Readers love a memorable protagonist—The ones that claw their way back from the abyss. But Eva Calloway isn’t the only character that I’ve developed by shattering them to pieces. Many of my characters are built this way. Why? I believe that true transformation (especially in a Post-Apocalyptic world,) doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from destruction.

Why Breaking Matters

We’ve all read stories with vanilla characters, boring or cliché traits, and plotlines that feel like you are simply ‘going through the motions’ chapter after chapter. After that last page, you usually feel one of two things: emptiness (you felt like you should have gotten more so you pick up another book immediately and forget the last) or a level of frustration (you invested time to read something that was just ‘okay’). I’ve been there, and I tend to toss those books aside without a second thought.

But that’s not what I write. Because that’s not what I like to read. My ultimate goal is to leave a lasting impact on my readers—Make them think they’ve forgotten about The Wanderer Trilogy only to find themselves thinking of Eva at the most obscure times. And to make a dynamic character that leaves a lasting impression, I try to find balance between reality and the macabre.

Relating to Brokenness

Reading fiction is an escape from the world around us. Those who engross themselves in other worlds want to be fully immersed when they read. In the Post-Apocalyptic genre specifically, readers want to sit back and watch survivors being pushed to their limits. How do they respond to trauma? Pain? Is that relatable? Does it put perspective on our own life’s challenges? I believe there is a thought of, “At least my life isn’t that bad,” when comparing our personal stories with legends like The Wanderer.

Not to mention, humans are imperfect creatures. The world ending is a perfect example of how our imperfectness can drive even the most primal senses of our species. Self-Preservation runs rampant and laws no longer exist. Characters are driven to question their morals, accept death, and much worse. Maybe it’s our curiosity that draws us to these imaginary people, but it is definitely enticing to see (and write) how various characters develop and thrive (or perish) throughout a story.

Eva’s Journey & The Psychology Behind It

The entirety of The Wanderer Trilogy is built around Eva Calloway and how she is continuously redefined by each hardship, every battle, and constant psychological torture. These things define her very existence throughout the books.

But the Vault isn’t where her story begins. No. As you delve into the pages of Books 2 and 3 (Coming 2026), you will start to see a larger picture being painted. Eva’s backstory will be another eventual book release, adding fresh layers to an already complex character. Much like our own selves.

In life, we don’t grow because things go well. We grow because something shatters us and demands we rebuild differently. I strip many of my characters (Eva included) of what they think defines them—status, sanity, love, identity—and force them to face who they are without it. What’s left when everything safe is gone? That answer is where transformation begins.

I believe in the death of the old self. It’s not always literal, but it’s always necessary. My characters don’t “arc” in neat, tidy lines. They burn. They fall apart. They question everything, including their own existence. That’s not drama for drama’s sake—it’s a mirror of what real, lasting change looks like. We don’t evolve by clinging tighter. We evolve by letting go, even if it means losing parts of ourselves in the process. I write characters who resurrect—scarred, different, and sometimes worse.

But always more honest.

Balance the Darkness

Not everyone gets a happy ending. That’s the nature of a post-apocalyptic world. If everyone lived happily ever after, what’s the point? It wouldn’t be real.

But the brutality in my stories isn’t there just to shock. It’s not violence for its own sake. It’s about what that darkness reveals. There’s a line between emotional intensity and despair—and I walk that line on purpose. Because without contrast, pain becomes background noise. Without moments of light—small mercies, loyalty in chaos, the faint glimmer of purpose—it’s just suffering. And suffering without meaning is a waste of a story.

Not every character is rebuilt. Some stay shattered. Some lose themselves and never come back. And many truly believe they’re doing the right thing—that their cruelty serves a greater good. In their minds, the suffering they cause is justified to rebuild the world in their image. Even the worst villain believes they are the hero in their own story.

That’s the truth of my world—and, in many ways, ours. But I don’t think that ruins the reader’s experience. I think it deepens it. Because when a character does rise from the wreckage—when they claw their way back with bloodied hands and stubborn defiance—it matters. You feel it in your gut.

That’s the balance: enough hope to hold on, never enough to feel safe. For me, beauty doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from persistence, in spite of pain.

Writing Broken Characters (Properly)

First and foremost, if you are going to break a character, make it meaningful. Make it intentional. Don’t throw trauma at them because you want to add drama. It makes the story seem lazy and almost jarring for no reason. You aren’t just hurting them, you are exposing their greatest fears – not just the fear of mortality.

Physical suffering is just one facet of writing broken characters. That is just one aspect of pain, though. Mental suffering is a multi-layered ‘gold mine’ of creating a good representation of a person in this genre. Ask yourself: what does your character believe about themselves? Then challenge it. If they think they’re a protector, make them fail to protect. If they pride themselves on control, throw them into chaos. Depending on how your plot moves, you may decide to challenge multiple aspects of their persona simultaneously. Overall, break the idea they built their identity on.

Make them deny it. Make them angry. Make them bargain with external sources to have that pain taken away.

Make. It. Personal.

If the character isn’t invested in the situation or event, it does not hold nearly the same weight. Don’t just burn down a town, burn down their home. The entire world doesn’t have to burn for the impact to be great. All you have to focus on is their world.

Give them a moment where they almost don’t come back… or don’t come back at all. This is an opportunity for your character to experience the rawest form of humanity. But whether they choose to get back up or not, make sure that impact is felt for the remainder of the story. Scars matter. Trauma is forever, even if it appears like they’ve moved through it. They may have grown around it, but a deep wound is never truly healed.

Probably the most important thing of all… is to use trauma to progress your plot. If the hurt isn’t meaningful, then your readers won’t remember it. Tie it into the story later on. Create a stepping stone from that moment. Whatever you choose, it must mean something. Remember – Shock fades fast, resonance sticks.

Closing

Breaking characters isn’t about cruelty. It’s about truth. I strip away the armor so readers can see who they really are. What do they fight for when there’s nothing left? Who do they become when survival costs them everything?

Those are the moments that stay with readers. Not the battles. Not the twists. But the raw, human breaking points where something either dies or is reborn.

Book 1: Purpose Releases January 2026!