Every January, millions of people decide to change themselves.
They’ll wake up earlier, drink less, work harder, scroll less, or finally learn to play the piano. We call these decisions resolutions, but structurally they’re something much simpler: attempts to change a Habit.
That also happens to be the foundation of a good story.
When a Protagonist succeeds at changing their Habit, you’re writing a Comedy. When they fail—when they cling to the behavior that once protected them—you’re writing a Tragedy. (Learn more about Comedies vs Tragedies in the Tale Spinning Fundamentals Course)
In storytelling, the attempt to change a Habit is the story. Not the goal, not the dream, not even the Protagonist’s talent, but the slow, painful, sometimes funny, sometimes impossible process of unlearning a behavior that no longer serves them. Understanding the difference between a Habit (something a character can change) and a Trait (something they can’t) doesn’t just clarify motivation—it allows a story to feel inevitable rather than arbitrary.
Nature vs. Nurture
The difference between a Habit and a Trait is easiest to spot in animated films, where character design is explicit and metaphorical:
- In Ratatouille, Remy cannot stop being a rat (Trait), but he can stop behaving like one—stealing, hiding, lying, and eating trash (Habits).
- In Finding Nemo, Marlin can’t do anything about being the smallest creature in the ocean (Trait), but he can stop cowering and start trusting others (Habit).
- In Wall-E, Wall-E can’t do anything about being a robot (Trait), but he can stop blindly following his programming and start acting on his emotions (Habit).
The same distinction exists in non-fairytale stories, though it’s often harder to see:
- In The Game, Nicholas can’t change being a rich, powerful man, but he can stop the behaviors that come with it—arrogance, detachment, paranoia.
- In The Matrix, Neo can’t change the fact that he is a human in a robot world, but he can stop hiding and start trusting his destiny.
- In In Bruges, Ken can’t change being a contract killer, but he can stop outsourcing his moral judgment to his boss.
A Habit is something a character can learn or unlearn. A Trait is something so ingrained it belongs to their Archetype—and cannot be learned or unlearned.
What do they set out to do?
The key difference between you and your New Year’s Resolution, and a Protagonist at the start of their story, is awareness.
You know which Habit you’re trying to change. A Protagonist doesn’t. They usually set out to achieve something entirely different—and they don’t believe their behavior is a problem at all. In fact, their Bad Habit often feels like the only way to survive the world they live in. (Learn more about what a Protagonist sets out to do in the Tale Spinning Fundamentals Course)
Marlin is the smallest creature in the ocean, so he believes hiding is safety.
Ken is just a hired gun, so he believes obedience is survival.
Only much later do they discover that what’s been holding them back isn’t their Nature, but their Behavior.
As you can see in the examples above, the Protagonist doesn’t become the Hero of their story until they change their behavior. When someone they love is in danger they realize that the only way to save them is to (knowingly or unknowingly) kick their Bad Habit.
They find out that it wasn’t their Nature (or Trait) that was holding them back, it was their own Bad Behavior (or Habit) that was keeping them from achieving their full potential. They won’t realize this until they see absolutely no way out of the predicament they find themselves in.
Remy can’t allow his Restaurant to close and the only way to prevent this is to come clean to Ego.
Neo needs to save Morpheus and the only way to do this is to to face agent Smith one-on-one, and trust that his talent will allow him to win.
But none of these Heroes do this until the very end of the story. Until then, they fall into their Bad Habits over and over again.
Changing Habits is Hard
As you probably know, sticking to a Resolution is difficult. And for your Protagonist it needs to be almost undoable. It is this changing of a Habit that the audience admires a Protagonist for. (Remember this the next time you want to give up on your Resolution. ;)
Think about it this way; we learn about 2 minutes into Ratatouille that Remy is an amazing cook. We don’t really see how he learns that skill, so we don’t really admire him for that. We only consider him a Hero when he comes clean about who he is. We admire the bravery that he shows, not the talent he was born with.
Comedy vs Tragedy
The heroic turn at the end of the story is much more rewarding when it feels like the Protagonist is taking a real risk. And as most stories teach us; the Universe rewards change. It rewards risk taking and it punishes characters that play it safe and that keep doing what they always have been doing. (Learn more about the different kinds of Universes in the Tale Spinning Fundamentals Course)
Consider Training Day; Who takes the most risk? Jake or Alonzo? Alonzo is the one that refuses to change his ways and thus he deserves to get punished and dies a tragic death.
As you can see, most stories are about a character either changing, or refusing to change their Habits, while often the character itself thinks they are being challenged to change their nature instead of their behavior.
Yet deep down the audience knows that “you can’t change who you are”. Keep that in mind the next time you start writing a story. A well written story Universe judges characters on their behavior, not on their traits. This also means that a well written Protagonist has to exhibit some sh*tty behavior in the beginning.
The dream doesn’t change. The talent doesn’t change.
Only the habit does.
Why Resolutions (and Stories) So Often Fail
If changing Habits is so fundamental to good storytelling, why do so many real-life resolutions—and fictional character arcs—fall flat?
Because we tend to aim at the wrong target.
Most failed resolutions try to change a Trait instead of a Habit.
“I’ll be more confident.”
“I’ll be less anxious.”
“I’ll finally become disciplined.”
But confidence, anxiety, and discipline aren’t switches you can flip. They’re often downstream effects of behavior. A story—or a resolution—that focuses on who someone wants to become instead of what they need to stop doing rarely has anything concrete at stake.
The same mistake shows up in weak scripts: characters announce growth, but never unlearn anything. They don’t stop lying. They don’t stop hiding. They don’t stop deflecting responsibility. Without a specific Habit to break, there’s nothing for the Universe to test—and no reason for the ending to feel earned.
Change Is Smaller and Harder Than We Like to Admit
The paradox of Comedy is that change is both modest and monumental.
The Protagonist doesn’t reinvent themselves. They don’t acquire a new Trait. They don’t suddenly become wiser, stronger, or better than everyone else. They simply stop doing one thing that has kept sabotaging them.
And that is harder than becoming someone new.
Stopping a Habit means giving up a strategy that once worked. It means stepping into uncertainty without the comfort of an old defense mechanism. That’s why the final choice in a Comedy feels risky—and why the audience leans forward when it happens.
The victory isn’t external. It’s behavioral.
A Better Way to Think About Character
So here’s a useful question—for writing, and maybe for January:
- What is one Trait your Protagonist cannot change?
- And what is the one Habit they keep using to protect that Trait… even when it no longer serves them?
That tension is the engine of a story.
And it’s why great Comedies feel hopeful without being naïve: they assume people can change—but only in narrow, specific, costly ways. Not by becoming someone else. But by finally letting go of the behavior that keeps them stuck.
A story doesn’t judge characters for who they are. It judges them for what they keep doing.
Once you start writing with that distinction in mind—Traits versus Habits—you’ll notice something strange: your plots tighten, your endings feel earned, and your characters start changing at exactly the scale the audience believes.
That distinction is the foundation of every Kind Universe Comedy—and it’s the lens I’ll keep returning to this year. If you want to explore how this distinction plays out across an entire story—from beginning to ending—I break it down step by step in the free Tale Spinning Fundamentals Course.
Happy New Year.
If you would like to be notified when I publish new articles like this, sign up for the Tale-Spinning newsletter below.