Best Ways To Create Unruly Characters
The clean, well-behaved character arc is boring as hell.
At this point, we’ve all read and written a dozen of them. What actually sticks—the ones that define our voice—are the unruly characters. The ones who wreck the scene, derail the plan, and make readers question if they’re rooting for the right person.
But I don’t mean “unruly” as in random or edgy for the sake of it. I’m talking about characters who refuse to follow the narrative etiquette we’ve come to expect. They’re unpredictable, but not chaotic.
They’re messy, but weirdly magnetic. And best of all? They end up saying something real—about us, about society, or about the truth we’re not supposed to write out loud.
If you’ve already mastered structure, pacing, and arcs, it’s time to push into that more dangerous territory: creating unruly characters that only you could write.
What Actually Makes a Character Unruly (It’s Not Just Attitude)
Okay, so here’s the trap a lot of seasoned writers fall into (I’ve done it too): thinking that giving a character a dark sense of humor, a substance problem, or a rebellious quirk makes them “unruly.” Nope.
That’s just dressing. If their internal compass still aligns neatly with the world’s moral rules—or worse, with the story’s expectations—they’re not truly unruly. They’re just cosplaying as trouble.
Real unruliness starts in the wiring.
It’s not surface-level behavior; it’s how the character fundamentally resists alignment with narrative norms.
They don’t just “refuse the call.” They laugh at it. They derail the mentor. They burn the map. And they do it because their inner truth is sharper and more inconvenient than what the plot is offering.
Here’s what I’ve found defines the truly unruly:
1. They’re Running on Conflict—Not Just Facing It
Most characters react to conflict.
Unruly ones generate it. Think of Fleabag from Fleabag (obviously). Her every interaction complicates something—often without intent. She’s not just in conflict with others; she’s allergic to emotional honesty.
That tension between what she says and what she won’t say creates a constant low-grade chaos.
Even better: she’s fully aware of it. She stares down the camera, dares you to judge her, and dares herself to care. That level of self-awareness doesn’t tame her—it amplifies her unruliness.
2. Their Psychology Doesn’t Fit the Plot’s Expectations
This one’s subtle. You can write an entire story about someone doing “bad” things and still have it feel narratively tidy.
But when a character’s emotional logic refuses to cooperate, it creates tension not just with other characters, but with the reader’s moral compass.
Take John Self in Martin Amis’ Money. The dude is a disaster. He’s grotesque, self-destructive, manipulative. But what makes him fascinating isn’t just the mess—it’s that his internal logic almost makes sense.
We hate that we understand him. That’s what unruliness does—it pulls us into discomfort. And for us writers, that’s gold.
3. They Hurt the Structure—and You Let Them
This is the one most of us avoid, even if we say we don’t.
We’ve all had that unruly character that we reined in, not because we wanted to, but because the structure demanded it. The trick is learning to bend the structure around them—not the other way around.
One technique I use is this: give your unruly character a choice that breaks the story’s forward momentum. Force the plot to pause or swerve. If it feels like they just knocked over your Jenga tower, good.
Now build from that pile.
That’s the kind of writing that changes your voice.
Think of Tony Soprano. His therapy sessions should push his growth forward. But half the time, they halt it. He resists healing. He delays change. And somehow, the audience stays glued to it.
That’s not just great writing—that’s a structural gamble that paid off.
4. They Embody Your Personal Contradictions
Last one—and this one hurts (in a good way): the unruliest characters often reflect the parts of us we don’t know what to do with. The hypocrisy, the anger, the grief we’ve intellectualized but never truly processed.
This is where the work becomes deeply personal. For me, the characters I’ve written that made readers pause—or even flinch—weren’t based on wild personalities.
They were grounded in private contradictions I’d spent years dancing around.
If you’ve ever felt weirdly exposed after writing a scene, you’re doing it right.
Unruly characters aren’t just interesting—they’re revealing. They fight the story, and in doing so, reveal something the story didn’t even know it was hiding. That’s where the magic is.
Six Tools I Use to Build Characters That Break the Rules
At this point, let’s get a bit more practical. You know the why, you know the what—now let’s talk how.
Here are six character tools I’ve used repeatedly to build unruly characters that stick. Not just memorable, but defining. The kind of characters people bring up years later, asking, “Wait, how did you come up with them?” Spoiler: it wasn’t luck. It was method and a little chaos.
1. Start with the Rule They Break
Every unruly character breaks something. But instead of just tossing in random defiance, start with one specific rule—narrative, moral, or social—that your character simply won’t follow.
Is it loyalty? Is it honesty? Is it monogamy, genre convention, likability, the three-act structure?
For example, in House of Cards, Frank Underwood breaks a narrative rule: the fourth wall. But it’s not just a gimmick—it’s a form of control. He’s telling you, the viewer, that you’re on his side, whether you like it or not. That’s a calculated breaking of form that supports character, not just flash.
Find the rule your character refuses to obey—and use that as your anchor.
2. Inject Controlled Impulse
Here’s a trick: don’t make your character completely unpredictable—make them unpredictable in predictable ways.
Think of them as a storm with a pattern. Their behavior should surprise others but not you. You, the writer, should understand the emotional weather system driving it.
For instance, in Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects, Camille Preaker is impulsive in self-destructive ways—but that impulse always ties back to a need for control over her pain. Every reckless moment has an emotional blueprint.
If you can explain the pattern behind their impulse, readers will stay with them, no matter how wild it gets.
3. Use Dialogue as a Weapon
Unruly characters speak differently. It’s not just snark or edge—it’s often about disruption. They derail conversations, poke at emotional wounds, or say the one thing everyone is avoiding.
A great example is Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. His dialogue doesn’t just deliver info—it undermines the situation. He’s in a world of lies and power games, and his speech constantly pricks at the pretense.
If your character is unruly, don’t let their lines serve the plot too cleanly. Use them to unsettle, distract, or provoke—and see how that changes the energy of the scene.
4. Create Characters Who Can’t Rein Them In
I used to think that every unruly character needed a solid “opposite” to balance them out—a conscience or moral anchor. But that’s too neat. What they really need are characters who try—and fail—to contain them.
In Breaking Bad, Jesse Pinkman isn’t just a foil to Walt. He wants to stop Walt from going darker, but he can’t. His moral struggle actually amplifies Walt’s descent. Every failed attempt to rein him in makes Walt feel more untouchable.
Give your unruly character allies, mentors, or even lovers who try to be guardrails—and then show them failing. That tension is storytelling fuel.
5. Let Them Wound the Plot
Here’s one of my favorite techniques: let your character’s actions hurt the story. Not the story in a bad way—but the structure. The rhythm. The plan.
Most well-behaved characters push the story forward like clockwork. Unruly ones knock it sideways.
Have you seen Uncut Gems? Howard, played by Adam Sandler, makes decisions that actively sabotage momentum. He dodges catharsis. He refuses resolution. He delays payoff in the worst—and most addictive—ways. That’s what makes the movie feel unruly, not just the man himself.
Let your character delay, complicate, or outright break what’s “supposed” to happen.
6. Know Their Breaking Point—But Don’t Show It Yet
A great unruly character often seems indestructible… until they’re not. The key is to know exactly where they’ll break—but hold that moment back until the pressure builds just right.
Think about Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. We spend so much time seeing his creepy resilience, his schemes, his obsession. But the true breaking point is heartbreak—his final, almost tender moment with the ring before he falls. You don’t see that coming until it’s too late.
If you know where your character ends emotionally, you can backtrack and load tension into every scene. That moment will hit harder when it finally lands.
These six tools aren’t just tricks—they’re ways to sculpt resistance into your story. Unruliness isn’t just about behavior. It’s about how a character forces the entire narrative to orbit them differently.
How Unruly Characters Become a Part of Your Voice
Let’s zoom out for a second.
The more I’ve written, the more I’ve noticed that my unruly characters tend to show up with similar DNA. They might live in different worlds or genres, but they all carry bits of the same emotional wiring.
That’s not a coincidence—it’s a voice. My voice. And yours, too.
They’re Telling on You (And That’s the Point)
Here’s the vulnerable part. Unruly characters are often you, turned inside out. They act on things you suppress. They say things you wish you could. Or they embody beliefs you’re afraid are true.
I had a character once who couldn’t stop sabotaging every good thing that came his way. I thought I was writing someone “damaged but interesting.” Turns out I was writing myself, during a time when I was doing the exact same thing—just in nicer clothes.
So if you find yourself weirdly uncomfortable with a character you’ve made, don’t back away. That’s the one you need to write more of.
They Push You to Break Your Own Rules
Once you build a truly unruly character, you’ll notice something sneaky: they start to reshape how you write. You’ll try to keep things tidy, but they’ll want to take a detour. And sometimes, if you’re smart, you’ll let them.
Cormac McCarthy broke entire narrative conventions with characters like Anton Chigurh. The man is a philosophical void. He doesn’t change. He doesn’t follow the arc. But somehow, the book still works. Not because of plot, but because McCarthy let the character lead.
You don’t have to go full-noir-laconic like him. But be open to characters who don’t care about structure. Let them teach you new shapes.
They Become Your Signature
Eventually, these unruly characters become the reason people read you. They can feel when a writer has something to say but refuses to say it cleanly. Readers are smart—they pick up on when you’re holding back. And they really lean in when they feel you’re letting it rip.
Think of writers like Ottessa Moshfegh or Denis Johnson. Their characters are uncomfortable, disjointed, often hard to love—but they’re unmistakably theirs. You can’t copy that. You can only build your own.
So pay attention to who your unruly characters are. They might just be the clearest signal of your artistic identity.
Final Thoughts
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: when an unruly character shows up, don’t tame them—follow them. Even when they’re inconvenient. Especially when they’re inconvenient.
They’re not just chaos agents. They’re mirrors, disruptors, and emotional GPS systems. They mess with your story because they know where it really needs to go.
And when you let them lead?
That’s when your writing starts sounding less like anyone else—and more like you.
