Snakes, Cats, Dogs, and other Character Symbols

 

[Story symbolism; source.]

I've been blogging about how to write in a more literary fashion. Just getting the words down is the first step, and it's an important one. Keep in mind your first draft doesn't have to be literary. It's just for you, so it can all be one long sentence, a grammatical mess, more of a note to self, or whatever you want to do. If you're waiting for the perfect words to come to you the first time, you won't write anything. Building in the literary happens in subsequent drafts. That's when you carefully ponder your foreshadowing, symbolism, precise language, authentic dialogue, and other literary techniques. One of the most meaningful is symbolism. 

[Symbolism of a Fox; source]

I've been helping Evelyn Furbish, a friend, reshape her draft into something literary. Her draft is fine. It has clear characters and moves quickly. But adding in the literary turned her simple story of an abused child into something that means more on several levels, something truly special and powerful that could not just be published but also win awards. It won second place in a first-chapter contest for League of Utah writers. And a big part of that is symbolism. Symbolism makes your character into something more than just a person. It draws on the traits of the animal, or whatever is used as the symbol. It also draws on common cultural associations with that animal. If you use a fox, you can draw on the speed and agility of the fox as well as associations like "sly as a fox" or the associations with the word vixen, a female fox, a "shrewish or ill-tempered woman" (Mirriam-Webster), or a sexy seductress. You can draw on a lot with one well-chosen symbol. 

[Mouse; source]

In my friend's draft, that boy is becoming a symbolic mouse.  As we rewrite and reshape her prose, we carefully ponder the language to show him as a mousy, skittery little boy who hides in corners and is targeted by everyone. He's still a human child, but the book builds him up as easy prey for any number of emotional predators. 

[Rabid dog; source]

Meanwhile, his mother has been reshaped as a rabid dog. She's a druggie who leaves her son every day to get high and drunk with her dealer boyfriend, but he doesn't know. He sees her through rose-colored glasses, comparing everything he sees in the world with his narrow view of the world seen in comparison to the unpleasant mess he knows from his mouse hole. She is his comfort, his home base. When he sees fancy houses or food, he treats them with disgust because they can't measure up to the processed and cheap food he's been given at home. He doesn't see his mother's symbolic slavering teeth. She doesn't use claws because that's not a dog thing, but in the next chapter the author has planned, this mother will bark and threaten like that dog, showing him unmistakably his true colors. 

[Mean cat; source]

The CPS worker who takes him away from his familiar mouse hole is the one with the claws. She's the cat who hisses and growls when pushed. She's the one who chases the little boy verbally and corners him with her words. She's the one who snatches him with her claw-like nails from home and exposes him in his miserable nest to take him away. She snaps  him up, metaphorically, like a furry little snack. 

[The snake; source]

The little boy's foster dad is the snake, sly and cold and ready to swallow him whole and turn that little boy into part of himself. He knows just how to make eye contact with his acid-green eyes and freeze him in his tracks, so his prey can't even ponder escape. He uses manipulation instead of violence to reshape the little boy into her own image. 

[Teddy bears; source]

Meanwhile, the boy's allies, whose symbolism has yet to be determined, will be something warm, fuzzy, and comforting. There will be hope, and it will be built through the language and metaphors of the text. They could be the warmer side of dog or puppy, a teddy bear, a kitten, a hamster, or anything else that gives the friends appropriate meaning on every level. 

[Animal Farm and symbolism; source]

 For a reversal of this pattern, you could read Orwell's Animal Farm, which uses animals to symbolize types of humans. There is a wealth of information out there on the characters and what they mean. Now, ponder your characters. Would it be helpful to do an exercise like this, where you use overall symbolism to shape the characters into something greater than the individual parts? 

Writing for Kids

 

[Making kids' books come alive: source]

I've been blogging about how to write in a literary fashion. This entry is not necessarily about literary writing so much as writing chapter books or middle school fiction. Many of these tips can help with any age level. However, there are many methods of writing that work just fine for writing for older groups. However, if you're going to write for older elementary or middle school readers, there are certain things one must keep in mind.  These are tidbits I've picked up over the course of my research on how it's done. Many writers have written exhaustively on these topics. If there's something you want to find more about, you can look it up. 

[Write for your reader: source]

1. Choose and research your age group. Step one when you're going to write for kids is to choose a target age group. The rule of thumb is that the characters in a book should be just older than the target reader. Therefore, if you're writing for young teens, your character can be about 16. If you're writing for the middle school or slightly younger age bracket, think in terms of 12- or 13-year-olds. If you're looking to write chapter books for those just out of picture books, think in terms of something like a ten-year-old protagonist. Whatever your age group, read what you want to write, so you get a sense of how to do it based on successful writers' work. 

[Keep it brief and fun: source]

2. Keep it moving. Everything should be kept shorter: shorter paragraphs, shorter sentences, and shorter chapters to keep the reader moving forward. If you can end each chapter on a cliffhanger, that would be better still. Action needs to start right away. You should show some indication of where the story is headed by the end of chapter one. It is helpful if you can even introduce an antagonist by the end of that first chapter. You can still think in terms of the hero's journey, but the time spent establishing the normal world should end as quickly as possible. 

 

[Keep it exciting: source]

3. Keep it exciting. Plan to keep most events and actions external for the most part. Kids often get bored with long internal monologues or flashbacks, which a mainstay of writing for adults and even teens. I've read a lot of romance novels that hinge on what is going on inside the character's mind, as in Pride and Prejudice. So much of what happens to Lizzy, Bella, Katniss, and just about any protagonist for older audiences occurs inside. That often does not work for kids. There may be the occasional very brief flashback and some thoughts, but the vast majority of action should be represented outside the characters' heads. Show don't tell is particularly critical in kids' books. Say your character is angry. Show him clenching his fists and turning red. External action is often more fun than internal, and show is almost always better than tell. 

[Don't fog up the action: source]

4. Keep it clear: 

            a. Skip the fancy language. Adverbs will often make the action wordy and long. Stephen King's biggest complaint about the Harry Potter books when they first came out was that they, like many outings by novice writers, were choked with adverbs. Dialogue tags, especially, should stick to said, asked, shouted, or whispered simplicity and not include adverbs. Actions can be used instead of dialogue tags, as long as it's clear who said what. Keep adjective lists brief. Avoid passive language. 

            b. Don't use filtering language. Filtering language, language describing what characters experience rather than just showing the actions, can also bog down the story. Don't have the kid watch a fight. Just show the fight. Don't have the actor in a sentence see, hear, watch, feel, etc something. Just make the thing happen. Make the main actor in the sentence the person doing the thing. Don't: John watched a parade march by. Do: John stood at the door while a parade marched by. 

            c. Scene and sequel. Reactions should occur only after the action. This is called scene and sequel. Don't: She jumped to the side because a rat ran by. Do: A rat ran by. She jumped out of the way. This makes action clearer and crisper. The reader is reacting even as the character is. 

            d. Avoid head hopping. If you must switch back and forth between perspectives, do it between chapters. Hopping from head to head to head in the middle of a chapter, especially in kids' books, can get confusing. 

            

[Get help as you review: source]

5. Get help as you review. Writing groups can help you with your dialogue to make sure that it actually sounds like the way kids speak. You don't want a regular kid to talk like an adult. Programs like Autocrit can help you make sure your writing is appropriate for the target audience and can help you eliminate items above that get overwhelming. 

If you have a piece for younger audiences, make sure to review the tips above with it. The most important part is to read what you want to write. If you haven't read kids' books, it's really hard to write them. If I missed anything, please post it in your reactions. Also, tell me how things are going with your kids' books. 

            

Balanced Themes vs the Firehose of Preaching

[Avoid firehose preaching; source]

I've been blogging about how to write literary and meaningful pieces. One of the most critical aspects of meaningful writing is the theme, an overarching idea that can help the reader think more deeply about a given topic. Themes are the very backbone of literary and meaningful writing. Storytelling is good, but without themes, it's all just entertainment. Deeper themes have been woven into literature from the earliest days. But beating a reader over the head with themes can turn a reader off faster than anything. It can come off as condescending. It's, therefore, critical to balance those themes without coming off as preachy except where preachiness is expected. 

[Pinocchio: Hanging Character on Themes.  

We've all seen those movies or read those books wherein the themes become more important than the story. Disney's original "Pinocchio" feels like this for me. The characters don't feel as important as the theme of "be a good boy or else." A lot of people may disagree with that particular example, but we can all think of at least one story like this. In a story more about themes than character, the characters and plot feel like an afterthought. 

[Lots of Words for a Specific Audience; source]

Unless the reader specifically picked up a how-to for something or bought the book just to seek those themes, theme-over-character is rarely a compelling story choice. Stories can be used to back up themes in an instructional piece. If a Christian sits down to watch a movie billed as Christian with Christian-heavy themes in order to teach a lesson, it can work for certain audiences. If someone with a political leaning sits down to watch a movie written with that perspective, they may be absorbed. But everyone else may be turned off by those very themes. Even someone within the audience may walk away.

[Helping People See; source]

More often, weaving themes and meanings into solid storytelling with compelling characters will open the reader's eyes far more than turning to the audience with a list of thou shalt nots. If the reader/audience sees the main character making choices, some with negative consequences, some with positive, but all of which make the reader think, the story is likely to be more successful. 

[Hamlet; source.]

So, how does one weave meaningful themes into storytelling without turning off readers with preachiness? Think of "Hamlet." The play dwells on themes (young students would say ad nauseam), but he doesn't turn to the audience and tell them what to do and how to do it. He contemplates what HE should do. His philosophizing, pondering, and speechifying are all turned inward. His status as an unreliable narrator, one who makes clearly harmful choices in spite of or possibly because of his deep contemplation, makes the reader think rather than feel preached at. 

[Feeling judged; source]

I recently read a piece wherein characters preached long paragraphs to teach young audiences what to do about anxiety and bullying. Even the character turned to the audience and said, in essence, "Yeah, that." I wasn't the target audience but felt ganged up on, preached at, like a firehose of condescension had been turned on me. The author spoke from the outside, telling me what I should do as if judging me and finding me wanting. I felt talked down to. I would have walked away if not for the fact that I had agreed to critique it. 

[Along for the Ride; Source]

Meanwhile, for most of that story, I felt like I was that narrator, feeling the feels, riding with the main character as she suffered and made choices, some for the better and some for the worse. When she made a choice that was harmful for herself or someone else, I understood way because I was inside her head. When the meaning was shared with a light touch and a spirit of internalized contemplation inside the narrator preaching from the outside, I was absorbed. I would have loved these parts of this book because it would have helped me understand myself and find ways to cope. 

[Voyage of Healing; source]

I wrote a master's thesis about the power of fiction to heal. Fiction and nonfiction alike can help a reader heal because writing shows people suffering and finding healing. Reading others' voyages of healing can give the reader hope and some guidance for their own healing. There were certain parts of that story I mentioned with long speeches and preachiness, but the rest of it, with a lighter touch, worked really well as a voyage of healing. Where the meaning was woven in with a light touch instead of a firehose, it helped me think and hope. And that's the point of these themes. 

[Editing; source]

Go through your most recent project. Highlight long or even short parts that touch on major themes. If you can't find any, you may want to give some thought to working on weaving meaning in with a light touch. This blog has been about that since almost the beginning, so you can always go back and peruse topics. If you find long spans of preaching, you may want to tone that down a bit, unless that's your stated purpose. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me how you weave in themes. 

Building Tension through Planning

[Making a Plan: source]

 I've been blogging about how to write in a more literary fashion. Before I launch into that, I have to make a quick plug. The first installment in my kids' chapter book series, Doomimals, is now available on Amazon. This is just the beginning of a major saga we have planned. I have the first ten books drafted and many beyond that planned. It's about three kids and their animal protectors saving the world from the minions of the evil Bird and the Dog of War. If you're interested, you can pick up a copy here. Today's topic is planning and is not specific about literary writing but about writing in general. There are conventions are a character in a story making plans. They're simple but must be remembered as a way to build tension in the reader.

[When the Plan Goes Wrong: Source]

Most people have read a book or seen a show in which a character gives very specific details of a plan for something they're about to do. Now, predict what happens. Of course, the plan goes wrong. I've read books in which the plan goes RIGHT. When that's the case, the reader is bored because they see the plan, they see the plan executed, then they see characters chat over what just happened. With teaching, with real life, this is the idea. But in storytelling, it's a great way to bore (read: lose) the reader. SOMETHING in the plan has to go wrong, or your reader will be unimpressed. I'm sure you can think of several examples of plans falling apart right now. The plan sets the template of how it's supposed to work and foreshadows that something will go wrong.  The reader is on the watch for that something. It actually amps up tension anticipating this. 

["I love it when a plan comes together." Source]

If, however, your characters are actually going to complete their plan, the narration should get vague about what's about to happen. "Joan and Simon made a quick plan about how to break their father out of jail." Something like that works fine. When I read that in a narration, I know it will likely work. However, you can twist the reader's sense of what's coming by getting vague and then have things fall apart anyway. It may be a bit frustrating because the reader doesn't know how things should work in the first place, but if the plan isn't central, it can still work. Not sharing the plan builds tension because the reader will follow along with the characters and see them execute the plan as it happens. 

[Planning toward Tension: Source]

Either way, a plan is a useful technique for building tension. Think of shows like "Mission Impossible" or "Oceans 11." The parts of the plan that will go wrong are laid out in detail, so the reader can view them as a template for what should happen vs what does happen. Particularly in the Oceans series, the audience is not party to the plan until it's executed. There are parts of it we don't learn until after it's executed to provide plot twists and unexpected events. We, the audience, find out what the full plan was along with the antagonist, who only finds out how badly he lost after he did so. This step beyond creates both tension and excitement. 

[Your turn: Source]

Read or watch shows in which the plan is discussed and doesn't work or glossed over when it does. Is there a point in your story in which you can use this pattern? Is there a place where it's useful to only show parts of the plan after the fact? Can you amp up your reader's tension by showing how it should work? Give me examples of either in the comments. 

Balancing Concrete

[Anchoring the Metaphoric with the Physical: source]

 I've been blogging about how to make your writing more literary. Not all literature is more concrete more than it is otherwise. Often, the concrete, what's really happening in your story vs what may be happening in a character's head or in the metaphoric world, is secondary. It's frequently a very good thing for many concrete things to symbolize something in the metaphoric or internal world. But when it's all internal with nothing concrete to anchor it, your reader can get lost, bored, or frustrated. Most things internal should be tied to something concrete and vice versa. 

[The Mind Alone: source]

I recently started reading two books back to back. One just stayed in a character's head with nothing to tie it to the real world around him. It was just his thoughts, and he was not interesting or unique. Why would I care? Answer: I didn't. I've read books like this, and it feels more like data dumping than a story with meaning and symbolism. We're just floating in a world with few or no ties to the world around that character. I couldn't get past about page four of this book that was just about a boring character's endless ruminations that failed to make me care. 

[Triggering the Imagination: source]

The other book had plenty of metaphoric language and mental meandering. But it all first started with something in the world around the main characters or something the character was doing. We got setting and characters actually doing something, making choices and engaging with the environment. The figurative language included concrete images and metaphors that enlightened what was going on. And those metaphors were so fresh and witty that I have since read several of the same author's books. By starting with the concrete realities of the character, the author triggered my imagination. I wish I could bottle those concrete and clever turns of phrase that kept me in the moment. 

[Hamlet: source]

It's important to balance the concrete and the metaphoric in order to engage the reader. Both are needed. Imagine Hamlet's speech on words if it stood alone without the events around it. His speech becomes more meaningful because of the events of the story. Without his speeches, the actions could easily become meaningless. If the real and concrete world is just what we're reading, only events and actions without any deeper level, that can get dull. 

[Finding Balance: source]

One needs to balance the concrete with the metaphoric, mental, and emotional. Create the anchor in the concrete world, so the non-concrete can have something real to make it meaningful. But also, give the concrete meaning beyond just events, location, and characters. It's not enough for stuff to happen. That stuff should give a meaning on which to reflect. Look through the events of your story. Is there a way to make concrete events in the story more meaningful and symbolic? Is there a way to anchor speeches, thoughts, and ideas with something in the physical world? 

The Story Drop

[The Drop: source]

 I've been blogging about how to make writing more literary. A while ago, we looked at the normal world. Whether you're writing from a hero's journey perspective or not, there's usually a point at which your story really kicks into high gear, and you've confirmed your genre. You don't want the normal world to be exactly boring because you'll lose your reader. That is the time to really make your reader care as you develop your character and make them and their world interesting. But then, the drop comes, like a drop in music. The shift comes from the normal world to the real story, and that is when you should really engage your reader through the story. 

[Decisions: source]

That drop can happen in any of a number of ways. If you're writing literary fiction, it may be when a new character enters to alter the dynamic or when the first major choice on which your story is based is made. This is when Hamlet meets his father's ghost or Macbeth first decides to kill the king. If you're writing a romance, that drop may come when the protagonist meets their romantic pairing or when they go into the underworld, figuratively or literally, where they will meet or engage with their future significant other in the plot. Romeo meets Juliet. If you're writing an adventure story--western, sci-fi, fantasy, horror etc.--it should absolutely be when your story goes from world and character introduction to the first step into the underworld. Harry Potter meets Hagrid or is introduced into the Wizarding World on Platform 9 3/4. Either could be seen as a drop. 

[Engaging the Reader: source]

By this point, you should have made your character engage emotionally with your protagonist through the normal world, through loss, through humor, through empathy, curiosity, etc., so when the conflict comes, we care what happens. Sometimes, the drop comes, and there's no significant difference. They step into the underworld, and the character and reader don't realize it until they're in the thick of peril or engagement. Sometimes, the character doesn't realize it, but the reader does because they've spent the first several pages waiting for the protagonist to meet the future significant other. If the drop is too slow, too uninteresting, you could lose your reader. I held on with a sci-fi version of Pride and Prejudice until Lizzy showed up, and that moment was flat and dull. I walked away. Sneaking up on the reader can be good if it's done with subtlety instead of awkwardness or boredom. Especially if there's a solid payoff. However, it can also hit like a tsunami, launching the reader into a wild adventure

[Gandalf: Gatekeeper of the Underworld: Source]

Whatever is driving your story starts kicking into high gear. There should be some kind of ramping up, some increase in intrigue, suspense, excitement, tension, or the like. If your story is character-driven, there should be an increased awareness of their desire for things to be different. Val Jean yearns to break free of his prison cell, both exterior and interior. If your story is plot-driven, your character might just then realize the world is broken, whether or not they realize they will have to fix it. Harry Potter learns about Voldemort as part of learning about his past. If your story is question-driven, this is when the central question is posed. It's that moment the femme fatale walks into the gumshoe's office with her mystery. If your question is milieu or world-driven, this is usually when the protagonist enters the strange world. Gulliver sees the little people, or Gandalf introduces the Hobbit to a world outside his Hobbit hole. 

[Make the Drop Special: source]

One way or another, the author needs to be aware of that drop and take pains to make it mean something. This is when the story really starts. What do you do in your story to mark the entry into the underworld or the introduction of the other romantic lead? What do you do to really engage the reader to a higher degree? If you can't find anything, is there some way you can improve or rework that part to make the reader care? 

Emotional Symbols

 

[When simple objects in a story don't remain simple; source]

I've been blogging about how to write in a more meaningful, literary way. In life, an object is just an object. Most don't have unnecessary baggage. As s popular quotation goes, sometimes a soup label is just a soup label. However, some objects have much more significance. Think through the things in your bedroom. The bed is likely just a bed. A side table is just a side table. They're just objects. But there's something there, probably several somethings, that mean more. Your trash can may mean nothing unless it's full of tissues you cried into from your last breakup. If your television or lamp were gifts from your late grandma, they may mean more than just the thing. Good writing is usually about making the reader feel. Emotional symbols can make that happen. A scene in a book can be so much more powerful and loaded when it contains one or more emotionally-laden symbols of something deeper going on. 

[Hamlet's Skull; source]

Shakespeare was a master of emotional symbols. Think of Hamlet's soliloquy to a dead man's skull, forever the symbol of the whole play. "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!" Because he knew the dead man and cared for him, the skull is not just a skull. It's a symbol of death, which can come to anyone, no matter who they are and how we feel about them. 

[Bloody Dagger-source]

Meanwhile, Macbeth has a vision of a bloody dagger, which represents the murderous pathway on which he's about to embark in usurping the kingdom. A simple item doesn't have to stay just a deadweight on the page. It can become something more, something that represents the emotional baggage of the story and the characters. It can foreshadow things to come and bring up critical things of the past that have bearing on the scenes going on right now. 

[The Broken Wand; source]

So how do you use emotional symbols in your story? Look through your scenes and find significant items. Is there a pen for signing a marriage or betrothal decree or possibly a law if you're writing about a king? The pen could stay just a deadweight, just a thing. Or it could become something monumental and terrifying, something that reminds the protagonist of a threat of the past. Percy Jackson's pen becomes a sword, a symbol of power and might and a tie to the Olympian gods. The various wands that pass through Harry Potter's hands rarely remain just pieces of wood. They're tied to power of different kinds, dark or light. The sorting hat symbolizes his choice between light and darkness. His friend, Ron's, broken wand becomes a symbol for his broken life and his struggles with everything. 

[Your Writing-source]

Look at how your favorite authors use symbols. How do objects work beyond just the surface level? Does a weapon stay just a weapon, or does it become something more? Does it remind the character of the trauma or loss of the past or obligations of the future? Both? What deeper meaning can you bring into simple objects in your story to make the scene mean more? 

A Focus on the Future

[The future; source]

I've been blogging for over seven years on how to write in a more meaningful and literary fashion. One important technique is to hint at what is to come in the story. It keeps the narrative and the reader focused on the end or at least the next step. It also can hint at some kind of fate or destiny, to make that future feel bigger and more important than just one character. There are multiple ways to do that. 

[Prophecies; source]

The most obvious way to point to the future of the story is through a prophecy. 20+ years ago, almost every story featured some plucky child of prophecy. The protagonist may have been princes, princesses, wizards, peasants, knights, or just a regular human, but they all featured prominently in a prophecy. Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and so many others appeared prominently in a prophecy. In the case of Harry Potter, he was one of two who could have fulfilled the prophecy. One way or another, many characters are made special and unique through the prophecy trope. 

[Foreseeing the future; source]

Some still do today, though child of prophecy has fallen out of favor mostly because this trope has been so overused. There's often no meaning or depth to this prophecy, just a trick of the narrative that arbitrarily singles out one character above all others. This is no longer a recommended trope; however, prophecy can still used on occasion. If you're going to use it, I'd recommend finding a way to be subtle, more like signs and foretellings point to events happening or a nebulous prophecy that doesn't explicitly point to one character being a child or prophecy. Better yet, it can be used ironically or in some new or unexpected way. 

[Romeo and Juliet; source]

A lot of literary fiction uses foretelling to hint at events to come and to direct the drama of the story. Foretelling is a technique whereby the author comes out and tells the reader what is coming, like the beginning of Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." Most people have heard the line that tells us, "A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;/Whose misadventured piteous overthrows/Do with their death bury their parents’ strife." There's no beating around the bush, no hinting. The author just tells us what's coming. 

[From question to question; source]

I read a book wherein almost every chapter starts with something like, "I didn't know then that everything was going to blow up in my face." We have a hint and then become hyperfocused on how everything will blow up. The question of how becomes the question that builds tension and excitement. The reader keeps going because no sooner is one such question answered than another appears. It carries us through. I haven't seen this a lot in modern literature, but it can be powerful when used right. 

[Foreshadowing death; source]

A more common technique even with modern fiction is foreshadowing. Hints in the world, in the narrative, in the dialogue hint at something momentous about to occur. Two characters walk through a cemetery, and the shadows touch on one of them. The cold wind sends a shudder like death down his spine. A sense of foreboding builds up in the protagonist. Everything for pages point to his death, and then, he's poisoned or some such. It feels potent, meaningful, and inevitable. The very world of the story has been preparing us for that loss, building the tension. 

Think of how you may use a focus on the future to help build tension for your reader. Is there some way to bring in prophecy, foretelling, or foreshadowing? 

The Hero's Hand

[When somebody/something else saves the day; source]

I've been blogging about writing anything in a more meaningful fashion. I once listened to a presentation at a writer's conference by Chris Heimerdinger about how the big action should somehow be done by the hero's hand. I have since then read a lot of stories in which the protagonist either overcame or participated in the overcoming of the antagonist/larger forces at work and many in which the protagonist didn't. (Spoiler alert) In Jurassic World 2, the heroine leads one monster through the city strategically to make sure another monster takes it out. She took charge of her fate and saved herself. Meanwhile, in the latest movie, the director got all the heroes of the Jurassic Park series and the ones of Jurassic World together for a dramatic climax in which...none of them did anything but stand there while the dinosaurs took each other out. No hero had to do any heroing. I can't imagine a more disappointing way for a series to end. There is a huge difference in the impact of the two kinds of narratives, and I find myself agreeing that the best stories do, indeed, give the hero a big role in the climax. 

[Hand of God; source]

It's tempting to solve all the hero's problems with deux ex machina, God in the machine. There are a lot of books out there in which some divine power either literally or figuratively saves the day. Most of the best fiction avoids this because it's too easy. Divine powers can help, but if there is no participation by the main character we have followed along the whole book, it's a major let down. The hero can resolve problems through divine aid, but what's the point of watching a hero develop skills if those skills have little to do with the resolution? 

[Luke vs Darth; source]

I actually read a book recently wherein the heroine didn't have to fight the antagonist on any level. She prayed, and the divine power in the book took care of everything. The author was probably thinking she prayed, right? But the only emotional reaction I had to the climax was disappointment. If Luke Skywalker had stood by, watching a lightning bolt come down and blast away Darth Vader or Emperor Palpatine, the movies may have died a quiet death before they become a phenomenon that has affected generations of audiences. Many have compared the force to priesthood/divine authority, in the first series, and Luke's clothing was reminiscent of a priest in "Return of the Jedi," but he used the power, himself, and/or inspired his father to do so through his actions. 

[Helpless heroines--source]

It's almost as bad when some other figure in the book steps in and solves all the problems for the main character, but this is more common. I would have much preferred Disney's "Snow White" had the protagonist actually lifted a finger to take out her evil stepmother and "Sleeping Beauty" had it been the princess to slay the dragon. Of course, one can argue Aurora's prince is a main character, too, which makes the ending somewhat better. It's only with later generations of Disney movies that the protagonist gets to face off with her antagonist, when there's an antagonist to be found. Imagine how exciting it wouldn't have been to follow Harry Potter all the way to the end only to have Dumbledore or Snape stand up to Voldemort in the end. 

[Protagonist faces the dragons: source]

Does your hero take down your antagonist or at least have a serious hand in it? They may send forth the beast that faces the dragon, resolving their story arc and showing the themselves to be master of both the under and the upper worlds. But one way or another, do yourself and the reader a favor by making sure you, the writer, don't become their worst enemy through dull writing and a hero who can't save the day in the end.