Donald Fauntleroy Duck was born on June 9th, 1934, some six years after the birth of his corporate cousin, Mickey Mouse. After six years of animated shorts, Mickey--who had become a temperate role model for children--had lost his edge. He had become irreparably typecast as The Compliant Good Neighbor. Walt Disney, Mickey's creative progenitor, longed for a younger heir whose generally sunny disposition might be easily provoked and who would respond to adversity with an explosive temper. An offspring whose stories would not be limited by the behavioral mores attached to Mickey. Thus was born Donald F. Duck. In the interest of full disclosure, as Mickey and Donald enlarged their volume of work on the silver screen and as their popularity grew among the masses, it was occasionally difficult for The Duck to countenance the prevailing popularity of The Mouse.

All of which stimulates our curiosity around a question that transcends animated shorts and that comes up within the larger literary world. Why is it that so few books of fiction are written about nice people? Why do authors seem to prefer to write about flawed characters with ambiguous--rather than tidy, that is to say, happy--endings? Or, if you prefer, why are the literary classics filled with versions of The Donald (the one with the feathers, not the one with the combover), rather than The Mickey?

The answer might be found in author E.M. Forster's distinction between "flat" and "round" characters. According to Professor Timothy Spurgin of Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin (The Art of Reading), round characters are dynamic, complex, unpredictable, and, therefore, more interesting than flat characters. In reality, one, a character does not have to be likable or admirable to be interesting; two, an unlikable character can change and grow; and, three, change and growth don't necessarily ensure a character's happiness. In round, fully-developed characters within the literary world, there is always some sort of internal conflict or struggle, and there is always a crisis--a moment of that often includes some sort of reckoning with the past and may also require a reckoning with the self.

And so, back to Mickey and Donald. It might be clear now why the likable but "flat" Mickey Mouse might not inspire as many compelling stories as the cantankerous and "round" Donald Duck.

All of which, once again, stimulates our curiosity around a question that transcends both animated shorts and the larger literary world...

If round characters are more compelling than flat characters--if, indeed, a round world is more compelling than a flat world--then why do we "duck," or instinctively seek to avoid, the conflicts and struggles that refine our characters and give definition to our life stories?

What would it look like to "pull apart" our judgments around discomfort and even despair?

How might you craft your life story to allow greater dimension to your character?  

Okay, with tongue loosely planted in cheek, how might you prevent your inner Donald from envying your inner Mickey?