Step-By-Step Guide To Becoming The Protagonist

We’re all the main characters in our own lives. Only you can live your story.

When you passed off that loud gas as squeaky trousers—

All you, buddy.

When you asked your crush out and the whole school laughed?

Probably shouldn’t have cried, but you still commanded centre stage.

Even now, while you’re reading instead of filling out those forms, I’m happy to aid in the break—but the intermission? That was your call.

For most of us, we can only experience life through our own eyes.

And for the rest?

They’re in the headlines after a botched cornea transplant—the kind you find advertised for a million pesos on a crumpled flier.

So yeah—we’re all intractably us, and we all have our stories to tell. But let’s face it: when it comes time to pull the sword from the stone, slay the dragon, or rescue the princess—or prince—you’re always last off the bench.

(Just don’t go asking what team you’re trying out for)

It’s time to change that.

I’m here to help.

Here is Bardic Planet’s step-by-step guide to becoming the protagonist.

Step 1: Tragify Your Origins

Mum and dad.

Dad and mum.

You love them. They love you. Always there—shouting encouragement, showing right from wrong, pushing you to be your best.

Sure, they embarrassed you sometimes, but deep down, you knew they wanted what was best for you.

Or so you thought.

Turns out, every family outing, every sports day, every polite clap during your haunting performance as the bush in the school play (the year they ran out of stage crew spots) all of it was part of a secret campaign—

To keep you from greatness.

It brings no pleasure for me to tell you this, but if you want to be the hero, your parents?

Yeah…

They’re Chapter One cannon fodder now.

Now, unless you’re going the villain protagonist route, I don’t recommend you do it yourself. Doing it right is tricky—but it can be done.

Get in deep with the wrong crowd: gun runners, drug dealers, heavy hitters. Or maybe join a cult that worships expired yogurt—your parents will intervene, trust me on this.

From there, step back and let the plot do its job.

You’ll feel bad for a while, but let it drive you.

And if it all gets too much, just remember—nothing says “I love you” like a revenge subplot.

Step 2: Get Yourself a Questionable Mentor

So, you’ve done in your folks and think it’s time for the big leagues?

Heh!

Foolish child…

YOU. ARE. NOT. READY.

Not even close… Okay, maybe you’re close—but only because I have a word count to stick to.

Harry Potter has his Dumbledore.

Daredevil has Stick.

And do you think Antonio Banderas could’ve swashbuckled his way through Zorro without that other Zorro bloke from that movie you only know because your parents had VHS?

He wouldn’t dream.

Dated references aside, the point still stands—you need a mentor.

It doesn’t much matter what your shtick will be.

Whether you’re aiming for the brooding, crime-fighting type—the kind who stalks the night dressed like a furry, aghast at using bullets but perfectly fine with pummelling a pickpocket into the madhouse. (They didn’t go crazy until after Batman gave them brain damage.) Or if your thing’s to be more mystical/magical, you’re going to need the same thing:

A teacher.

Wise.

Skilled.

And just a tad bit deranged.

You know the type. They’ll put you through your paces, push every limit there is. And if they have a mild drinking problem, you’ll know they really know their stuff.

But honestly, don’t get too caught up in the particulars of their flaw. As long as it’s theirs, and they’re secretive, brooding, and borderline abusive, you can be confident they’ll take your schooling seriously.

One can only hope they’ll take it just as seriously as the gang of old enemies who’ll turn up at your door because you had the audacity to share a table with them.

Step 3: Refuse the Call to Adventure… But Find Yourself In One Anyway

You just want a normal life.

I mean, you don’t—but shh. Don’t let the writers hear you. It’ll ruin the whole arc.

Fortunately for you, refusing the call never actually works.

At best, you’ll slam the door on a robed stranger, only to trip over the plot on your way to buy milk.

At worst, you’ll wake up mid–dragon siege, wondering why your mentor’s enemies keep asking about you by name.

Either way, congratulations—you’re adventuring now. And you didn’t even get to finish your cornflakes.

The trick is to really sell your reluctance.

They say a good story thrives on conflict. What they didn’t say—but really should—is that the writers are sadists.

You think they killed “the one” to drum up sales?

Don’t be so naïve—they just thirst for your tears.

Give it to us them… just as your parents’ blood nourishes our their hunger!

Step 4: Assemble Your Motley Crew (The Worse, the Better)

At this stage, you’re well on your way to becoming the protagonist—but you’re not there yet, and there are still hurdles waiting to trip you.

You need allies. But here’s the trick:

If they’re too inept, you risk sliding into the grunt role—the kind of idiot side character who can drown just by looking up during a drizzle.

If they’re too competent, and their tragic backstory rivals yours, they could steal the spotlight right out from under you.

You want decent allies—but with their share of dysfunctions. In a pinch, they’re strangely useful, but they’d never save the day alone.

If you’re going super-heroic, pick the lad who can stretch or the one who only hits trick shots with a bow.

If you’re going fantasy, the healer’s always a safe bet—especially if she’s terrified of blood and prone to fainting at dramatic moments. Bonus points if her cure spells cause mild organ failure.

Remember: if a potential recruit has both a tragic past and a mysterious aura, reject them immediately.

That’s main character energy, and there’s only room for one.

Step 5: Face the Betrayal, Win the Day, Milk the Sequel

You’ve got the dead parents, the sketchy guru (probably dead now too—mentors don’t last long), the forced quest, and a ragtag band of misfits who, for reasons beyond mortal comprehension, haven’t ditched you yet.

Now comes the fun part.

The big reveal.

Turns out your mentor was the villain all along.

Or your best ally.

Or—plot twist—the villain’s you, staring back from the mirror with that smug “I knew it” grin.

Doesn’t matter.

The point is, betrayal is the MSG of heroism: without it, you’re just a schmuck with a sword and unresolved parental trauma.

Storm the castle, duel the dragon, or hack the mainframe—whatever your genre demands.

Pro tip: when the final boss monologues about their grand plan, nod like you’re impressed. Then, mid-sentence, interrupt with your tragic backstory. It’ll throw them off, buy you time, and remind everyone who’s narrating this mess.

Win the day, save the world, get the girl/guy/dragon (no judgment).

But remember: true protagonists don’t retire. They fade out on a sequel hook—staring into the sunset, wondering if that shadowy figure is a new threat, a returning enemy… or just the pizza guy with your order.

Congratulations, champ. You’re the hero now.

But deep down? We both know you’re still that kid who cried in front of the school. And that’s okay—it’s what makes your story worth reading.

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