On Chosen Ones: A Guide to Subverting A Classic Trope

Not sure if anyone’s noticed but I’ve been less active on here recently. And while some of it has to do with the launch of the ATITW Instagram account, a huge part of it is because I’m doing yet another round of edits for my manuscript!

I have to submit it to Awais a month from now—to the day—on April 20th, and I have to go through 72,000 words of my soul and follow his feedback on what to cut, tighten, and change. It’s not fun but it is necessary. Especially since this is the round, you know. After this, I begin querying. And I really want to get to that soon.

So, naturally, while I was re-reading the manuscript, I couldn’t help but think about the chosen one trope. Especially because my protagonist falls into it. But not in the way you think she might. I mean, when you do read the story (I would LOVE it if you guys stuck around and bought a copy of my book when it comes out in 2028 or 2029 or however long it takes to publish), you might think I’m following the chosen one trope.

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I feel like it’s been overdone to the point of tears now. You have to be an especially good writer to get it right. To be honest with you, I don’t think I have the chops to write a good chosen one story. I just don’t. We all have our crosses to bear.

So, with that in mind, in this blog post, we’re going to look at the chosen one trope. We’ll do a deep dive in what the trope is, its shortcomings, and how you too can subvert this trope to make your story and protagonist more compelling.

A Closer Look At the Chosen One Trope

The chosen one trope is exactly what it sounds like. It features a singular individual—usually seemingly ordinary at first glance—who is destined, prophesied, or chosen by some form of higher power to fulfil a purpose greater than themselves. This could be anything from fulfilling an ancient prophecy to bring everlasting peace in the world to saving the princess who’s been sleeping in a tower for a hundred years to defeating the dark lord. Or fire lord, if you’re a big Avatar: The Last Airbender fan like me.

And, as Aang expresses multiple times over the course of the show, the chosen one doesn’t ask for this. They don’t do anything to earn it—they’re simply born into it. Basically, their existence hinges upon the fulfilment of this purpose.

This might seem a bit dramatic but it’s one of the oldest narrative frameworks in existence. And to be honest, I get it. Who doesn’t want to escape from their dreary product development life and read a book about being a long lost princess or the descendent of an actual, ancient bloodline that makes them the only one who can save us all from our technocrat overlords? 

I may or may not be toying with this idea. But that’s not the point. The point is, the chosen one trope is pure escapist fantasy. It’s a fun read and all, but in 2026, we all know that every conspiracy theorist was right. 

There’s no universal good or bad anymore. So, the chosen one trope—to me—feels way too fantastical and childish really to take seriously. Of course, if you think you can do it—go for it. But let’s be honest, even the fiction we consume is pretty grey. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

A Brief History of the Chosen One in Storytelling

Contrary to popular belief, the chosen one trope didn’t originate in fantasy or anything. It actually comes from myth, religion, and oral tradition. Seriously, think about it. The Epic of Gilgamesh is widely considered the world’s oldest surviving masterpiece of literature, originating in ancient Mesopotamia over 4,000 years ago. It is literally a chosen one trope.

Gilgamesh was two-thirds divine and destined for greatness before the story even began. Achilles was prophesied — glory and early death, or a long quiet life. The Arthurian legends gave us a sword in a stone and the idea that leadership was something you were born to, not something you built.

The trope moved from mythology into literature and film. The reason behind it is simple: it is psychologically satisfying. The idea that the ordinary conceals extraordinary is one of the most comforting things a human can tell themselves. This is also why people cling onto irrational theories like “lizard people” (though they might be real; Zuck—I’m watching you), Area 51 and stuff. Humans feel good when they think they’re onto something others aren’t. We feel special, as though we were divinely chosen to know the “truth” of the universe.

Side note: It took me an absurdly long time to decide what to add as an example for irrational theories. I’m still on the fence about lizard people and Area 51. I will update this if either gets confirmed. I wanted to add astrology and stones but I didn’t want to shame anyone since people find comfort in that (my mother included) and I get it. Besides, I’m a Taurus—of course, I don’t believe in it.

Why The Chosen One Trope Fails

Now that we know the origin of the chosen one trope, let’s look at why it fails. Again—if and when done right, the chosen one trope can be amazing, genre-defining, and a very valuable IP. That’s why so many writers, both new and old, lean into it. It’s a tried and tested method. It works across all genres: fantasy, horror, mystery—you name it.

But due to its versatility, it’s easy to mess up. And there are way too many books that are technically “bestsellers” but the stories are carried by spice levels, worldbuilding and a thin plot. Because the protagonist has the personality of a cardboard and if your protagonist is a cardboard, your chosen one trope fails miserably.

And that’s not the only thing. There are several reasons the chosen one trope fails.

The Agency Trap: Prophecy Turns Heroes Into Passengers

When you have a character who is “destined” to do something, the question of if they’ll do it disappears completely. And that question—will they or won’t they—is the driver of the narrative tension.

If you throw a prophecy into the mix from the get go, everyone knows what’s going to happen. Because at the end of the day, no matter what happens—no matter how hard things get—you know they’ll fulfil the prophecy.

And this is when the story stops being about choices. It becomes a narration about a series of events that were always going to happen regardless of whether the protagonist did something or not. 

The best fiction is built on agency where the protagonist’s choice alters the story. You could—of course—hold out on revealing the prophecy until much later, but that only works for series. And honestly? I’ve read way too many series where the writer lets us all know about the prophecy from the get go.

The Stakes Illusion: Destined Heroes Always Win

Expanding on the topic of destiny—or rather, pre-destination, the biggest issue I have with the chosen one trope is that only the protagonist can save everyone. It just annoys me. 

Because when your protagonist is the only one who can make things “right again,” nothing bad is ever going to happen to them. You can’t kill them off, you can’t have them make a fatal mistake. There’s no plot twist.

Writers try to solve this by killing supporting characters. And it can work — briefly — before readers clock the pattern. The chosen one’s mentor dies. Their best friend dies. Their love interest is in danger. Everyone around them is genuinely vulnerable. The chosen one is not. This creates a strange situation where the most important character in the story is simultaneously the least interesting one to put in danger. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? 

What I loved about Avatar was the threat of Aang being killed by the fire nation. Like the previous avatar was. Like the entire Air Nation was. The cycle of the Avatar made things interesting because if Aang died, the Fire Nation could just move to hunt the avatar after him. You need to raise the stakes and make your protagonist human.

Main Character Syndrome: When Everyone Else Becomes Furniture

Okay, so as I mentioned earlier, an issue that comes up with the chosen one is that they literally cannot be harmed or the entire trope collapses. And because of this, every other character is essentially a tool or piece of furniture. In fact, the only reason the supporting cast even exists is because of their relation to the protagonist: a mentor, a rival, a best friend, a love interest, and so on.

What gets lost in this is people having their own agency, their own personality and agenda. Again, now you can develop these characters but if you’re doing a standalone story, there’s only so much you can do without compromising your worldbuilding and plot…which again is tied to the chosen one.

The Emperor of Everything: When Chosen Ones Can Do No Wrong

This is something that most writers struggle with: balancing the chosen one’s destiny with their humanity. A lot of writers think that this makes their protagonist invincible. It’s not intentional—at least that’s the vibe I get. Because it explains why so many writers end up making the chosen one perfect. 

They’re automatically naturally gifted at everything: sports, school, magic—the whole nine yards. I think writers do this to try to show that there were always signs that the character was extraordinary.

But what this ends up doing is diluting the protagonist to a point where they’re just perfect for the plot’s sake. After all, they’re basically untouchable. Every wrong decision is ultimately vindicated by the plot. Characters who challenge them are proven wrong. Characters who doubt them come around. The narrative itself becomes an instrument of validation. Which readers will feel and—if you don’t develop your protagonist enough—not like it. It’s why some chosen one stories are hated while others get away with it.

If you want to learn how to write protagonists better, check out my blog post: On Writing Protagonists: How to Write Great Main Characters.

The Mary Sue Double Standard: Why Female Chosen Ones Get Punished 

I’m going to characterise this as one of the reasons why the chosen one trope doesn’t work, especially for female characters.

This is something I’ve noticed while consuming media: female chosen ones get scrutinised way more than their male counterparts. It speaks about a wider societal issue. Some of you might not have noticed it but I have, and I think it’s important to see the pattern—especially if you’re writing a female chosen one. To make sure you don’t fall into this trap, you need to understand how to write your way around it.

Rey in Star Wars

The character of Rey got a lot of backlash from Star Wars fans when if you compare them, Rey and Luke are basically the same.

Rey masters Force abilities almost immediately, defeats a trained opponent in her first lightsaber fight, and pilots the Millennium Falcon with little experience. 

The response from a significant portion of the fandom: Mary Sue. Unrealistic. Unearned.

Luke Skywalker destroyed the Death Star on his first X-wing combat mission with no formal pilot training, guided by a voice in his head. 

The response: iconic.

Carol Danvers in Captain Marvel

Carol Danvers is supremely powerful, not particularly warm, and doesn’t smile on command. 

I’d argue that literally every tough guy Marvel hero—in the comics and movies—is like that but the backlash was severe enough that Rotten Tomatoes changed its entire audience review policy before the film even released.

Why Luke and Neo Get a Pass

The double standard is not subtle once you see it. Male chosen ones are allowed to be powerful, cold, unemotional, immediately competent, and morally complicated. These traits are read as “complex” or “cool.” Female chosen ones with identical traits read as “unrealistic” or “annoying.”

Part of this is reception: you cannot fully control how an audience responds to your work. But part of it is craft. You can argue that Carol and Rey were randomly brought into extremely established series with no pretext at all. But I think that’s an excuse, because new male leads are introduced all the time and none of them got the backlash these two did. 

So the craft lesson here is this: it is not enough to give a female chosen one power. You have to make her relationship to that power the centre of the story. Not whether she has it, but what it costs her, how she misuses it, how it isolates her, how she chooses to wield it when she could choose otherwise. I’d say all chosen ones regardless of gender should have it. But you need to be careful especially with female chosen ones.

How to Subvert the Chosen One Trope for a Modern Audience

Okay, so I’ve spent the last 2,000 words explaining to you why I think this trope fails. Now let’s look at how you can turn this trope around and actually make it work for today’s exceedingly grey world.

Here’s how you can do this.

Recontextualise the Chosen Status

The simplest (and most obvious) thing you can do is take the whole “chosen” dynamic and flip it on its head. Change the who, why, what. 

The Mistaken Identity

Here’s a pitch for you: imagine a story where your protagonist has been told all their life that they’re the chosen one—the only one who can save the world. The world believes it. The prophecy, the mentor, the sacred texts all point to them. And then, at some point, it becomes clear that everyone has the wrong person.

Seriously, imagine the fallout. I mean, what does a person do when they’ve been living inside a destiny that was never theirs? Do they keep going anyway? Do they find the actual chosen one? Or, do they decide the prophecy was wrong about the right person but right about everything else?

This mistake also opens up questions about why everyone was so willing to believe it in the first place…and that’s where things get interesting.

The Accidental Hero

The prophecy wasn’t wrong. It’s just that the person who fulfilled it had absolutely no business doing so. They weren’t prepared. They weren’t even supposed to be there. The cosmic machinery of destiny selected entirely the wrong candidate and then refused to course-correct.

This subversion works best when the comedy or tragedy of the situation is taken seriously. The accidental hero isn’t funny because they’re incompetent — they’re compelling because they’re doing something genuinely hard with none of the tools they were supposed to have.

Multiple Chosen Ones

Instead of one person, there are several because of a whole bunch of reason such as:

• The prophecy is genuinely ambiguous
• Multiple candidates fit the criteria
• Different factions championing different people for political reasons

This is what George R.R. Martin has done in A Song of Ice and Fire, by the way. This removes the narrative safety net of a single destined winner. When multiple characters could plausibly be the one, the story stops being about confirmation and starts being about competition, alliance, and interpretation. It also allows you to explore what happens when chosen ones have to work together—or don’t.

Chosen Despite Shortcomings

The traditional chosen one is selected for their extraordinary gifts. This version inverts that: the character is chosen not because of what they can do, but despite the fact that they probably can’t do it. 

What they have instead is tenacity, or morality, or the willingness to do the thing nobody else will. This is quiet subversion—it shifts the definition of what makes someone worthy without dismantling the trope entirely.

Chosenness as Collective

What if there is no individual chosen one? What if the prophecy, read correctly, was always referring to a generation, a movement, a community—and the mistake everyone made was assuming it could only be one person?

This is perhaps the most politically interesting subversion available. It challenges the idea that salvation, or change, or justice can ever be the responsibility of a single body. It also tends to produce ensemble casts with genuine interiority, because nobody has to be the main event.

Dismantle the Prophecy Itself

The second thing you can do is use the prophecy as a plot device to be shaped or molded, rather than something that’s concrete. Most writers treat it as a given—a fact of the world that characters must respond to. But the prophecy itself can be the subject of scrutiny.

The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

The chosen one is only the chosen one because the prophecy said so and because people believed it. Remove the belief, and the whole structure collapses. 

The character didn’t have hidden greatness waiting to be unlocked. They were shaped, pressured, and trained into becoming what the prophecy demanded, by people who needed it to be true.

This is a deeply unsettling subversion when done well, because it raises the question of whether destiny is real or manufactured.

The False Prophecy

This is interesting especially if the prophecy starts as an absolute and it gets revealed that it was false. Maybe it was to control a population. Maybe it was to justify a war. Or, maybe it was to ensure a particular bloodline stayed in power.

The false prophecy works best as a slow reveal. The reader and protagonist believe in it for long enough that the unravelling feels like genuine betrayal.

The Prophecy as Political Tool

This is a worldbuilding question as much as a craft one, and it’s the one I think most writers skip entirely: who benefits from this prophecy existing? Here are some questions you can ask:

• Who Wrote It: Prophecies don’t appear out of nowhere. In your world, who recorded it? Who decided it was sacred? Who had access to it and who didn’t?
• Who Enforces It: Who ensures that people keep believing in it? Who punishes doubt? Who has built institutions—religious, political, military—around the prophecy’s continued authority?
• Who Benefits From It: When you map out who gains from the prophecy being believed, you start to see it not as a feature of your world’s mythology but as a mechanism of its power structure.

The Corrupted Prophecy 

Out of all these options, I think this one’s the most interesting one to explore. Especially ince we know that corruption happens over time. Say, the prophecy in your story exists, it was genuine, and it has been tampered with. 

The original text said one thing. What’s been passed down says another. And the alterations weren’t accidental. This works really well and allows you to explore themes of corruption, manipulation, and control.

Explore The Psychological Impact

Rather than show the Hero’s journey, show the psychological reality of being told, from a young age or a sudden moment, that you carry something no one else does. This completely reshapes the chosen one dynamic. Here’s what you can do.

The Chosen One Who Refuses

Have a chosen one say no. Not temporarily, not as a beat before they come around but genuinely no. And the story has to grapple with that refusal rather than resolving it. 

What does the world do when the chosen one won’t cooperate? 

What happens to a narrative structure built on inevitability when the central figure withdraws consent?

These are all questions you must answer.

Identity Collapse When the Prophecy Is Wrong

Your protagonist has spent years—possibly their whole life—understanding themselves through the lens of being chosen. Their identity, their relationships, their sense of purpose all organised around this fact. And then it turns out to be false.

The interesting story isn’t what happens next plot-wise. It’s who they are once the structure is gone. What remains of a person when the story they were living inside turns out to be fiction?

The Damage of Being Told You’re Special Before You’ve Earned It

This one is underused and it’s one of the more psychologically honest subversions available. Being told from childhood that you are extraordinary, that you carry a destiny, that you are different from everyone around you—that is not a neutral experience. 

It creates entitlement, isolation, an inability to tolerate failure, a distorted relationship with other people who were never told the same thing about themselves.

A chosen one written this way is not a hero waiting to happen. They’re a person who has been psychologically shaped by an expectation they didn’t ask for, and who may not be particularly likeable as a result.

What Comes After Saving the World

The chosen one succeeds. The prophecy is fulfilled. The world is saved. And then what?

This is the question Veronica Roth’s Chosen Ones opens with. The protagonists are five years past saving the world and none of them are okay. The thing about being chosen for a singular purpose is that singular purposes end. And nobody prepares you for who you are supposed to be once the reason for your existence has been resolved.

Show the Institutional and Social Costs

To be honest, this one is often explored in chosen one stories that are done well. Think Dune (as much as I dislike it), for example. In my opinion, this should be woven into the worldbuilding. We see this in Mockingjay as well. I’ll explain this one below.

The Chosen One as Weapon

In Mockingjay, Katniss agrees to become the symbol for District 13’s propaganda in exchange for immunity for her friends (I’m not doing spoilers in case you haven’t read the book). This is an extremely interesting dynamic because it shows how institutions— religious, governmental, military—that surround and support the chosen one operate. The propaganda, while for a good cause, reveals that things might not be as they’re being represented. And Katniss realises this towards the end of the story. 

The Machinery Behind the Crown

Every chosen one has infrastructure. Mentors, advisors, prophets, guards, scribes, believers. That infrastructure has its own motivations, its own internal politics, its own version of what the prophecy means and what the chosen one is supposed to do with it. When the chosen one and the machinery disagree, your story gets interesting.

Change Narrative Perspective

I honestly think that changing perspectives can greatly impact (and improve) your story. POVs are very important and there’s a bunch of ways you can do this.

Write from the Sidekick’s POV

In this story, the chosen one exists, but they’re not the narrator or the focus of the story. Someone else is—someone who knows them, travels with them, believes in them or doesn’t, and has a completely different relationship to the prophecy and its demands. 

This immediately humanises the chosen one by removing their access to the narrative’s validation, and it creates space for a genuinely unreliable portrait of what being chosen looks like from the outside.

Show the “Ordinary” Ones

Patrick Ness’s The Rest of Us Just Live Here is the definitive version of this. The chosen one plot is happening—you get a paragraph summary of it at the start of each chapter—but the story follows the people who aren’t in it. The ones who are aware something world-ending is going on somewhere nearby and are trying to live their ordinary lives in spite of it.

It’s a devastatingly effective reframe because it exposes something the chosen one narrative almost never acknowledges: the enormous number of people for whom the prophecy is simply someone else’s business.

Personally, this is something I’m deeply interested in exploring. Not the way Ness does it, but similar. *Cue dramatic foreshadowing.*

The Villain’s Version

Let’s be real: it’s actually quite hard to write a compelling villain. It’s way too easy to make them one dimensional and honestly, bad villains often ruin chosen one stories. But another way to approach the trope is by telling it from the villain’s perspective.

So, here’s how it would go: the antagonist has also read the prophecy, and from where they’re standing, the chosen one is not a saviour. They’re actually a threat, a tool of a corrupt system, or proof that the prophecy was always going to produce the wrong outcome. You don’t have to agree with them. But giving them a coherent reading of the same text enriches the world and complicates the chosen one’s position in it.

Change Way Powers Work

One way of tackling the case of the perfect chosen one is to reframe the way their powers and abilities work.

The Powers Are a Curse, Not a Gift

The abilities that mark the chosen one as special are also the things that make their life unliveable. They can’t turn them off. They make it impossible to be normal, to be safe, to be loved without complication. The gift is real, but it is inseparable from its cost.

The Abilities Are Mundane

The chosen one’s power isn’t impressive. It’s not magic, or combat ability, or some ancient gift. It’s something ordinary such as patience, or the capacity for a specific kind of attention, or the willingness to do the unglamorous thing consistently over time. The subversion is in the reframing: the story insists this is what was always needed, and the reader has to decide whether they believe it.

Show A Power That Destroys

The chosen one is powerful enough to do what needs to be done but they are not powerful enough to survive doing it. This is not a twist. It’s more like a morbid foreshadowing and the reader knows from early on that the cost is coming. 

The story becomes about watching someone walk deliberately toward a destruction they’ve accepted, and the question of whether that acceptance is heroism or tragedy.

Add Moral and Ethical Issues

Almost all chosen one stories depict the chosen one as the morally correct character and honestly, I’m kind of over that. Sure, there are plenty of stories where the protagonist makes a mistake and admits they’re wrong and while I appreciate those—again, it’s 2026. Conspiracy theorists were right about crazy stuff so I’m more inclined to believe in a “the ends justify the means” kind of protagonist over a boy (or girl) scout. 

Add a bit of moral and ethical dilemma in this trope and show the consequences. Here’s what can be done.

Chosen Doesn’t Mean Good

Being selected by a prophecy is not a moral endorsement. The chosen one can be cruel, self-interested, traumatised into cruelty, or simply operating from a value system that the reader finds uncomfortable. The prophecy said they were the one who would change things. It didn’t say the changes would be good.

If you want to learn more about writing morally grey characters, check out my guide: On Writing Morally Grey Characters.

The Chosen One Who Upholds the System They Were Meant to Destroy

This is the darkest version and arguably the most honest one. The chosen one arrives, fulfils the prophecy, defeats the villain and in doing so, reinstates the structures of power that produced the villain in the first place. 

The rebellion becomes the new establishment. The saviour becomes the new authority. The trope reveals itself as a mechanism for maintaining the status quo rather than disrupting it.

Paul Atreides in Dune ends up here. Herbert was explicit about it. The chosen one narrative, taken to its logical conclusion, produces a messiah—and messiahs, historically, are not uncomplicated figures.

The Chosen One is Simply Wrong

They’re not evil or corrupt. They’re just wrong. And now the chosen one has to reckon with the fact that destiny did not make them infallible.

Change the Dynamics of the Support System

This goes back to my earlier point about making the supporting cast more than just furniture or plot points that help the chosen one fulfil their destiny.

The Manipulative Mentor

In this version, the person who found the chosen one, trained them, and shaped their understanding of their destiny has their own agenda. They’re not lying, exactly but they’re also not telling the whole truth either. The chosen one’s development has been managed, their power cultivated for purposes they weren’t consulted on.

This lands particularly hard because the mentor relationship is one of the most emotionally loaded in the chosen one structure. The betrayal, when it comes, hits differently than a villain betraying a hero—it’s the person who made them who they are.

The Sidekick Should’ve Been Chosen

More talented, more prepared, more willing—and it wasn’t them. The story can explore this through resentment, or through the sidekick’s quiet acceptance, or through the gradual revelation that the wrong choice was made and nobody is going to acknowledge it. Either way, it creates a shadow protagonist whose presence reframes the chosen one’s legitimacy at every turn.

Allies With Their Own Agendas

The people around the chosen one are helping them but not because they believe in the prophecy or care about the cause. They have their own reasons: survival, revenge, ambition, love, debt. The chosen one is useful to them. When that changes, their loyalty may change too. We see this happen a lot in A Song of Ice and Fire.

Make the Chosen One Fall

Don’t know about you but as I’ve grown older, I’ve started liking more stories where the chosen one falls—both literally and figuratively.

The Corrupt Chosen

They were always going to end up here. The prophecy was accurate—the chosen one did change the world. But the change was not what anyone hoped for. 

Whether through gradual corruption, through choices made under impossible pressure, or through the simple reality of power doing what power does, the chosen one becomes something the prophecy couldn’t have meant. Or could it?

The Chosen Fails

They try. They are genuinely the chosen one. And they lose. The prophecy was wrong, or the world wasn’t ready, or the cost was simply too high. Someone else has to pick up what they dropped—without a prophecy, without a destiny, without the narrative assurance that things will work out.

Fate of the Fallen by Kel Kade opens with exactly this: the chosen one is assassinated in the early chapters, and the rest of the novel follows his best friend trying to carry a quest he was never destined for, armed with grief and very little else.

Destiny Stolen

*Another cue foreshadowing.*

In She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan, the protagonist doesn’t have a destiny. Her brother does. When he dies, she takes his name, his identity, and his prophesied greatness—and spends the rest of the novel becoming it through sheer will and the violence of refusing to accept the limits of what she was supposed to be.

It’s one of the most quietly radical takes on the trope in recent fiction, because it argues that destiny is not innate, it is claimed, constructed, and fought for. The chosen one is whoever decides to be.

Destiny Fulfilled in the Worst Possible Way

The prophecy comes true. Every word of it. And it is a catastrophe. Because prophecies, as George R.R. Martin puts it (and I’m paraphrasing here to keep it PG), are treacherous. They tell you what will happen. They do not tell you whether that is a good thing. The chosen one brings light—and blinds everyone. They end the war but what follows is worse.

He Who Made It to the End Was the Chosen One All Along

Annnd that’s all! I’m sorry for the cringy heading; I couldn’t help myself. This guide turned out to be a staggering 5,400 words. Way too long, and honestly, everyone who read this—who is not an AI crawler (if you are, please refer to this page, thank you very much)—all the way through deserve your own Epic of Gilgamesh. Because it took me a while to finish writing this.

I tried to be as comprehensive as possible and present as many solutions and ways to better write a—honestly—overused trope. I’m not against the chosen one trope, I just think it’s old and an excuse for lazy writing. When it’s done right, it’s great. But recently, I haven’t seen good chosen one stories and my book series will also subvert this entire trope. Eventually. One day. 

We’ll get there. So, without taking any more of your time, I hope this blog post was informative and helpful to you! Next week I’m going to explore how to write a good chosen one story. So, if you’ve made up your mind and want to write a traditional good v. evil chosen one story, you’ll have tips for making it awesome. Until then, have a great week ahead!