Why I Don’t Write Heroes

Why I Don’t Write Heroes

People often ask why my novels don’t have heroes.

The answer is simple.

Because I don’t believe most stories are about heroes.

They’re about people.

Ordinary people.

People who make mistakes.

People who get scared.

People who hesitate.

People who lie to themselves.

People who try to do the right thing and sometimes fail.

Those are the people who interest me.

When I began writing fiction, I wasn’t thinking about detectives with extraordinary abilities, brilliant masterminds, or larger-than-life protagonists. I was thinking about the people I see every day. The person sitting next to me on a train. The woman standing in line at a grocery store. The man walking home after work.

Most of us are not heroes.

Most of us are simply trying to get through the day.

Yet under the right circumstances, ordinary people are capable of extraordinary things.

Sometimes those things are admirable.

Sometimes they are terrifying.

That idea became the foundation of my writing.

In Accidentally Guilty, the protagonist is not a criminal mastermind. He is not a hardened offender. He is an ordinary man whose life changes because of a single moment. One decision. One reflex. One event that cannot be undone.

The question that inspired the novel was never “How does a criminal think?”

It was:

“What happens when an ordinary person suddenly finds himself carrying the weight of guilt?”

That question fascinated me far more than any traditional crime story.

The same idea appears in Kuzgun.

Murat is not a superhero.

He does not possess magical abilities.

What makes him unique is the way he sees the world.

He notices details that others ignore.

He observes patterns.

He asks questions.

His strength comes not from power but from perspective.

In many ways, that is far more interesting to me.

I believe every person carries a private world inside them.

A collection of fears, memories, contradictions, regrets, hopes, and secrets.

Those hidden worlds are where stories begin.

That is also why psychology plays such a large role in my work.

For years I have been fascinated by criminal psychology, neuroscience, and human behavior. Not because I want to understand monsters, but because I want to understand people.

Most of us like to imagine that we know exactly who we are.

Reality is often less certain.

Fear changes people.

Love changes people.

Loss changes people.

Desperation changes people.

The person we believe ourselves to be and the person we become under pressure are not always the same.

That tension appears again and again in my novels.

It appears in Begonia: The Poison Flower.

It appears in my upcoming novel Unnamed.

And it will likely appear in every story I write in the future.

Perhaps this perspective comes from my love of psychology.

Perhaps it comes from my love of cinema.

I have always admired Korean cinema, French cinema, and Scandinavian films because they are often willing to explore ambiguity. Their characters are rarely perfect. They are complicated, flawed, and deeply human.

That is the kind of storytelling I admire.

And that is the kind of storytelling I hope to create.

I do not write heroes because heroes already know who they are.

I am more interested in people who are still trying to find out.

People who make mistakes.

People who carry guilt.

People who hide secrets.

People who surprise themselves.

People like us.

Because the most extraordinary stories are often hidden inside the most ordinary lives.

— Esra Yalabık