PACING

I've been getting a lot of questions focused on pacing lately, so I thought I'd share my article on it in the blog forum... It addresses the questions asked, and more. Hope it helps!

PACING
©2000-2008, Vicki Hinze

For a moment, let's pretend that the words we write on the page are sounds. If all the sounds are the same, then we have monotone. Monotone puts us to sleep, bores us to tears, turns us off--and if it goes on for any length of time--ticks us off.

We can't get emotionally involved with monotone because every single word

holds equal emphasis to every other single word. No sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter bears more weight or is more intense than any other sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter. The result is that the work is flat, dull, and boring. When writing it, we aren't actively engaged or enthused; we're writing on autopilot. That means when the reader reads, they're not going to be actively engaged or enthused, and they'll be reading it on autopilot. The reader can't get out of a book what the author doesn't put into the book. It's that simple. Autopilot translates to catching zzzs, snoozing.

Why? Because nothing is different. Nothing grabs us, insisting that we pay

attention and get involved. Nothing commands us, dares us to look away, or challenges us to keep reading to see what happens.

Our book is a victim of lousy pacing.

Words on a page don't create audible sounds, but they do create rhythms, and

those rhythms are active in the reader's mind. This is why the writer must learn to effectively manipulate the story's pacing--so that we writers invite and encourage and allow the reader to get emotionally involved in the story.

Every novel has a natural rhythm. A sweeping saga set in the South might be

slow and easy. But there will be times during the course of the novel that the pacing must speed up and move like the wind. Otherwise, the reader is going to become anesthetized and doze through the book. We don't want that. So let's begin at the beginning and learn how to prevent it.

First, let's talk about what pacing is.

Pacing is the rhythm of the novel, of the chapters and scenes and paragraphs

and sentences. It's also the rate at which the reader reads, the speed at which novel events occur and unfold. It's using specific word choices and sentence structure--scene, chapter, and novel structure--to tap the emotions of the reader so that the reader feels what the writer wants the reader to feel at any given time during the story.

In the movie, The American President, the female protagonist meets with a senator for dinner. It is her job to get his vote on a fuel fossil bill her employer wants passed. The senator comments that, if she's successful, she'll success herself right out of a job. She shoots back with a swift, "On election day, the voters think what I tell them to think. That's why I have a job."

In essence, that's the writer's perspective on pacing. You work the words,

the scenes, the chapters, until the reader thinks and feels what you want them to think and feel about events occurring in the novel.

Now, just as a novel's rhythm can't be monotone, neither can a chapter, nor a

scene, nor sentences within a scene. Take a look at the structure in one short paragraph:

Subject/predicate. Subject/predicate. Subject/predicate.

Reminds us a little of the drone of a jungle drum, doesn't it? No variance

in the rhythm whatsoever. How long do you think it would take a reader to hear that drone before going on autopilot? Not long. But make a slight variation:

Subject/predicate. Predicate/subject. Subject/predicate.

Now, you've got a different rhythm going. The drone disappears. The reader

might not consciously note the change of rhythm, but it won't subconsciously put him to sleep.

In manipulating the pacing, there are times when the writer wants to slow

things down or to speed them up. But when do you do which?

Let's start with slowing down the pacing.

SLOW THE PACING:

* When you want to place emphasis on something. For example, in a book I just finished, the protagonist makes her Uncle Lou's spaghetti sauce whenever she's upset. When this is introduced, I slow the pacing down by showing her actually making the sauce and by adding details. Spices, the smell of the sweet basil, that she bakes the meatballs before putting them into the sauce.

The reader senses that the protagonist making this sauce is important due to the treatment (attention) given it. The hero senses it, too. He realizes that, contrary to his belief that she's calm and unaffected by events, she needs comfort. Her Uncle Lou's sauce is her comfort food. (Knowing this--that she needs comfort—relieves and comforts the hero, helping to alleviate some of his doubts about her.)

Later in the book, when the protagonist says she's going to the kitchen, the hero intuits that she's upset and asks, "To make Uncle Lou's sauce?" When she says yes, the hero and the reader knows this is significant--a bond of trust in the admission.

And later still in the book, in keeping with the Rule of Three, the heroine and hero make Uncle Lou's sauce for a child who has been traumatized and needs comfort.

The emphasis given the act of making the sauce initially cues the reader that this event is significant. The later scenes don't require that reinforcement, only the mention, because both the characters and the reader is aware and attuned to the significance. By layering in details, you lend emphasis and significance to a novel incident. You also slow the pacing.

* After a dramatic, active scene. A reader can't sustain intense emotion indefinitely. No human being can. To feel intensely, we also have to not feel intensely. It's the old "you don't know you're on a hill unless you've trudged through the valley" phenomenon.

Likewise, if the writer keeps the suspense taut for too long at a time, then the reader gets worn out. Emotionally, her natural defense mechanisms engage and she shuts down. It's important for the writer to understand that when those defense mechanisms engage, they act like a safety shield, giving the reader a safe haven in which to recover. Hidden behind that shield, the reader no longer feels immediacy or intensity. She no longer feels anything.

Give your reader those moments of spiked intensity. But also give her a chance to catch her breath. We need hills and valleys, and you control which is which in your pacing.

* When you want to expand the emotional impact.

A good example of a time when a writer wants to expand the emotional impact is in a romance novel during a love scene. Here, the writer wants to slow the pacing down, to be generous with descriptive writing.

Another example is in extremely intense situations.

Have you ever been in a car accident? The moment arrives when you know you're about to be hit. Time slows down. Seconds seem hours long. You wait, and wait, and wait, and finally . . . impact.

Now, the moments before the actual crash are no longer or shorter than any other moment, and yet they seem to go on forever. The reason why is because you are so intently focused on waiting for the impact.

Conversely, during these intense moments, you can't think. I mention this because I'm still getting contest entries to judge where the character is in the middle of a crisis and pauses to think back to some event that occurred years ago. Human beings, just don't do that. When in crisis, the crisis consumes our thoughts. That's what we focus on. Rarely does any human being think deep thoughts in the middle of a crisis.

But we do note specific, concrete details that seem larger than life. Let’s use the car accident to illustrate. We know we can't escape being hit. During the wait, we might slam on the brakes and note the tires squealing. We might note smoke churning from them. We might smell the tires burning rubber. But we don't think about someone else's accident that occurred ten years ago.

I want to remark that I disagree with the next "slow down the pacing when" concept, and I'll deviate to explain why. But in researching for this, I did come across this recommendation by several different experts, so I'm including it.

* When you want to shift time, distance, or space.

Authors Robie Macauley and George Lanning say that writers function under "special laws of relativity" which allow them to make shifts in time and space. Writers can "condense, compress, or expand" time and space to best suit the needs of their stories. They can also use these special laws to determine what emphasis they place on specific scenes within the story, or specific incidents within the scenes.

It's said that if, in the story, a writer intends to:

1. Reveal dominate character traits
2. Heighten the dramatic impact of a scene
3. Introduce events that are pivotal (either in character or motivation)

then those scenes should be "shown" versus "told." What isn't essential to "show" the reader, the writer can incorporate into the novel in the form of lively narrative.

Narrative slows the pacing.

Now actively showing an event doesn't mean the writer should show every action in every active scene. To do so would be like using "real" conversation versus dialogue. Much of real conversation is inane and unessential to moving the plot forward, so writers edit it out. Same holds true for "every action" writing in active scenes. The writer must, through craft skills and instincts, select which actions and details are significant to the story--to establish tone, setting; plant symbolic articles--and to show them. Insignificant actions, edit out.

For every rule there is an exception, so I state no rules. But I do state this suggestion, which opposes the concept of slowing the pacing when shifting time, distance, or space: When you encounter mundane stretches of time or distance, use a transition to move past them quickly. If nothing important to the story happens during these times or travels, why show it?

Why give novel space to something that misleads the reader into thinking this information is important?

Result? The reader remembers the character driving from Point A to Point B. Nothing happened during that drive, but it must be significant or it wouldn't have been there. So the reader reads on, waiting for the significance to become apparent. But it never does. The reader thinks the writer forgot to tie up that loose thread. Or, s/he might not specifically pinpoint the reason, but feels a dissatisfaction with the book. This is why I disagree with slowing the pacing during shifts. Transition, and then move on.

There has to be a balance between narrative and active scenes in the novel.

Too much narrative and the pacing drags. Too little and the active scenes lose authority because an abundance of inconsequential details are included and the reader gets mired in them.

How much of each—narrative and active scenes—should go into the novel depends on the individual book. What balance might be right for a mystery won't be right for a saga, a romance, a thriller. Even within genre, the novel's natural rhythm and pacing must be respected. Some stories demand that they unfold at breakneck speed. Others require a slower disclosure.

The novel itself dictates.

Regardless, within the novel, it is the writer's job to vary the pacing, placing emphasis on that which is of consequence to the characters, the story, and the reader.

* Flashbacks slow down the pacing. Actually, flashbacks bring the forward momentum of the novel to a dead halt. The reason why is, we transition from the present into the past, and the present then ceases to exist until we return to it.

Flashbacks carry danger. The writer runs the risks of:

+ The flashback lasting too long
+ The flashback breaking the forward momentum of the present plot for such a time that the reader can't reconnect to it
+ The flashback’s past story becoming more interesting to the reader than the present story.

Often writers include flashbacks that do nothing to enhance or reinforce the present story. Obviously, those flashbacks are useless and should be cut during editing. Any flashback allowed to remain in the novel should fit the present story like glove to hand, adding some insight, something significant.

What are some techniques for slowing down the pacing?

Use long, flowing sentences, soft-sounding verbs, descriptions that are steeped in sensory input and rich in texture and sound. This evokes an appropriate emotional response in the reader. One of quiet, calm, serenity—great for those resting times in sequels!

Layering details, one upon the other, places emphasis on what is being described and slows down the pacing.

Long blocks of narrative or description—even those engagingly written with positively sparkling prose—slow down the pacing. Personally, I advise against long blocks of narrative. They aren't visually appealing to the reader, and they stop the forward movement of the plot.

Instead, break that long block into small chunks of two or three sentences each. Then insert those chunks at points in the story when the reader needs the information contained in the chunk in order for what is happening in the novel at that time to make sense. By the time the reader notes the forward movement has stopped (at the insert of the two-or-three-sentence chunks), she's read them and the plot is moving forward again. Not so with long, uninterrupted blocks of narrative.

SPEED UP THE PACING

* Dialogue speeds up the pacing. It gives the illusion of action, and that illusion moves the reader forward more quickly than does narrative.

* Lean writing. The lack of embellishment (adjectives, adverbs) causes the reading speed to increase, which moves the story along at a good clip.

* When writing dramatic or action-packed scenes. In dramatic situations, or intently active ones, the pacing must be brisk to help carry the right emotional impact. Here, long sentences or paragraphs won’t work. They’ll bog down the action, negate any compelling sensation from the drama you’re trying to build, and destroy compatibility between the tone conveyed and the one you intended to convey--all of which weaken the potency of the work.

What are some Techniques for speeding up the pacing?

Speed up the pacing by using short paragraphs. Spare sentences; no wasted words.

Use crisp, sharp verbs that sound hard. Think, short and punchy.

Use sentence fragments. The reader reads fragments faster. That imparts a sense of urgency the reader senses at gut-level, which evokes an emotional response—a quickening pulse, a worried gasp, a shiver.

Pacing can be manipulated and it should be--to best serve the story. If you looked at the story’s pacing on a graph, it would resemble an askew EKG. The rhythms wouldn’t be uniform. But there would be definite rhythms.

As a story progresses, the intensity should grow stronger. The obstacles become more difficult, the setbacks and consequences of the characters failure to fulfill their novel goals are harder to overcome.

This constantly growing "intensity" is why so often you’ll see books published where the early chapters are longer and more dense, and later chapters are shorter and more dramatic.



As the characters/readers move through the novel, they pitch and roll. Take two steps forward, and one back. Climb a little higher, and then stumble again. And on each successive attempt, it’s harder to climb and they meet with more resistance—inside and out (internal and external conflicts). But they keep going and, at the moment when it seems they (which has become "we" because the author has succeeded in accomplishing reader identification by using our emotions and we now feel "we" are the characters) can’t succeed—we’re body-slammed—and then the unthinkable happens. We find the key to the forgotten door that was foreshadowed earlier in the novel. We use the key, and struggle . . . and struggle . . . and, finally, we taste success.

A writer relies on skill to develop the right pacing for each individual project. But also relies on instinct. On the author’s inner ear that tests the rhythm to make sure the flow has the right sound and intuitive feel.

At times, instinct and learned skills will be at odds. Go with your instincts.

There isn’t a writing rule that hasn’t been successfully broken. The trick is in knowing them, and knowing when to break them. Knowing when to shift and speed up or slow down your novel’s pacing.*

FYI NOTE: Earlier, I mentioned Uncle Lou's spaghetti sauce in All Due Respect and the significance of it to the heroine's character and referenced "The Rule of Three." If you’re not familiar with this rule and would like to be, there’s an article on it in my website Library (www.vickihinze.com).

Tags: pacing, authors, novelists, writing craft, writers, writer's library, writer's blogs, thriller novelists, story structure, romance writer, psychic distance, novel elements, novels

Are You a Candle or a Mirror?

On awakening, like everyone else, I have my rituals. One of them is to read from the Bible and then to pull a quote for the day and reflect on how the two--the reading and the quote--interrelate. The quote for today is:

"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -Edith Wharton


There are a lot of ways to look at that quote. And I expect one sees in it what they're looking for at the time. Today, my interpretation of it is that we're all both candles and mirrors at different points in time on different issues and in different situations.

I think that's a good thing. When we're capable of creating paths (whether we really want to walk them or we feel compelled to walk them for the greater good), of doing things that need doing (pleasant or not), or we take action to make situations better, we're the candle.

When we are the candle, we emit light into shadows and darkness and others see it and find their way or reflect it, emulating us, like mirrors. When your children mimic your actions. If you ask them for something and always say thank you, then they automatically do, too. When you treat others with respect, conduct yourself with dignity and grace, then others are more apt to treat you that way, as well. Not certain to, but more apt to. With free will, that's the best you can do: be responsible for yourself.

When you're the candle, you choose what light you cast. Knowing others reflect it, you should aspire to have it be the best you have to give.

When others are the candle and we act in harmony with them, then we are the mirror that reflects their light. This is why it is so important to choose those you surround yourself with carefully. If the light they cast is negative, harmful, hurtful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it. If it is positive and constructive and helpful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it.

When you're the mirror--and at times we all are--then you don't choose good or bad, right or wrong, negative or positive, or destructive or constructive. You simply reflect.

I'm being nudged this morning to write this post, and I never question spiritual nudgings. But this reads like a lecture on life, and I guess when you get down to it, it is. Yet like everything else it does apply to writing.

Writing is all about characters--people--and if you don't believe that, take Scarlet and Rhett out of GONE WITH THE WIND and see what you've got left. Since writing is about people, it is a mirror that reflects light.

Which makes the point of this that every author is a candle. And all the fiction the author produces is a mirror that reflects the light from her candle. That is a compass for authors to consider the impact of what they write. To consider the light they emit that others will mirror and reflect.

Carrying this one step further, solely into the fictional world, the characters are candles or mirrors, too. As writers, we serve them well by remembering that.

I hope this helps--and that you all have a glorious day filled with joy and many...

Blessings,

Vicki

P.S. Because I know someone is going to ask, I'll just answer the why question now.

I get these nudges often, and when I do, I heed them and post. Without fail, someone who gains some something from the post emails to say so. That's held true in all the ten years (or whatever it's been now) that I've done this. At first, I considered it coincidence. Now I accept that in these posts, I'm not the candle. I'm a mirror. :)

CREATING UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTERS

Creating Unforgettable Characters

Vicki Hinze © 2003-7

In 1757, in Poor Richard's Almanac, the wise and astute Benjamin Franklin wrote: "Little strokes fell great oaks." Important message tow writers in that saying, because it is through incorporating little strokes (details) that writers create and develop unforgettable characters. Little strokes turn stick-characters into real people.

Little Strokes = details. Concrete, vivid, easily identifiable character traits.

Oaks = readers. Those folks we must convince that this product of our imagination (our book) will transport them from reading words on a page to becoming an active participant in the story. Writers negotiate readers into a willingness to suspend disbelief.

Now everyone recognizes everything is negotiable and that there's an art to negotiating. This is valuable insight to the writer because negotiating is exactly what writers do when developing all novel elements. A major portion of learning the art of negotiating is in recognizing that the old saying is true--you might cut the deal but the devil is in the details. We've all heard that a million times. What we haven't heard that is of particular
interest to us, as writers, is to acknowledge that, yes, the devil is in the details, but so are the angelic gems.

What do I mean--we negotiate a novel?

Exactly that. As writers, we begin a project in vastly different ways. Our creative processes are different. Some of us start with an idea. Some with a character. Some with an event--a plot. Some, and I tend to fall into this category, develop plot and character simultaneously with the setting.

There is no right or wrong way, only diverse ways, and whatever creative process works for you is right. Remember, it is in our diversity that we writers find our strengths and enhance them.

So our methodology isn't important. What is vitally important is that regardless of how we approach writing a book, at the end, we have a book. That means we have negotiated every element in it. At some time, in some way, we have had to answer hard questions.

When starting a new project, the first question a writer should ask themselves, in my humble opinion, pertains more to the writer than to the book:

Questions the writer should ask him/herself:

What do I have to say that I want others to hear? And do I feel
passionately enough about this character, or plot, or setting, or this issue
to invest months of my time and energy--my life--in bringing this book to
fruition?

If not, then why bother writing it? Why set yourself up for failure?
Because to invest in any project you don't love and see value in and believe
to the depths of your soul that having made these choices and written this
book harmonizes with the writer's own personal purpose.

If you, the writer and human being, love the book, see value it, and feel it
is in harmony with you, great. Press on. If not, don't invest. Your time
is too valuable to waste.

Questions writers should then ask themselves about the book:

In the whole world, who is the best possible person to say what I have to
say and want others to hear? Why is this person the best? What motivates
him or her? What does s/he risk in tackling the challenges of reaching the
story goals? Is this risk, these challenges, this story goal worthy of him
or her as a protagonist?

A character wants something. If no one, or nothing stands in the way of
getting it, then you have no conflict, no story. So the writer needs an
antagonist--a villain.

Who most wants to stop the protagonist, and why? What motivates the villain?
What does s/he have at risk? Are the actions s/he will take in this novel
worthy of a respectable villain? And are both the protagonist and antagonist
likely to be found in this setting?

Let's get down to the core of story people.

Story people emulate real people, though they are actually just the creative genius of the writer who develops them. Creating something or someone from nothing and convincing others the creation is real IS creative genius. And writers do this by incorporating those little strokes.

As writers, our key responsibility in the creation process is to craft specific characters for specific story roles. Every character has to grow and change by the events encountered in the novel. Not as a reaction to what happens--reactionary characters are victims--but as a direct result of his or her choices made by experiencing novel events. This is where the angelic gems of simultaneous development of story people becomes evident.

Think of the novel as a three-legged stool. Each leg represents a specific novel element: character, plot, and setting. If the character leg is short (underdeveloped stick characters), then the stool wobbles. The stool can't support much weight without tipping over.

By developing plot, character, and setting simultaneously, you, the writer, keep the stool (the novel) level. This strengthens the odds of saying what you want to say that you want others to hear--(the theme).

Novel elements should be so tightly connected and interwoven with each other that to change one trait in one story person, one plot event experienced by one story person, or to alter one scene setting alters the course of the novel and the character's destiny.

That sounds pretty daunting, doesn't it? Like a lofty, but unrealistic goal?

It isn't, and it's not. Writers craft the perfect character for the perfect plot and have it occur in the perfect setting to express its theme all the time. More often than not, by accident, not because they've analyzed the process.

But to analyze the process strengthens our flexibility and makes the process far less painful (read that: more writing and less rewriting). All we must do is negotiate--making choices--until we have credible, logical, reasonable characters acting naturally. Naturally for them, that is. This insures that the character is capable of carrying his or her weight in his or her assigned story role.

Because we write commercial fiction, we should acknowledge specific facts:


1. Readers' most beloved characters are ones they most strongly identify
with--people like them. Admirable people who entertain them.

Writers should remember that readers' are armchair adventurers who want to
explore interesting places, dynamic events, and hard issues--but they want to
do it from the safety of their recliners. Our characters give them the
opportunity. Story people aren't truly like readers, but they are like the
people readers want to be. They're admirable, heroic, logical. They have
common sense, worthy goals, and they are tough opponents. Strong
qualities--and that goes for villains, too. The main characters are all, in
a word, competent.

Competent characters can carry a lot of weight--face more complex challenges
that are worthy of our admiration. We can sum this gem up really quick.
When's the last time you admired a wimp? Someone purely evil?

Purely evil is predictable, safe in that the reader and the other characters
know EXACTLY what to expect from this villain. But someone perceived as good who commits evil acts is far more realistic--and more frightening because
neither the reader nor the other characters know what to expect from the
antagonist. What will s/he do? How down and dirty will s/he get? Give your
villain redeeming qualities. Even a psychotic sees himself as good and his
actions as just.

2. Readers expect story people to confront obstacles. Remember: Conflict is the spine of the story. They also expect for those obstacles to not be a cake walk. The story people have to struggle or they're unworthy of a hero/heroine or villain's time. Even when doing the wrong thing, story people must be motivated for the right reason.

Life can't be easy on your story people. They must suffer, struggle, claw their way through escalating obstacles with escalating risks to attain their story goals. And those goals have to be of consequence. Like weak villains, no wimpy aspirations for goals will do. Whatever the character must tackle--not want or need but MUST tackle--should be what matters MOST to the character. Must carry the highest possible risks to that story person. And the odds of attaining that goal have to be formidable and in doubt.


What all this means is that every person in your book should be there for a specific reason, have a specific task to perform, and by the end of the book, that character changes in some way from who they were at the beginning of the book. The change is character growth, and through that growth, the reader knows the consequences of the journey. Remember: nothing worth having comes easily. And if the character--primary or secondary--does not change, then they have not earned their space in the novel, so eliminate them.


Years ago, a good friend, Deb Dixon, was fond of saying "Kill every secondary
character in your book. If they refuse to die, then let ‘em live." Wise advice, because if you try to kill the secondary characters and they refuse to die, then that signals the writer that the character is performing a specific story role and has earned his or her space and place in your novel.

Has someone along the way in your writing career called your story people, "cardboard characters?" One-dimensional? Stick-people? Underdeveloped? Stereotypical? If so, and you didn't deliberately intend that they be, then you can see the benefit in refreshing or revising your approach to character development.

Memorable characters are 3 Dimensional: physical, emotional, and spiritual beings.

Incorporating little strokes or details that give the reader insights to all three of these aspects, assures the writer that they are well rounded and fully developed people. The characters didn't just drop into this setting, this plot, in this novel set with this style and tone by accident.

Everything about them--including their speech patterns, the way they dress, their body language--tells the reader who these story people are and proves they are both universal and unique. To be unforgettable, a story person must be both.

UNIVERSAL TRAITS

Universal traits are those most of us, as human beings, identify with and feel empathetic toward, and are typically tied to emotions. Not all of us have committed murder. But all of us have experienced the desire to commit murder. Let's look at an example.

We are the parents of a five-year old boy.

A pedophile, convicted and sentenced to prison on three separate occasions for child molestation, has been released under the Department of Corrections "Early Release Program" due to overcrowded prison conditions. Because of his record, we know he is not one of the five percent of pedophiles who can be rehabilitated.

Five hours after being released from prison the pedophile molests a six-year old boy.

Now, how do you emotionally react to this news? Do you understand the urge to murder him?

How do you think the parents' of the molester's fourth victim feel toward the molester? Toward their son? Toward the Dept. of Corrections for cutting him loose? Toward the government for tying funding to crowding in prisons?

How do you think the parole board feels? The warden of the prison? The guard who opened the gate, letting the molester walk out of jail? The entire Dept. of Corrections? The governor--for not blocking the release? All these people, and many more--including their own families? Can you imagine being the spouse of the warden, the wife of the governor? The other parent? All the frustration and rage--and disappointment at your spouse for letting this happen. The child of one of those parents? Can you imagine the guilt? The shame--spoken to you by others, but also the worst kind: that unspoken but
seen in the eyes of someone you love?

These are core-level universal feelings. Emotional reactions that many of us human beings share.

Not all of us have had the same experience in which the character is currently engaged in our book, but we understand what the character is feeling. We all can associate love, hate, shame, embarrassment, humiliation, fear, grief, and/or guilt. We understand the feelings even if the event itself is alien to us. These are our common bonds with most other human
beings. These are our universal traits.

Unique traits are those applicable to us. Convictions, ethics, beliefs, social mores--all of those traits that come as a result of our personal histories, backgrounds, and experiences. Those traits that mold our unique characters. Force us to take a stand, to see where on the fence we sit. We choose what we emphasize in our character, and that makes us unique.

Early on in life, we adopt the values and social behaviors--our perceptions of the world we live in--through our parents and/or influential people in our lives. As we grow older, we pull out all those learned things and we choose which ones to keep as our own, or we revise them to fit ourselves and our convictions, or we ditch them altogether and adopted new means we feel fit us best. That's taking responsibility for ourselves. That's being a grown up. Blending and shaping our unique, individual traits. Choosing for ourselves.

Now, a little warning:

Do not craft or develop a perfect character. Perfect people are incredibly boring. They're always right, always do the right thing for the right reason, and we can't measure up so we resent them. They make us see things in ourselves we don't want to see. At times that can be a good thing--new insights--but not when we view only perfection. Perfect story people make us resent them because, by all that's right and good, we try to be perfect--we
really, really try--and we fall short every time.

That makes us human beings. Flaws are normal. Everyone's got them. If your character is perfect, s/he is not a credible human being. Not very interesting either.

On an entirely different topic, a dear friend named Phyllis Rowan once said, "It takes a lot of heat to temper steel." Well, it takes a lot of work to temper people, too. We struggle and sacrifice and strive, and we do things to be--in our own eyes--better than we were before we did them. To get better, we first have to be sick. Flaws are sickness. Since we all have them, flaws are identifiable. And if they're tied to a universal emotion, they're real. That makes the character real and worth remembering.

Here's a simple formula for creating an unforgettable character:

Find the character's Achilles' heel--their greatest fear or weakness or vulnerability. That's the character's internal conflict. Then stomp it. That's external conflict in the book. The stomping is your plot.

Every character needs both--internal and external conflict--to be a 3-D character. Flat characters we cannot identify with, or get attached to, and we certainly don't feel empathy with or for them.

Now how exactly do we determine all this stuff?

A method that works really well for me is the character interview. (I use the one developed by Florida First Coast Chapter RWA member, Kim Kozlowski.) Sit down and pretend to be interviewing this character, but NOT as a biographical journalist. As a close, close friend. You are the character's confidant, s/he trusts you. Now, s/he will open up and tell you his or her darkest secrets and deepest fears.

You listen to what the character tells you about him- or herself physically, emotionally, and spiritually. About their family, the most important person in their life, their most embarrassing moment. Keep talking until you know that character's every high and low, every triumph and failure, from birth until right now. And listen carefully to how the character describes him- or herself. This gives you valuable information about his/her level of self-esteem, self-respect, confidence.

Then ask a couple of other characters to give you a thumbnail sketch of how they see this character you're interviewing. Note the character's physical environment, social status, economic status. Listen to how both talk. What they say, and how they say it. This will give you deep insight into the characters' story roles, and their ability to execute them.

Note the emotional responses/reactions in the characters, the impact of events on them. What do they feel passionate about, fear, crave? Goals and aspirations and dreams and wishes--and their belief in their own abilities to acquire them. Which of these were passed on by parents, influential people in their lives? Which have been adopted by them as an adult choice?

Move on to the spiritual realm. I'm not referring to religious beliefs, though that is part of what comprises the spirituality of this character, I'm referring to actual character traits. What matters most? Why? What does this character believe in enough to die for? What is his or her tolerance level for disagreements? If confronted by person who shouts at the top of his lungs, opposing what the character says, does the character shout back?
Walk away? Stand and say, "On this issue, we'll have to agree to disagree" and then consider the topic closed? What are his/her ethics, standards, convictions? Does s/he believe in miracles? Ever experienced one? Ever seen one?

You get the idea. The important part is to invest some time in exploring these story people and their individual character. Know them better than you know your spouse, in many cases, better than you know yourself. (You will, because we find self-directed scrutiny uncomfortable. It breaches our comfort zone, so we shun it.)

The more effort you put into to this discovery process interviewing, the more sure-footed you are in actually writing about this person. It doesn't mean your characters won't surprise you. It means they will, and those surprises will delight you and your readers. Why? Because regardless of the surprise, it fits this person to a T.

There's a simple explanation for why these surprises fit the characters. When we focus intently on something, we absorb tons of information. Sensory perceptions are activated. Much of this info we consciously ignore. But our subconscious ignores nothing. It absorbs everything and forgets nothing. And it takes everything literally.

So our subconscious mixes it all up--every broad stroke, every tiny detail we have absorbed--and then, when we're on autopilot writing, the subconscious corrects little conflicts and challenges that we consciously don't know yet exists. It a sense, it fixes what's broken and spits it out to us with all the kinks repaired.

Interview your characters, listen to what they have to say, and the way they say it. This might sound crazy to anyone other than writers, but the truth is, in exploring and listening to the character discuss themselves, or describe another character, you, the writer, develop a bond of trust rooted in respect. That frees the character to develop in a sense, to open up, and that gives you all the little strokes you can imagine and then some to make
this story person real and living and breathing on the page. It also gives you insights that drive the plot. Those insights personalize this story to this person. If any other character were the main character in it, the story would be different.

The characters will tell you things you never expected. Goals, motivations, internal and external conflicts--their quirks. Profoundly interesting things that intrigue you and fascinate the reader. And that, my friend, is entertaining. Important, because the writer's number one priority is to entertain the reader. Only through entertaining them do you insure that they will continue reading, thus have the opportunity to hear what you have to say that you want the reader to hear.

No writer can ever forget that what makes a character entertaining is also what makes that character unforgettable: they are created from the inside out. Where what matters most to the character is what is at risk and tested to the max in the novel events.

Unforgettable characters endure a range of emotions, they have opinions, attitudes, goals. They are passionate about everything and indifferent to nothing.

* A hero never wimps out.
* A heroine never wimps out.
* A villain never wimps out.

The writer never wimps out.

That’s right. The WRITER never wimps out. Often the temptation is there, but the writer must fight it. S/he must not become frigid because the story is treading too
deeply into places (fears, challenges, obstacles) the writer doesn't want to go.

If you haven't visited the Writers' Aids Library and read the article on Villains, you might consider it. The stronger villains are the better. Weak, wimpy people can't cause a lot of trouble. They aren't strong enough to carry much weight. That means they don't have the ability to overcome great odds. And the way that translates in the book is they aren't much of a threat.

A weak villain requires little from a hero or heroine. So if you create a weak villain, you're also making your hero or heroine weak. You don't have to be clever or courageous to beat the socks off a weakling, now do you?

But if your villain is strong. Logical, credible, smart and competent and capable of inflicting enormous damage, and well-motivated to inflict enormous damage, then your hero or heroine has to be pretty damn sharp to best them. That's heroic. Worthy of the name hero or heroine. They deserve the honor of being called one. They've proven they've earned the right.

Until now, we've really focused on universal qualities that we all share as human beings--our commonalties. The qualities we have--or wish we did and hope we do, if we're ever confronted with the novel situation our character is confronted with now. These are qualities that touch our lives. Make us human. But what specifically makes a character unforgettable?

What makes people individuals?

Their quirks. Those little strokes, or details, that make us unique individuals. Those little things, sometimes tiny things, that are always telling things about who we are inside that gives deep insight to those who know us.

INDIVIDUAL TRAITS

Now, let's take a look at an example of unique individuality.

We could do a psychological profile, or interview anyone, but I'll use myself as an example because revealing my darkest secrets and fears is no big deal to me, but it
could be a huge deal to someone else. I don't care if I look silly, so long as you learn something from it. Silly is a price I'm glad to pay to give you insight.

Let's say, I'm the heroine in this book. The reader needs a visual image of me so s/he can become a part of the fictional dream. So, the writer describes her: She's got a thick middle, dyes her hair red, and has blue-green eyes that crinkle from a squint and a little sag in her jaw.

You, the reader, can visualize me, but what do you know about me? Nothing.

You might assume I overindulge in sweets and hate to exercise or that I suffer from a glandular disease, but you don't know it. You only know what the writer has told you, and so far all the writer has given you is a photograph. Laverne Brigman, hands down the best critical analyst of creative writing in the world, puts that photographic description into perspective. "It's flat and dull."

What makes it flat and dull? The photographic image contains universal elements, but there's nothing unique in it. So far, the reader hasn't been given one insight into who I am or what I'm about. And if that's all a reader gets of me--a flat, dull photograph--then are you, the reader, convinced that you want to invest hours of your time in reading my Story? Are you convinced I'm worth the effort? I'm not. No one is--nor should they
be.

But what if the writer deepened that description: Scattered photographs atop the piano proved she was a natural blond. She didn't deny it, she just didn't like remembering it. Some years back, she dyed her hair red to signal her family she was majorly ticked at them. She refused to yell. She hates yelling. Hates it. Abusive husbands yell at blonde wives. Blonde wives are small and helpless and insignificant. They're hopeless. But redheads, redheads command respect. No one yells at redheads--not even new husbands.

Now, you've got insight into the person. Let's go a little deeper, into the shades of red.

At least that's how her penchant for dyeing her hair red started. But even years after she she'd gotten the courage to ditch the abusive ex--and gathered even more courage to remarry a nonabusive man--she never lost her aversion to yelling . . . or to that small, insignificant, hopeless feeling that came with it. So when at odds with her family, she had to find a way to let them know she was displeased. She dyed her hair red.

Her personality change came inside the box and took effect the moment the dye was applied to her hair. She became a dynamo to be reckoned with. And after a time, she no longer had to dye her hair. Only to present the possibility.

Once when extremely displeased, she left and then returned home with two boxes of hair dye. One was "Lightest Auburn." The other, "Raging Red." She gathered her family in the kitchen. "Okay, guys." She plopped the boxes down on the counter. "Which is it going to be?"

The family trembled. They knew that the darker the red in Mom's hair, the more ticked Mom was, and a majorly ticked Mom meant Armageddon was about to descend upon every family member's head. There would be no refuge. There would be no peace.

Now you know a great deal more about this person. But let's say everything's sailing along smoothly at home. The family is appreciative and respectful. Mom comes home with a box of "Raging Red" hair dye.

The family freaks out. "What have we done?" They feel guilty, though they've done nothing. Then direct blame elsewhere, accuse and quiz each other, "What did you do? Whatever it was, take it back now. Get on your knees if you have to--before she goes red! For God's sake, you know how she gets when she's Raging Red!"

But the writer has Mom explain. "No one has upset me. I just need some spunk." She thinks, but doesn't say--because two of her children are blond and she doesn't want them to feel blondes are insignificant, helpless, or hopeless. Redheads can deal with anyone and anything. They've got guts and courage and spirit that no one can undermine for long. And, being a Raging Red, she'll remember that every time she looks in the mirror.

So the motivation for dyeing the hair red has done a total one-eighty, surprising the writer--and yet it fits this character because the writer and the reader, know what that dark red hair means to this character. We know and understand feeling insignificant, helpless, and hopeless. We intuit that something has triggered these feelings in the character.

We know that, at times, we all have to pick ourselves up and press on, just as we know that at times we need to kick ourselves in the butt and remember: "We are not the person we were. We are the person we've become."

Now, because of our experiences and the insights we've gained from those experiences, we have grown and changed. We now have the tools to meet our challenges constructively. The red hair just helps remind the character, the writer, the reader that all of us choose how much something impacts us. How much power we give it. We choose what we will and will not tolerate, and we will NOT tolerate feeling insignificant, helpless, or hopeless. Ah, yes. We've grown, and we've changed.

In incorporating a unique character trait tied to universal emotions, the writer has given us insight into a character that no photograph could convey. Now, the family--the other characters--might be confused by this shift in motivation, but sooner or later they'll figure it out. In the interim, the reader is right there with the character because they've got the inside track. The readers know what the red means. They might not yet know the trigger, but they know there's been a trigger and someone's pulled the sucker.


Now, it's test time.

Test 1. Close your eyes. Pretend you're in a grocery store pushing a buggy down an aisle. You pass the canned goods, the bread, the cookie row, and now you're in personal care and hygiene products. On the shelf, you see a box of red hair dye. What is the first thing that comes to your mind? Do you see that box of red dye differently now than you did before?


Test 2. Now visualize yourself in your shopping mall. You see a redheaded woman. She's teary eyed. Do you wonder if she was a victim of domestic violence at some time? If she dyes her hair red to signal her family she's ticked off? Do you see her differently than you might have before?


If you responded "Yes" to either test, then the writer has opened a door in a reader's mind. Given that reader new insight, a different perspective.

A flat photograph--a still shot--can't do that. It isn't strong enough. But the writer has given the reader a physical description and deep insight into the character's emotions and spirituality--the whole person. The universal and the individual quirks.

CHARACTER TO PLOT OR PLOT TO CHARACTER? EITHER? NEITHER? OR BOTH?

If your plot is laid out prior to your doing character interviews, how can you, the writer, know what's at risk for the characters? Why these are the greatest risks for this particular character? How do you know the character's goals are what they are, and what motivates them to act (vs. being reactionary like Perilous Pauline tied to the railroad track--the
victim, which is unheroic)?

You can't know these things. So if your creative process is such that you plot first, then you're going to have to craft characters with all the needed elements to best say what you have to say that you want others to hear by gearing the characters and their traits specifically to the plot you've created to integrate those universal and unique individual ties. I heartily recommend that you keep the plot flexible enough to incorporate conflicts
attuned to the unique individual. Otherwise, you will lack full-integrated novel elements that make these people the best people in all the world to experience this plot and tell this story.

If your creative process works so that you develop the characters first, then you'll need to adjust the plot so that this plot is the perfect plot to tell the story of these characters--saying what you, the writer, have to say that you want others to hear.

However your creative process works is right for you. Any approach it is right so long as it works for you. But to have strong and unforgettable characters, the stool legs--character, plot, and setting--have to all fit and work in harmony with each other so the stool--the novel as a whole--doesn't wobble or tip over or collapse.

If your current character-discovery process is fluid, fine. Fantastic. Whatever the process, know far more about the characters than you ever put in the book. Then you'll never have to worry about inconsistencies, about someone acting or reacting out of character. At least, not without that character being strongly and compellingly motivated to do so. You, the writer, won't have to stop and ask yourself how a character would react in any given situation. Being real and fully developed people to you, you'll KNOW how they would react. Every strength and weakness, every secret, their deepest dread, and most absurd dream.

You'll know that this person in this story role typically has these traits and this kind of background and is apt to be found in this setting. Everything works together. Every single element feeds and enhances all the other novel elements, including tone and style.

And I want to discuss tone as it relates to character for a second.

You all know I'm fond of sayings. Well, I've written one for you that I hope will serve as a reminder on the relationship between character and tone. It's an important relationship, because it sets the mood of the scene. The reader senses that mood and absorbs it, and that goes a long way toward carrying the reader's emotional response to the scene and what's happening in it, and what's happening inside the character.

"When the soul weeps, there is nothing so vulgar as laughter."

That's the saying. And it's meant to remind you that the setting and tone of the scene should mirror your character's current emotional status.

Now, some writers artfully choose to use contrast in intensely emotional situations. If it's contrast you're after, then make it sharp and stark, and the character's emotional reaction to that contrast crystal clear.

Otherwise, you'll confuse the spit out of your reader. An example: if the character is mourning and the sun is shining. Then the reader's emotional reaction to it, should be stark. Indignant. Insulted. Irritated.


Why? Because we process details we note in harmony with our current emotional state. If a character's ticked, make it storm. If it's sunny, then the sun is arrogant in daring to shine.

Some of you have probably heard my favorite take on this, but just in case: You are the character. You're standing beside a lake. You're a man whose son has just died. What do you see? Moss and vines choking the oaks. Cracks in the wood shed. Shadows and dark, gloomy water. In short, glaring reflections that give the sense of your misery.

Now you're a different character. A little girl. You're standing in the same scene near the same lake. Only you're riding your bike "no hands" for the first time. What do you see? Sun sparkling on the water. Butterflies fluttering their wings. Happy, free things. Liberated things. Ones that carry the emotional sense of your victory.

What we notice reflects our inner state.

In considering all we have discussed in this series and combining it with what we know individually and factoring in our own unique perceptions of our world, we have compiled a wealth of knowledge that arms us as writers. The result is we can create characters who are no longer characters but real, living, breathing human beings with significant contributions to make to our books in the eyes of all those who read them.

Make no mistake. When you write a book, you have the opportunity to change lives. In crafting and molding and developing characters, you definitely do that.

On making that statement, the first question I'm always asked is, How do you measure your success?

The answer is simple. Find your own individual box of red hair dye, incorporate it in the novel, and then trust your readers. They'll let you know.

You'll receive letters from readers addressed to the characters. Miss Hattie, from the Seascape novels, has gotten a good bit of mail. Duplicity's attorney has received a lot of mail from prisoners wanting her to prove their innocence. Some included their entire legal files!

You'll get feedback in tearstained pages from people pouring their hearts out to you because you touched an emotional chord in them and they knew--through your characters--you'd understand. And you'll be told that when reading your work light bulbs went on in readers' minds. Your work helped readers reconnect to their values, beliefs, and convictions or that they gained a new respect or appreciation for something previously ignored that you explored in a book.

You'll know. The readers will see to it. And they'll see to it because you didn't create a character, but an admirable human being to whom they feel attached. You've developed an unforgettable character. You've learned from Benjamin Franklin the value of those little strokes.
WHAT MAKES A CHARACTER UNFORGETTABLE?

And what did Ben Franklin know and say that gives us cues and clues today?

BUILD A CHARACTER CAST

Inspiration for books strikes us in different ways:

1. Theme/Statement
2. Plot
3. People

Which comes first doesn’t matter much, provided the author ties the other two ways to it.
Why? Because these three things weave together with Setting and other story elements to make a tapestry--a book. And if they don’t interweave so the threads fit together, well, you won’t have much of a tapestry.
So it’s beneficial to you to develop these elements simultaneously.
For example, in HER PERFECT LIFE, the statement (or reason I wanted to write the book) was to bring to readers’ attention what serving our country can cost the people who do it, those they love and those who live them.
How do I build a protagonist to convey that message?
I chose a female POW. She demonstrated the costs, and helped define the plot: a female pilot crashes, is deemed dead but is taken POW for 6 years. She had a perfect life--all she wanted: a husband, two kids and a great copilot.
Now the story could have gone a lot of ways, depending on what theme or statement I wanted to make. I didn’t want to write about her as a POW, I wanted to write the costs of service. So In Chapter 1, she was rescued. And the rest of the book deals with her coming home, her husband being remarried to a great woman her kids love. She’s a stranger to the kids. And all that was in her perfect life--family, home, career--it’s all gone. Now what?
And that’s where real character development begins.
Remember that characters are admirable people we want to emulate. They’re not like us; they’re like the people we want to be. They do the right thing, or the wrong thing for the right reason--and that includes the antagonist. Even if he’s psychotic, he feels totally justified in what he’s doing. He might be warped, but he doesn’t see that, just as none of us see ourselves as bad people. He sees his actions as reasonable, logical, and maybe even noble.
You build a character based on need--not yours. The story’s. Every choice made, every idea pondered, every single thing you elect to include in the book, you include because it best serves the story.
Anything that fails to meet that test, you ditch. No matter how funny, no matter how strongly it resonates with you, no matter if the rhythm and sheer beauty of the words just sets you aflutter. Ditch it. Be ruthless. Only what best serves the story stays.
Characters, like people, need to be three-dimensional. Physical, Emotional, Spiritual.
Physical: What the character physical looks like. What abilities and skills does s/he need to be able to do what s/he must do in the story? (To be credible, s/he must be capable. This holds true for protagonists and antagonists. Make them strong, wise, sharp, clever--this way they can carry a lot of story weight.)
Where did s/he get those skills? Where do most people with those skills live, or where are they likely to be? (Now, your character has a history--and you’ve got a setting.)
What does the character’s name say about her/him? Is it a name common to the area s/he’s from? Where s/he is now, in the story? What is that community like? Is there a strong, say German influence? Or Hispanic influence? How does that impact your character?
All of these things are defining the physical attributes of the character--and far more. You’re putting flesh and muscles on the bones.

Emotional: Taking into consideration all the above physical aspects, you have also gone a long way to define the emotional demeanor of your character. To do this job, in this place, with this kind of history and experience, this person is apt to have this type of emotional makeup. Coping skills, what s/he loves and hates and fears. What s/he wants--goals and motivations (which you will use as story conflicts). And who is trying to keep him/her from reaching those goals? There’s your antagonist.
Ask why s/he is trying to stop the heroine and you’ve got his/her motivation. And that goes a long way toward defining what he’s like physically and emotionally.
Using opposites works. If he’s an arson investigator, then she’s an arsonist. If the protagonist wants to ban guns, the antagonist is a collector. If the protagonist wants to save the world, then the antagonist wants to destroy it,
Why does opposites work? Because it creates conflict that spontaneously combusts. The opponents are opponents the second they appear.
So what kind of temperament, attitudes and demeanor is the main person who is for and against what you, the author, have to say that you want others to hear? Answer that, and you’ve defined your characters’ emotional states, and honed the definitions on their physical designs.

Spiritual; These people in this situation, in this emotional state are apt to draw on these traits and beliefs. I’m not talking about religion, though that can be part of the definition of this. What belief does your character ascribe to, what philosophy of life. Does s/he believe in truth? If so, does s/he believe truth is immutable, or that you shape and mold it? Does s/he live in black and white? Or in vivid color? In shades of gray?
An example: “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Not sure who first said it, but which label a person wears depends on who’s assigning the label. How that person sees himself relates to his spiritual side.

Strong characters, ones we remember, are three-dimensional and have aspects of all three dimensions: physical, emotional and spiritual.

Not only is this essential for crafting a credible story, it’s mandatory for making a reader care.
Look to how we react to books. We might feel drawn to its subject or to where it is set. We might even be drawn to its horror, but we emotionally react to its characters.
Would Harry Potter hold the same appeal if Harry weren’t Harry?
Would Gone With the Wind be as strong without Scarlett or Rhett? Would the story be the same if Melanie were the heroine?
No, on Harry. No, on Scarlett and Rhett. And no on Melanie--that’d be a totally different story.
We love characters, or love to hate them, because we identify with them. In them, we see shards of ourselves, reflections of who we are and what we want--why we want it--and who we want to be.
If we don’t identify with the characters, we do not care what happens to them. If we don’t care what happens to them, we aren’t going to enjoy the book. It’s that simple.
Remember, authors write for a purpose and with purpose. To do so effectively, the reader needs to bond with the characters or you don’t have the right vehicle to convey your message or statement. This is true, even if that purpose is to entertain.
A quick look at Secondary Characters. You create every secondary character in your book to serve a specific story purpose. Maybe s/he is a confidant to the protagonist, a mentor or someone who undermines and assists the antagonist. Know the purpose. What s/he must do in the story helps define who s/he is.
Now that you know what must be done, look for ways to combine these actions. Instead of having three different people do one thing, have one person do three.
My rule of thumb is to kill every secondary character I can possibly kill. If they won’t die, then I let them live. They’ve proven they’ve earned their space in the novel.
What they must do defines who they are, and what attributes and shortcomings they need to be well-rounded, developed characters. They too should be physical, emotional and spiritual human beings. And its through those three dimensions that you create highly individual, real-to-life people instead of cardboard characters.

THAT BRINGS US TO SUBPLOTS

You know what you, the author, wants to say. You know who is going to say it and, if you’ve developed your secondary characters, then you’ve also gone a long way to define your plot and setting. So your book is a vehicle, and its occupants are all on board.
Your plot is the windshield. It’s where you’re going. But that doesn’t make subplots side-trips or back seats. Subplots are more like your car’s rearview and side mirrors.
A rearview is smaller, and what you see through it is a reflection. That’s what a subplot is to a plot. It mirrors or echoes the plot. It relates, it’s interesting and compelling and it stays in secondary position to the plot.
The minute your subplot becomes more interesting or intriguing than your plot, it becomes the plot and your previous plot becomes subplot. Proportion speaks to importance. Importance is designated by story space. Space is premium, and you give only what an event has earned. So significant events and people get a larger share of space than secondary people and events. Plot gets more space than subplots.
Subplots strengthen and reinforce plots. They brace, add deeper dimension, greater understanding. They express motivations, which are often unstated otherwise, or create more significant obstacles than we deemed apparent initially.
For example. In WAR GAMES’ Body Double, the antagonist buries the protagonist in a tomb. She’s alive and he feels this will terrify her because he knows that her father used to beat her and lock her in a wooden box until her bruises healed, so looking at her didn’t offend him.
But he doesn’t know that the protagonist used to hide in the box to keep from getting beaten. It was the one place her father would never think to look for her.
Now, without that subplot being interwoven into the story, her being locked in a tomb wouldn’t hold the same level of significance. Her reaction wouldn’t have the same connotations, either. The subplot put down the foundation for the plot, strengthened it, reinforced it, and helped characterize the protagonist--and because he did this to her, it helped characterize the antagonist, too.
I’ve incorporated many of the lessons we’ve learned and the myths passed on about characters rather than setting them out on their own because of time constraints. If you’re not clear on that, then do a review of the archetypes and then look at unforgettable characters and note the things they have in common. Equally important, notice the attributes that are absent.

One last bit of advice in building your character cast. Love them all--protagonist or antagonist, primary character or secondary. If you do, it shows in the work on a level that is nearly subliminal. It infuses the work with layers you don’t often realize are there until much later. It’s almost magical, the way relevant tidbits appear and insert themselves.
Conversely, if you don’t love them and respect them, then that shows, too. And your magic becomes a nightmare.
Building story people takes time and effort, but the investment is the kind of thing that makes readers stand in line for hours to get “the next book” or read what the author wrote long after the author is no longer here.
Remember, there’s power in the pen. Power to captivate, convince, entertain and open closed minds. The story itself doesn’t do those things; the characters the author has built to live that story does, and those characters have the power to change lives. ❧

Note:

here are a lot of articles in my online library for writers at www.vickihinze.com on character and character development. One you should definitely look at is: Creating Unforgettable Characters. You might also take a look at the articles on Dialogue, because how we say what we say characterizes us, too.

There are a lot of different articles on characterization. You should also review the in depth series on Plot and The Fictional Dream.

The series on plotting contains more specific information along with examples on subplots.

Be aware that I went through a “goofy title” phase and so articles like Sunshine and Diamonds are on character, too. It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Blessings,

Vicki

Vicki Hinze
©2007

Printable PDF: How-To Build a Character Cast.pdf