The Netflix Effect

Welcome to the show.

Today we're talking about character development and reader expectations, and why what worked twenty years ago doesn't work anymore.

I was scrolling through my favorite writing forum when I saw a question that stopped me cold: "Why do agents keep saying my characters lack depth? I've given them backstories, motivations, and clear goals. What am I missing?" The replies were all over the map. "Add more internal monologue." "Show their flaws." "Give them a dark secret." And that's when it hit me: writers are trying to solve a 2025 problem with 2005 techniques.

Let me explain what that means. For decades, writers learned character development through craft books that taught the basics: give your character wants and needs, show their flaws, create an arc. That advice built successful careers. But something changed in the last decade.

Something seismic.

Think about it: Your readers aren't comparing your novel to other novels anymore. They're comparing it to Breaking Bad. To Succession. To The Last of Us. To seventy hours of premium streaming content where characters are psychologically complex, morally ambiguous, and devastatingly real.

That's the trap. The raised bar. Your competition isn't the bestseller list. It's Peak TV. But here's the thing: not all writers are drowning in this new landscape. And not all character development methods have become obsolete. There's another way.

I turned to my AI writing coach with a confession that changed everything: "I know my character needs depth. I've read all the craft books. But when I look at Joel from The Last of Us or the Roy siblings from Succession, my protagonist feels... thin. Like I'm missing something fundamental. How do I close that gap?"

What I got back was brutal but necessary: "You're treating character development like a checklist. Backstory? Check. Flaw? Check. But premium streaming doesn't work that way. Those characters feel real because their psychology drives everything—their dialogue, their silences, their micro-reactions. You haven't excavated deep enough."

That's when I realized something: the craft books taught him what to include, but not how to discover it.

Standard character worksheets ask surface questions. What does your character want? What's their greatest fear? What's their tragic flaw? But premium storytelling asks deeper questions. What lie does your character believe about themselves?

How does their formative wound shape every relationship? What's the gap between what they think they need and what would actually heal them?

I developed a systematic method to close this gap. Think of it as the writer's authentication process—proving your character development is ethically sourced rather than surface-level invention.

Step One: Excavation Over Invention

Look at the difference between these two approaches.

Standard character development: "My character is mistrustful because of abandonment issues. This makes them push people away."

Stop. Feel that? That's a label, not a person.

Now excavation-based development: "My character tests new people by sharing something vulnerable and then watching carefully to see how they respond.

In their mind, people will eventually betray you, so you need to find out early who's safe. This belief formed when their mother left without explanation when they were seven, and their father told them, 'You can't count on anyone but yourself.'"

See the difference? One is a personality trait. The other is psychology you can write.

The key insight: Readers experience characters through specific, observable behavior—not through abstract labels. Premium streaming understands this. Your novel should too.

Step Two: The Psychological Architecture Test Not every character detail creates depth. Even if it's interesting. Even if it came from a craft book exercise.

I learned to use three tests:

The Behavioral Lock Test: Does this psychological element explain specific, recurring actions your character takes? If you can't trace a direct line from the psychology to the behavior, you haven't found the architecture yet.

The Inevitable Choice Test: When your character faces a crucial decision, does their psychology make that choice feel inevitable? If they could go either way, their psychology isn't strong enough to drive the story.

The Recognition Test: Would readers who know people like this recognize the authenticity? Premium TV characters feel real because their psychology rings true. Your character should pass the same test. Every piece of character psychology should make readers think 'Of course they'd do that' while also breaking their hearts a little.

Step Three: The Ethical AI Collaboration Method Here's where AI becomes transformative—when used ethically. Look at the standard approach: "AI, write me a character backstory for a detective with trust issues." That's conflict AI. You're outsourcing the work. The result might look complete, but it's not yours. Now the ethical approach: I asked my AI coach, "I know my character tests people before trusting them. What psychological framework would help me understand what belief drives that testing behavior?"

The AI responded with the therapist's question: "What would someone have to believe about the world for testing to feel necessary rather than optional?" That question unlocked discovery. I wasn't accepting AI-generated content. I was using AI as a Socratic partner to access what I already intuitively knew about my character. Do you see the difference?

One erodes your creative instincts. The other amplifies them. Think about what happens when you develop characters ethically with AI: It doesn't generate backstory for you—it asks questions that help you excavate psychology you hadn't articulated. It doesn't tell you what your character should want—it helps you discover the gap between want and need that creates dramatic tension. It doesn't write dialogue—it helps you hear your character's voice more clearly by exploring how their psychology shapes their word choices.

That's the difference between conflict AI and ethically sourced AI collaboration.

One makes you dependent on generation. The other makes you a stronger writer. One produces characters that feel borrowed. The other helps you create characters that feel discovered. One creates writing you can't fully claim. The other amplifies your authentic creative instincts. Readers face the same dilemma with every novel they pick up: Is this character as complex as the ones I'm watching on screen?

Some character development creates psychological depth that rivals premium TV. Others... well, let's just say the characters feel thin by comparison. The streaming industry solved this with writers' rooms, showrunners who understand psychology, and seventy hours to explore complexity. Novelists need our own process too.

My AI coach compressed what might have been years of learning into focused months. Here's why: Immediate Socratic questioning that surfaces psychology beneath surface traits. Systematic excavation methods that move from observable behavior to formative wounds. The ability to test whether psychology creates inevitable choices or just interesting backstory. Unlimited patience for iteration until characters feel as real as the ones dominating prestige television. But here's what matters most:

The AI didn't create the character. It asked questions that helped Ted discover the character he'd been carrying in his imagination all along. Lisa Cron says readers don't come to stories for beautiful prose. They come to watch characters struggle with problems that matter. She's right.

Writers who develop characters from fear of not being deep enough often pile on traits and backstory without psychological coherence.

The solution isn't abandoning character development or accepting that TV will always win. It's learning to excavate psychology at the depth that makes characters feel as real on the page as they do on screen. Your character's psychology should drive your story, not decorate it.

The question is: How will you source your character development?

Your readers are waiting for characters as complex as the ones they're binging on streaming—not surface-level protagonists dressed up with backstory.

See you in the next podcast.