Key Similarities of Positive, Negative, and Flat Character Arcs

If you’re like me, you’ve probably spent a lot of time analyzing character arcs—breaking them into Positive, Negative, and Flat like a good little narrative scientist. But here’s the thing: the more I study these arcs, the more I realize they’re way more alike than they are different.

And that’s not just a cute writer insight. It has huge implications for how we design characters who feel real, cohesive, and emotionally resonant—regardless of what kind of journey they’re on.

When you look past the surface outcomes (growth, decay, or steadiness), what you’ll find underneath is a shared skeleton: they’re all wrestling with the same internal engine—the Lie vs. the Truth.

That’s what this article is about. Not the direction of the arc, but the mechanics that power all of them. And once you see how deep those similarities run, it’ll change how you approach character arcs completely.

The Shared Spine – Internal Conflict, Lie vs. Truth

Let’s start with the real heartbeat of any character arc: the internal conflict between what the character believes (the Lie) and what’s actually true (the Truth).

This might sound familiar—because it is. But I’m going to argue that we’ve underestimated just how foundational this dynamic is across every arc type, not just the Positive one. Too often, we treat the Lie vs. Truth structure as exclusive to growth arcs, like it only matters if someone is changing. But Flat and Negative arcs depend on this exact same engine, just with different gears.

Take the Positive Arc. Classic stuff, right? The protagonist starts off believing something false—usually about themselves, other people, or the world. The story challenges that belief until, by the climax, they’ve embraced a more authentic truth.

Example: Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. He believes his honor depends on capturing the Avatar and earning his father’s approval. The truth? His honor comes from choosing his own path. And we see him wrestle with that internal war constantly.

But now let’s look at a Negative Arc, like Walter White from Breaking Bad. He also starts with a Lie: “I’m doing this for my family.” The Truth—that he’s feeding his ego and chasing power—is there all along, and the story keeps putting it in front of him. The difference is that he rejects that truth every time he gets close to it. But the internal war is still the same shape.

Then there’s the Flat Arc, which people often misinterpret as “no arc at all.” That’s a huge miss. In a Flat Arc, the protagonist already knows the Truth, and their role is to challenge the Lie embedded in the world around them.

One of my favorite examples is Furiosa in Mad Max: Fury Road.

She doesn’t change—she knows that Immortan Joe’s world is broken from the start. But she’s surrounded by characters (Max, the Wives, Nux) who are caught in Lies, and her belief in something better ends up transforming them. So again, Lie vs. Truth is still the beating heart, even if it’s projected outward instead of inward.

Here’s what all three arc types have in common at their core:

There’s a central, thematic belief system being tested.
That belief has real emotional weight—it’s tied to pain, shame, trauma, hope.
The story forces the character (or world) to confront the tension between the false belief and the reality.

And maybe most importantly?

The climax always revolves around a choice. A decision to embrace the Truth, stay trapped in the Lie, or challenge others to see what the character already knows.

So if you’ve ever outlined a Negative arc and wondered why it still felt “emotional,” or written a Flat arc that surprised you with how dramatic it was—this is why. The emotional propulsion comes from the same Lie/Truth conflict. That shared spine is what makes arcs resonate, even when the outcomes diverge wildly.

Once I started approaching character arcs this way, it made the process less about picking a category and more about mapping the inner war. And suddenly, every arc felt more alive.

Structural Commonalities Across All Arcs

Alright, so we’ve talked about the Lie vs. Truth engine that powers all arcs. Now let’s zoom out and look at structure—the plot beats, the external triggers that force internal change (or resistance to change).

Here’s something I’ve noticed over the years: every major arc—Positive, Negative, or Flat—hits the same key structural milestones. Not similar. Not sort of overlapping. I’m saying they’re basically identical in form. The difference? What the character does at each stage, especially in relation to the Truth.

Let’s break it down.

1. The Lie is Established Early

Every arc opens with a protagonist who believes something fundamentally untrue. This isn’t just a worldview—it’s a coping mechanism, often shaped by trauma, culture, or environment.

Positive Arc: Think Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice—her Lie is that she can judge others accurately based on first impressions.
Negative Arc: Macbeth believes he must seize power to fulfill his destiny.
Flat Arc: Katniss Everdeen already believes the Capitol is corrupt—her Truth is firm, but everyone around her has bought the Lie.

This stage is about laying groundwork. Without a clearly defined Lie, the rest of the structure can’t land emotionally.

2. The Inciting Incident Disrupts the Status Quo

This is the first real external disruption that starts to pressure the character’s belief system. It’s usually subtle—it doesn’t destroy the Lie, but it pokes holes in it.

Elizabeth meets Darcy. He’s proud, yes, but not quite the villain she assumes.
Macbeth hears the witches’ prophecy—seeds of ambition take root.
Katniss volunteers for Prim. Her Truth is tested in a higher-stakes arena.

3. First Plot Point: The Stakes Get Personal

Here’s where the story stops nudging and starts demanding action. The Lie begins to clash with new information, new relationships, or new power structures.

This beat forces the character into the “new world” of Act II. Importantly, the Lie still holds strong here—but it’s under pressure.

4. Midpoint Shift: A Glimpse of the Truth

The midpoint is criminally underrated. This is where the character experiences a moment of clarity, even if they don’t fully accept it.

Elizabeth reads Darcy’s letter—suddenly, her judgment isn’t so infallible.
Macbeth becomes king, but he’s still terrified. Power didn’t fix the insecurity.
Katniss sees Peeta’s strategy—empathy as rebellion—and begins to mirror it.

The Truth is present here, illuminated in some way. What the character does with that glimpse defines the arc’s future direction.

5. The Crisis/Climax: Belief is Tested Through Action

This is where the arc cashes in. The character must make a choice—and that choice reveals their alignment with the Lie or Truth.

Elizabeth confesses she was wrong.
Macbeth doubles down and murders more people.
Katniss threatens a suicide pact to undermine the Games.

All three are choosing, in dramatically different ways, based on what they believe now.

6. The Resolution: The World Reflects the Choice

The final pages show us the cost and consequences of that choice. The Lie has either been shed, consumed the character, or been challenged in the world around them.

This is the part that often fools people into thinking the arcs are wildly different. But really, they’re just executing the final beat differently. The path—the structure—is the same.

So if you’ve ever felt stuck trying to outline a Negative or Flat arc, try this: use the same beats you’d use for a Positive arc. Just flip the character’s reactions at key decision points.

You’ll be amazed how well it works. And it keeps you focused on the internal journey, not just plot events.

Emotional Stakes and Audience Investment – A Universal Blueprint

Here’s something I’ve learned the hard way: structure alone doesn’t make a character arc land. You can hit all the right beats and still end up with a flat, forgettable protagonist. Why? Because you forgot the part that actually makes people care—emotional stakes.

Let’s get into what that means, and why it’s absolutely universal across all arc types.

The Arc Isn’t About Change—It’s About Struggle

This might sound weird, but hear me out: people don’t connect to character change—they connect to emotional conflict.

It’s Zuko trying to please a father who will never love him.
It’s Walter White choking on his own self-justification.
It’s Katniss trying to protect innocence in a world built on spectacle and death.

We’re watching them wrestle. And whether they rise, fall, or hold firm, it’s the emotional cost of that battle that gets us.

Conflict Has to Be Personal

The Lie needs to be more than a bad idea. It needs to be intimately tied to the character’s emotional history.

Think of it like this: if the Lie was easy to let go of, the story would be over in 10 pages.

In Inside Out, Joy’s Lie is that sadness has no value. But she doesn’t just believe that randomly. Her whole purpose is to protect Riley from pain. That’s what makes her arc so poignant—it’s rooted in love and fear. That emotional foundation makes her eventual surrender to Sadness devastating and beautiful.

This is true whether your arc is Positive, Negative, or Flat.

Stakes Come From What the Character Stands to Lose

At each turning point, the audience should feel the cost of the choice—not just in terms of plot, but identity.

In a Positive Arc, the cost is often ego, pride, or security.
In a Negative Arc, it’s often integrity, connection, or soul.
In a Flat Arc, it’s the burden of standing alone in truth, risking rejection or death.

That’s why Flat arcs aren’t boring. They’re heroic in a completely different way. Holding on to a Truth when everything pressures you to give in? That’s as high-stakes as it gets.

Emotional Mirrors Amplify the Arc

Want to supercharge the emotional impact of your arc? Surround your protagonist with characters at different points in the Lie/Truth spectrum.

Max in Fury Road is still in survival mode—his arc brushes up against Furiosa’s clarity.
Luke Skywalker is surrounded by people stuck in the old ways—Han, Leia, Vader.
In Breaking Bad, Jesse is Walter’s emotional mirror—he wants redemption, and that contrast makes Walter’s descent hit harder.

By creating relational friction, you get to explore the arc from multiple angles. This reinforces the central theme without having to hammer it.

Readers Don’t Want Happy or Sad Endings—They Want Earned Ones

This is where everything we’ve talked about converges. Your readers don’t care if the arc is positive, negative, or flat as long as the ending feels emotionally justified.

A fall from grace hurts because we understand what it cost.
A redemptive arc lands because we saw the depth of the darkness first.
A character who stays firm becomes a legend because we saw how hard it was to hold the line.

If your audience feels like the emotional math checks out, they’ll follow you anywhere—even to an unhappy place.

Final Thoughts

The next time you’re sketching out a character arc, try ignoring whether it’s supposed to be “positive” or “negative” or “flat.” Instead, start with the Lie, build the Truth, map the emotional stakes, and let the structure emerge from the choices your character makes.

Because once you really get how much these arcs have in common, you’ll realize they’re all just different answers to the same core question:
What does it cost to believe in something—and what happens when that belief is tested?