot points in the hero’s journey, the refusal of the call is one that may be skipped over. It may be that the hero accepts the call to adventure right away. If this is the case, it works best for mature characters who are not so mature they’re stuck in their ways.
The reason a hero initially refuses the call to adventure can set the tone for the rest of the story. If and when he finally accepts, this initial reason for refusal will remain with him and create ongoing conflict. With every new development in the story, the hero must deal with internal strife and weigh the possibility of turning back.
Whether or not the hero refuses the call, a proper hero’s journey has him answering the call eventually. But in order for him to move forward, he needs help. The hero requires a mentor to guide him through the unknown—the task set before him by the herald.
Supernatural Aid
While the herald is the hero’s first encounter in their story, the journey has not begun until they have decided to answer the call. Answering the call will require them to enter a part of the world they are unfamiliar with and face unpredictable challenges himself in order to achieve a deeper understanding of the world, himself, and find fulfillment in life, some external help is welcome.
At this point in the story, a mentor figure will present themselves to the hero and offer gifts that will help him in his quest. These gifts can be weapons or objects of supernatural power so that the hero may confidently face the dragons and demons that lay ahead. The gifts can also simply be instructions on where to go, what path to take, where to find the object that will give the hero the power to defeat the unknown beast, or it could be a whole new skillset—a technique for fighting, building, or just living life. Luke Skywalker had yoda to teach him the ways of the force.
This mentor figure can be either masculine or feminine in nature and each comes with its own implications for the hero and his understanding of the journey that lies ahead. The male mentor usually comes in the form of an old, wise man full of experience, like a wizard or a shepherd. He is someone who has undergone similar journeys himself and is prepared to show the way. However, just because he’s done it before doesn’t mean he can do it again. In a world full of turmoil, the mentor cannot be the one to undergo the journey because he is past his prime. He doesn’t have the energy of his youth and, although he has wisdom to offer, there are things in the ever growing and changing world that even he doesn’t understand. It is the hero who has been called upon because it is the hero who is in the best position to succeed. He is motivated and prepared. Again, if he weren’t, the call to adventure would not have presented itself.
The feminine mentor comes to the hero as a representative of mother nature and divine order. She is youthful and vibrant, offering guidance and care, and ensures the hero’s safe passage. She is a fairy godmother type of character. While she offers some kind of supernatural aid (knowledge or gifts that are beyond the reach of the hero) she may not be particularly special in her world and often answers to a higher power. She is a neutral party and her intention is not to help the hero for the sake of the hero but rather, to make sure the hero’s destiny unfolds as it should. She offers a more protective aid to the hero—only insofar as she is entitled to.
The supernatural aid offered by the mentor figure is typically the thing that pushes the hero down his journey to a point of no return. The help offered by the mentor gives the hero confidence and clarity about the task at hand—at least enough to take those crucial first steps.
Crossing the Threshold
Up to now the hero has been distinguished from the others in his world and assured he can and should undergo the journey ahead of him. The call to adventure presented itself to him. The refusal of the call isolated him, and made him begin to question his old worldview. The supernatural aid given to him by his mentor gave him confidence and newfound power. He is now ready to fully embark on his adventure.
The crossing of the threshold, above all else, is the official transition from the hero’s known world into the unknown world. The imagery here should be strong and indicate a stark change. The unknown world is often depicted as a desert, jungle, or open ocean. The transition is often accompanied by darkness and a descent.
For the bulk of the story, the entire second act, the hero will operate in this unknown world. The crossing of the threshold simply demarks the point of entry into the unknown. This is often a point of no return.
After leaving his mentor, the hero—alone or with a group—embarks on his journey and separates further and further from the safety and security of home. The beginning of this journey is dull, until he reaches this point of entry. Here he meets a guardian figure—someone that stands at the border of the past and future. The guardian is not a guardian protecting the hero, but rather, a guardian protecting this new region. The guardian may be benign or malevolent. This character may take the form of a sentry, an ogre, a curious sea creature, or any dark, ugly, shadowy figure.
The guardian may serve to warn the hero of what;s to come and encourage him to go back. They may also warn the hero of what’s to come by showing him firsthand—he may get beaten, robbed, or tricked. This creates a situation where the hero’s only solution is to keep moving forward. He may lose his food and water and the closest city is beyond the gate; he may get injured and a passerby tells him of a healer further down the path.
If the guardian sets the hero back, it’s never anything the hero can’t overcome. However, the guardian is a representative of the unknown and is meant to instill fear, panic, and anxiety in the hero. The hero should be filled with internal strife, knowing he’s in the presence of danger. But it’s a danger that isn’t well defined. It’s a dark, ominous kind of danger—one that let’s the mind run wild and imagine the very worst possibilities. It’s the fear of these possibilities that fills the hero with dread, not necessarily what’s right in front of him, but what could be in front of him.
As the hero crosses the threshold, his deepest fears are reflected in this new world. It’s a strange world with ugly creatures and different customs. But he’ll soon find out that, just like at home, in this strange world there are both good and bad actors. As uncomfortable as he may be, most of his fears won’t amount to anything. For the ones that do, all he has to do is adapt.
Belly of the Beast
The belly of the beast is a common plot point—though it’s not always included—that is very closely connected to the hero’s crossing of the threshold. It is the epitome of self annihilation and entrance into the unknown.
In mythology, this is depicted by the hero, quite literally, being swallowed whole by a monstrous beast. It’s not infrequent that this is an intentional act by the hero. Before the hero can become familiar with the unknown, that is, before the hero can gain a higher level of knowledge, a higher level of consciousness, he must do away with his former self and fully submit to the unknown. This is not just a death, but also a rebirth.
In fact, ancient architecture mimics ancient mythology in that, outside the doors to any kind of holy temple, you’ll often find strange, demon-like figures standing guard. The gatekeepers are scary simply because we’re unfamiliar with them. They are scary in order to deter anyone who isn’t ready for what lies within the gates. And the ultimate prize that lies beyond the gates, whether it’s religion or the hero’s journey, is higher consciousness. Only those that are ready and eager for higher consciousness are able to see the gatekeepers for what they are and are willing to pass them and enter into the belly of the beast.
Once inside the belly of the beast, the hero is fully submerged in darkness. This is a sacrifice of the self in the hopes that a better version will be born. It’s a purification process, and when the process is complete, the hero often slays the beast from the inside out, emerging new and improved and full of potential, as if from the womb. The rebirth is complete, but the journey is not.
Initiation
The Road of Trials
Now that the hero has been reborn, he will face a series of tests. He has aid supplied by his mentor and a newfound approach to life, but he must learn how to use these things.
These tests will force the hero to face his past. He has been reborn, but he hasn’t been freed. The series of tasks and the enemies he must face will be symbols of his old way of life or the recurrence of old trauma. The successful hero, in a demonstration of his gaining of consciousness, will use the new tools at hand to defeat the symbols of his past which could not be defeated previously.
Throughout these tests, the hero may indeed be pushed to his limits. At these moments it’s not uncommon for help to aid him in completing the task. The help would be rather minor, but it would be enough to tip the scales in his favor. Typically it’s things left to chance that just happen to go the hero’s way, as if the gods are protecting him on his path toward fate.
Along the way, the hero will gather new information that, whether he knows it or not, will help him later in his journey. He also gains a deeper understanding of this unknown world he finds himself in. All of this knowledge is consciousness gained through experience. With this experience, the hero also gains confidence—confidence in what he can do and confidence in where he must go next.
The road of trials can be a highly entertaining part of the story, if done right. The handful of tests are an opportunity to show off details of this unknown world in a fun and exciting way, as well as demonstrate the hero’s strength and determination. There is still much to be learned and a resolution to be made, but the road of trials begins to initiate the hero and puts him square in the depths of the unknown.
The Meeting with the Goddess
Once the hero has found success in his trials, he crosses paths with a goddess figure. This meeting may be by chance, but it may also be by design. The trials may have led him straight to her, or perhaps he was summoned by her after hearing of his triumphs.
The queen goddess is someone who is removed from, or above, the strange world the hero finds himself in. She is pure in the sense that she’s isolated and untainted. She’s perfect in the sense that she’s complete. She has a timelessness and omnipresence about her.
The queen goddess is there to give the hero a motherly comfort. She is the ‘good mother’ full of youth and beauty. Although the hero feels secure around her, she is complete which means she has a good side as well as a bad side. In her omnipresence she is both everywhere and nowhere, removed from society and absent minded, being too preoccupied with her enemies. She can be both loving and vengeful, both desired and forbidden. The hero is secure around her, but recognizes the transient nature of their crossing paths.
For the hero, this point in the plot can be a time to step back and take stock of what he’s accomplished so far. It also serves as further motivation to keep going on his journey. She may not be attainable presently, but she is a symbol of perfection and brings him the experience of being at home after having found wild success. She is a representation of the ideal and allows him to realize that ideal, if only for a moment.
If the hero is a female, she herself may take on the role of the queen goddess. Her successes have allowed her to rise above her peers. There is a shift in her demeanor; she finds beauty and grace. She takes on a timeless omnipresent persone. Every woman has the queen goddess nature within her. When she achieves this status, it’s not uncommon for a suitable man to cross her path. This is important because once her ever present desire to love and be loved is met, she is free to continue on her path as the hero, raising her consciousness, conquering her foes, and returning to her world as the savior.
Woman as the Temptress
The queen goddess is a symbol of life and the hero’s encounter with her shows him what life could be. But in the comfort and homeliness he feels, he comes to the realization that he is seeking something beyond life—or at least the life he knows. He has gone through death and rebirth and is seeking a change; the comfort and security of the queen goddess and her palace is a step backward, not a step forward. While the temptation to stay with the queen goddess is strong, the hero must press on, fulfilling his duties to his home and himself, and completing the mission he set out on.
In the snap of a finger, a woman becomes a symbol of temptation in the eyes of the hero. It’s not that women are flawed, it’s that he is flawed and he has succumbed to temptation time and time again. All of his mistakes and his old patterns of behavior have no place in this new life. One must sacrifice the present to have a fruitful future, and so the hero must deny temptation and deny life itself in the present moment so that he may pursue a higher calling and achieve a higher purpose in life.
Atonement with the Father
After having dealt with the goddess-mother figure, the hero crosses paths with a father figure. In mythology, the father figure is often God himself, Zeus, Odin, etc., though it can be any being of supreme power, particularly over light and dark or life and death. This encounter is the climax of the story.
The encounter starts out highly confrontational. Often the hero’s personal connection with the father figure has been hinted at throughout the story; if not, the hero has at least heard of the father figure, lurking in the shadows, knowing they’re o a collision course. There is tension between the hero and the father because of a natural Freudian Oedipus complex with the father. The hero has been reborn and proved himself through trials. He is almost equal to, and even ready to exceed the father. In the hero’s struggle to be equal, the father gives him his hardest test yet. It’s important for the hero to endure his prior trials simply to prove himself ready for this ultimate test. If he weren’t ready, the ultimate test would result in chaos or tragedy.
With the hero ready, the father gives him the opportunity—or forces him—to prove himself. Fire rains down on the hero as he’s pushed to his limits. And yet, throughout the entire ordeal, the hero isn’t necessarily focused on defeating the father so much as he is on his true desire, the mission that triggered the adventure in the first place; the father is merely an obstacle to get around, and he is indeed a major obstacle. Throughout this battle with the mother, the hero is able to lean on the goddess as a source of hope and inspiration.
In battling the father, the hero comes to find that, just as the mother is both good and evil, so too is the father. In fact, the mother and father are reflections of one another. The father, who was the first real enemy in that he stole affection from the mother and away from the child, is capable of giving affection himself. The father is not primarily good or evil, he is simply powerful and decisive. His judgment rules, for better or worse—that is, until the hero can atone with the father.
The hero’s atonement with the father is truly an atonement with himself. His psyche has been on a divergent path. We all have within us an unconscious mind, a conscious mind, and a subconscious mind—the id, ego and superego. The id is the primitive mind and prioritizes our basic needs (sometimes to the point of indulgence). It is instinctive and relies on behavioral patterns of the past to discern what to do in the present. The subconscious mind is where we formulate our values, goals and ideals, but it often takes a back seat. When the hero set off on his journey, he sought to leave the past behind us and find a brighter future. As he’s navigated this unknown world, he can no longer rely on the same old behavioral patterns and has thus suppressed the unconscious. Instead, as he pressed on, he’s had to make value judgments and clarify what he wants, activating the subconscious.
The journey has created tensions between the unconscious and the subconscious. The hero has raised his consciousness, but he must also make himself whole. The subconscious is the ideal, the all powerful, all that the hero could be. It is future oriented. As such, the father is a representation of the subconscious. Alternatively, the unconscious is primitive indulgence and sin. It is past oriented, relying on behaviors that have already proven to work, even when they don’t apply to the present. The hero battled with his unconscious, but it still lives within him. Along the journey a false dichotomy formed between the subconscious and the unconscious. However, there isn’t two but three aspects of the mind to consider, the third being the conscious mind, which bridges the gap between the two.
By seeing the good in the father, the hero is able to reconcile with him and be at one. Atonement is at-one-ment. Once the father rains hell down on the hero and the hero is still standing, they are equals. In doing so, the hero has now bridged the gap between the past and future, all that was and all that could be, by stepping into the unknown and enduring the present, for it is the present that occupies the conscious mind.
The incorporation of the father into the hero’s identity breaks down the tension between them. While the climax may be full of action, this final pivot in the hero’s character is the focus. Unfortunately for him, there is still more work to be done before the mission is complete.
Apotheosis
After atonement with the father, the hero has integrated the unconscious and subconscious in with the conscious. His consciousness exists as the bridge between the past and the future. He comes to the realization that he had to be all that he was in order to undergo the process of the hero’s journey and become what he is and land himself on the threshold of all that he could be. But there is still another step of the enlightenment that the hero must undergo.
In the atonement with the father, the hero proved himself and properly integrated his ideal self in with his present being. He overcame the obstacle of the father figure and this was his greatest battle yet, but it didn’t bring him what he needed in order to complete the mission. The hero either fails to get what he was looking for, or he got what he was looking for and was disappointed with what he found. In both cases, he takes what he’s learned and seeks other ways to complete his mission.
Apotheosis is the process of achieving your destiny and results in ultimate consciousness. The hero gains a deeper understanding of the conflict that set him on this path and has a change in worldview—this change can be sudden, or the culmination of a steadily growing understanding as he pursues his quest. The realization and change in worldview is often the result of self reflection.
This stage of enlightenment, or ultimate consciousness, is likened to reaching a state of nirvana. In the Buddhist tradition, nirvana is a universal oneness with all that was, is, or ever will be. Nirvana is an awareness that leaves the individual in a state of pure being. Buddhism is a philosophy of nothingness and equates all of existence to absolute nothingness. However, if we look at Freudian psychology, we see that the self has three components: the unconscious, the conscious, and the subconscious. But the conscious mind serves to balance the three components of the self with reality. Thus, the final stage of enlightenment is the integration of reality with the self, and ultimate consciousness is an ultimate understanding of reality, or at least the reality and the problems of reality that the hero has been presented with.
Apotheosis occurs shortly after atonement with the father and gives the hero final understanding of what is needed of him to fulfill his destiny and set things right. This ultimate consciousness can manifest itself as a prioritization of community or the world at large over the self and will look like a heroic sacrifice, but this isn’t necessarily the case. While the solutions to his problems are clear, the hero still needs to execute.
The Ultimate Boon
Having achieved atonement and a universal consciousness, the hero now knows exactly what he needs to complete his journey. In mythology this is often some kind of elixir of life, granting who acquires it “Imperishable Being.” In apotheosis, the hero achieves a state of all knowing; in the ultimate boon, he achieves a state of all being—a timelessness omnipresence, a oneness with reality itself. Because the hero has been reborn, tested, and achieved enlightenment, he now finds it easy to fulfill his wishes. In a divine manner, things tend to go his way. The ultimate boon is an instant gratification, a satisfaction in the moment. The acquisition of an elixir of life is symbolic of this because when you live so fully in the present moment, the present becomes all that there is and your very existence in it means you exist in all that there is, you’ve achieved timelessness and omnipresence. Further, when you achieve a state of consciousness where you are fully present in the moment, everything goes your way and you are instantly gratified and perpetually satisfied.
The ultimate boon is something the gods reserve for themselves. This elixir of life is something the gods hold custodian. The lightning bolts of Zeus, Yahweh, Odin, and the Supreme Buddhe all represent the powerful gift of enlightenment. But of course the gods only give it to those who have proven themselves worthy . The hero must win over the good graces of the custodian of the elixir, or acquire it by means of force or trickery.
The elixir of life can be symbolized by the milk of Jerusalem, or a bountiful feast on Mt. Olympus which always replenishes itself. The hero seeks the good graces of the gods because he seeks the thing that sustains their being, their energy substance.
The problem with seeking physical immortality is that it doesn’t actually exist. Only a spiritual immortality can occur and that is only the result of a spiritual enlightenment. This is elucidated by the myth of King Midas. When Bacchus offered to grant him a wish, he requested that everything he touched be turned to gold. He soon came to find that when he ate, his food turned to gold, and when he embraced his daughter, she turned to gold. Having endless gold is a false boon because it is of a physical nature and came at the cost of a spiritual boon, his relationship with his daughter. Immortality is not a physical feature, but an experience, and, as with all experiences, it only occurs in the present moment.
Return
Refusal of the Return
The hero has accomplished his mission and now must return to his ordinary world with whatever he has acquired or learned and use it to raise the status of himself to his community. He does so out of a sense of duty, but this sense of duty doesn’t always tip the scales in favor of a return. Once a hero has entered the unknown world and become the master of it, it’s not uncommon for him to want to stay there.
After achieving enlightenment, the Buddha doubted whether he could actually share his message with the world and have it be received properly. Other heroes refuse the return because the state of immortal being, this ultimate oneness, this universal consciousness of the present moment that allows him timelessness and immediate satisfaction is far more tempting than the ordinary world from which he came. When the hero refuses the return, some external power directs him or forces him to return.
Magic Flight
The hero may or may not refuse the return. Regardless, the return must and and the nature of the why will determine the how.
When the hero acquires the elixir, if it’s through the good graces of the gods, the gods may direct the hero to return home. His journey out of the extraordinary world and back to the ordinary world will be eventful, but it will occur with the help and supervision of the gods. On his journey home, he may once again cross paths with his previous tests and enemies, causing a stir, but the hero is but the hero is assured by the fact that, just as he endured the wrath of the father, all he has to do is endure the encounter with the ogres and get past them.
However, if the elixir was obtained against the will of the gods, the hero’s exit form the extraordinary world will be difficult and full of supernatural antics. During this dragged out chase, the hero will use powers of his own to distract or delay the angry gods by using decoys or creating obstructions. All the while, he is holding tight to the elixir and ensuring its safe arrival to the ordinary world.
Rescue from Without
The magic flight stage of the journey brings the hero out of the throes of the elixir’s guardian and away from the palace where it was kept. In his long journey home, sometimes the hero needs additional help to get out of the realm of the supernatural. The world may have to come and get him.
The rescue form without is an extension of the refusal of the return insofar as the state of enlightenment is not so easily shaken. Even if the hero intends to return, the transition is difficult. Luckily, the world wants him to make the transition.
Once having removed yourself from the world , it is counterintuitive to want to go back to the world. But the world wants you to come back. A person doesn’t need society, but society needs people. For as long as you’re alive, life will come calling and society will make requests of you. This call to life will come in the form of a rescue from the supernatural because, once again, we are in the ordinary world and we see things from an ordinary perspective—one where the supernatural is a thing to be rescued from.
There is an eskimo tale of a man named Raven who dives into the mouth of a whale (the belly of the beast). In the whale, he finds a room and in the room a beautiful woman. After an ordeal, the whale is dead and it is time for Raven to make his return. Only, Raven is stuck in the whale. Not long passes before the dead whale washes ashore and a group of men start working on it to acquire the meat. It’s through their efforts that Raven is able to walk out of the whale just fine.
Crossing the Return Threshold
When the hero answered the call to adventure, he left his ordinary world and crossed into a then unknown, divine, and extraordinary world. When he initially crossed that threshold, there was an immediate change in his environment to symbolize the stark difference between the known and the unknown, the normal and the divine. But after having plunged head first into the new world and experiencing all it could throw at him, the unknown becomes the known and he realizes the two worlds are one. The realm of the gods is not entirely separate from the ordinary world, it’s simply a forgotten region full of extraordinary phenomena—phenomena may or may not have strong dominion over the ordinary world, even if only from behind a curtain.
The hero’s journey is all about exploration of this forgotten part of the world with the intention of discovering something that will help him in his ordinary world. The hero must acquire knowledge and power that applies everywhere, but is only known and used in this forgotten world, and then he must assimilate into the ordinary world. The struggle then becomes, how do you assimilate? How do you teach what has been forgotten? How do you communicate with people who don’t have the necessary contextual understanding?
The return to the ordinary world can be a bit of a culture shock for the hero. The world is the same, but the hero has changed. The journey the hero has been on was transformational and served to individuate him from society. He now has an experience and a perspective that the rest of the society does not, and with that, a slew of knowledge and wisdom that influence his decisions, big and small. The hero may make it a point to always be well groomed, always have a pocket watch with him, or never pet strange dogs because of some aspect of his journey. The experience makes the hero less of a conformist because he can rationalize unusual behavior with good reasons—reasons the rest of society might not understand.
The impact the journey has had on the hero will never fully go away. For the rest of his life, this experience will be a part of him, and that’s the point. The three acts of the hero’s journey are departure, initiation, and return. These stages can be likened to cause, process, and effect. In other words, why did the hero undergo the journey? What took place? And how did it change him? The crossing of the return threshold should highlight the significance the hero’s journey had on his life. After it’s all said and done, how did it change him?
Master of Two Worlds
Having gone to the extraordinary world and returned back to the ordinary world with newfound power and wisdom to share, the hero is respected in one and cherished as a savior in the other. Being the master of two worlds, the hero is now able to pass between them freely, assimilating them both into his being and acting as a guide for others to follow.
In being the master of two worlds, the hero’s limiting beliefs completely dissolve. He is not afraid of self annihilation, he is not afraid of rebirth, and he is not afraid of realizing the truth. He has experienced ultimate consciousness and has faith in himself that he can deal with anything that comes to pass. As such, personal dreams may disappear and the hero lives fully in the present moment, sharing and upholding the values he’s learned.
Freedom to Live
The hero’s work is done and in this final stage of the story we get a glimpse at the life of the hero going forward. Being the master of two worlds gives the hero ultimate freedom. He is free from fear and anxiety, and free to live wholly as he chooses. While the hero often finds some sort of higher calling within his community, it is not uncommon for the hero to seek out further adventures. Greek stories are filled with heroes who return home only to find their old friends and family to be dull. The hero fulfills his duty to share whatever power or wisdom he discovered, but afterward he finds himself empty, bored, or on the verge of insanity. The draw to pursue another adventure, and another, and another is strong. And as the master of two worlds, he is free to do that.
Brian J Mundell 