When Your Characters Need Therapy
By Guest | September 4, 2016 |
By Lorna Carlson, Flickr’s Creative Commons
Please welcome back guest Lisa Alber who writes the County Clare mysteries. Her debut novel, Kilmoon, was nominated for the Rosebud Award of Best First Novel. Kirkus calls her second novel, Whispers in the Mist, a “worthy successor to Kilmoon in tone, mood, complexity, and keen insight into human failures and triumphs.” She balances writing her third novel (Midnight Ink, August 2017) with gardening, dog walking, and goofing off. She lives in Portland, Oregon.
You can find Lisa online on Facebook and Twitter.
When Your Characters Need Therapy
A few months ago, a writer friend enthused about her novel in progress. Her characters had taken on lives of their own, and she was in the flow, she was transported, she was SO EXCITED about her novel.
We sat on my patio sipping Tempranillo—honesty: she sipped, I guzzled—with my little dog Fawn snoozing on the lawn chair. The hydrangeas and geraniums and marigolds and begonias were ever so jaunty … But never mind all that nicey-ness, I was grumpy, and made even more grumpy by my friend’s enthusiasm.
Obviously, her characters were well adjusted. There was apparently not a wishy-washy story arc or murky primary motivation among the bunch. Meanwhile, I’d stalled on the first draft of my third novel at about 70,000 words.
My main characters, Danny and Merrit, had gone silent on me. I knew how the story ended, the problem was getting there, and at 70K words, I was heading into the climax and resolution, and I had no clue what to do. I tried thinking about my dilemma purely in terms of plotting to see if the characters would wake up from their own personal Zombielands. I spent a week banging my head against my desk. My brain doesn’t do plot without the deeper character connections to give the plot points SOUL. Yes, SOUL—a.k.a. the internal storylines. Plot points are great, but without soul I couldn’t write them.
So I returned to my characters. I remembered one of my earliest writing lessons from bestselling author Elizabeth George in her craft book, Writing Away: “I become my character’s analyst.” She’s referring to writing character analyses as part of her development process.
I’m a big fan of the therapeutic process, so I decided to engage my characters in a little therapy, en media res, as it were. I pulled out my novel journal, a black-and-white composition book, and tackled Merrit. It went something like this:
Me: The last time you deigned to talk to me, you were a total bitch. That came out of nowhere—what gives?
Merrit: Oh, I don’t know … Whatever.
Me: Don’t ‘whatever’ me … You’re the one who shot off your mouth in my scene and then went silent. It’s obviously about Danny.
Merrit: Duh.
Me: Tell me how you’re feeling about Danny.
Merrit: Remember when he dismissed me in Chapter 2? That hurt my feelings, but you brushed right over it as if I wouldn’t have a reaction! What’s the point of his dismissiveness anyhow? I don’t get it. If you’re trying to get something going between us, at least let me have a reaction. Or drop the whole thing and figure out what I’m really stewing about.
Me: CRAP!
Come to find out I’d strayed off my original first thought for Merrit’s story. I write a crime fiction series set in Ireland, and Merrit and Danny are the continuing characters. Although they rub each other the wrong way at times, they’re not frenemies, or enemies, or out to hurt each other, or engaged in I-hate-you-no-I-hate-you foreplay. I realized that I was missing Merrit’s deeper story as a newcomer to Ireland. As an outsider, she’s pining for a community to call her own. That’s where her ache/internal story arc resided.
I needed to adjust both Merrit’s and Danny’s internal arcs, and when I did, I started to see how to write to the end. In other words, when I reconnected with their internal arcs, the external plotting toward The End fell into place (for the first draft—revisions later!). I needed to follow the characters’s hearts.
The most interesting thing about this thought experiment was that when I dug up my initial character analysis for Merrit, I’d written, “Have to deal with her loneliness and the fact that she might be alone, without close friends, after Liam (her father) dies.”
We all know that there’s no book without a first draft. Our first drafts can be as shitty (in Anne Lamott’s famous words) as can be, but what happens if you’re stuck even with tacit permission to write utter crap? Go back to your characters. Revisit their heads. Ask yourself what they would do next. Remind yourself that stories need to come full circle—reread your first chapters and your development notes. Where did your characters’s internal story arcs begin and how will they end?
Remember my annoyingly perky friend? I’m happy to say that once I did what I’ve just described, Merrit and Danny came alive again, and I returned to only sipping red wine (well, not guzzling it anyhow). The ending didn’t come easy—oh hell no!—but it came at long last. My characters came through for me, and with them came the plot points.
My biggest lesson learned from writing the third novel? Write out my first thoughts in big letters and plaster them to a wall somewhere I’ll see them every day. Maybe near the wine …
What do you do when your characters go silent? Have you ever tried using therapy or talking to your characters to help sort out your stories? What strategies or other techniques help you?
Many thanks to today’s guest.
You can read more WU guest posts by visiting this link.
I like your idea of making those words which describe your novel prominent, a touchstone to return to. ‘Love with integrity – or not at all’ is mine.
A couple of times I’ve put characters through a therapy session with a psychiatrist – even though they wouldn’t be caught dead doing that. The psychiatrist asked questions, and, even though they squirmed, they answered. Any question. Deep.
The little back-and-forth transcripts delivered. Stuff they would never tell anyone – exactly how they felt – they told this anonymous psychiatrist, because they had to tell someone.
If ever called on it, they would disavow every word. But it got the true feelings, the things they wishes they could say, out in a safe form. The innermost desires.
Hi Alicia, oh yes, we as authors need to put the characters through their paces whether the like it or not! :-)
This post resonated with me due to a recent experience using this dialogue-with-the-character analysis in fleshing out an antagonist. The Q & A process revealed inner angst that made him more human and accounted for his misanthropic behavior. No, he’s not a lovely guy inside, but how he got that way, and his tone and specific answers led me to understand how he would respond to any situation I throw at him.
I think it was Donald Maass who clued me in to the importance of a believable villain. His backstory may not be revealed in the story per se, but if you as author know it, you can make him dance.
Exactly, Dan! We need to understand our characters so we can be specific about their reactions. Especially with villains, it’s so easy to fall into cliches. Even villains are the heroes of their own stories.
This dovetails with several columns I’ve read here by Donald Maass and Lisa Cron. You can’t write the story until you know your characters and why they behave as they do. They ARE the story. Thanks for the idea to create an imaginary therapy session in which they tell all. Very concrete idea that will work for one of my characters on WIP. She has a secret but has not been able to admit it to herself.
Ohh, I love characters with secrets! :-) Donald Maass is great — I’ve been to a couple of his workshops, really insightful. I’m a big believer in plot arising from character not the other way around.
Lorna– As your post illustrates, writers must be capable of hindsight, must be able to step back and see what’s missing or what doesn’t belong. If putting your characters on the couch works for you, fine.
But too much emphasis on inner probing and “drilling down” into the marrow of a character’s psyche can cause writers to lose track of the polar opposite, equally legitimate approach to both story and character development: the one Tom Wolfe uses. His approach is to reveal characters and their world through the careful layering of external detail–appearances as opposed to the buried, inner world–and dialogue. Perfecting this approach can be as effective if not more effective than the post-Freudian preoccupation with analysis and depth psychology. But it’s certainly no easier.
Thanks for commenting, Barry. I’m Lisa — Lorna, I think, must be the credit for the photo.
We writers have craft toolboxes, and we choose different tools at different times to build our stories and to work through writing snafus. What you’re talking about is the actual rendering of a scene to show characters–specificity of detail is key and I agree with that. What I’m talking is a method of working through a snafu so that I can actually write said scenes.
Lisa–sorry about the name mixup. I do know what you’re talking about. The purpose of my comment is to offer some balance to the heavy emphasis being placed these days on psychological analysis as an active part of storytelling. There’s nothing wrong with it as an “off the books” process, which is what I think you mean. But quite often, writers use analysis itself as a component in their stories, and this is where I think problems can develop. I also think The Wolfeian approach deserves more attention than it gets. The writer must of course know what motivates her characters. But this knowledge then informs the “details,” which flesh out for the reader what the characters are all about.
Hi Barry, I see what you’re saying now. Thanks for clarifying — I agree that psychoanalyzing on the page isn’t the best.
I like how you were able to backtrack and go to the *heart* of the problem. Sounds like a great technique. I usually have my character write letters, to me, to each other, etc. Not only does it help me to capture their voice but also gain insight into their relationships.
Hi Vijaya, I’ve had my characters write letters also — that works great! Sometimes we need to backtrack to get to the heart of things with our characters. I’ve found that I may *think* I know my characters as I start writing first drafts, but later on realize I’m missing something essential. You can just feel it in your gut–or you stall out like I did.
Hi, Lisa:
So great to see you here. I’ve had a similar problem recently, but more because travel has created too many distractions to permit me to “settle in” with the characters. I think your therapeutic approach is precisely an attempt to do that — to get back in touch with a deeper, more nuanced, less plot-driven sense of who they are, so they can turn things around and drive the plot themselves. Fortunately, a bout of insomnia last night gave me the opportunity and the time to focus more mindfully on what they want, why, and how they intend to go about it, and I think I’m back not rack.
Meanwhile, if you’re interested in the psychotherapy of soul, take a peek at what became my most productive vacation reading: Jungian analyst James Hillman’s THE SOUL’S CODE: In Search of Character and Calling (a book I’m sure I’ll be taking about a lot more here in the months to come).
See you in New Orleans?
David,
As a huge Jung fan, I’m going to pick up Hillman’s book. Thanks.
I’ll be checking out this book too, David! I grew up in a household where Jung’s MAN AND HIS SYMBOLS stood on the bookshelf next to the Bible. Guess which book I browsed through? :-)
David! Hello, my friend. :-) I like the way you phrased this; “so they can turn things around and drive the plot themselves.” That’s it, exactly.
You know how you hear about writers who get their manuscripts written in bits and pieces–while riding the commuter train, while sitting at their children’s various lessons, whenever? I can’t seem to compartmentalize that way. I need, as you say, to be settled in and without too many distractions. Ideally, I need long swaths of time just to myself–to just *be*. It’s difficult … Thinking about this, I bet part of the reason I got lost at 70k words is because my writing time had gotten too piecemeal …
Anyhow, yes to New Orleans! Looking forward to seeing you. Coming in early? (Me, Monday evening.)
Lisa,
This couldn’t come at a better time for me. Makes me think about Jung and the universe. I’m going to give my overtired thinking processes a moment to be still, and feel. Not think, just feel my characters without telling them what to do. I needed this today.
Thank you.
Hi Bernadette! I love Jung. :-) I’m glad the post rang true to you today. Sometimes other writers’s perspectives come just at the right moment — I love that. Happens for me too.
I remember being shocked and dismayed the first time one of MY characters started acting in a way I never would and started saying words I would never utter. I tried to reign him in but he told me in no uncertain terms that this was HIS story not mine. I learned a lot from him.
Oh yes, Leanne, the characters take over, for sure! More importantly, I think our stories are better served if we *let* them take over. I think a lot of our creative process occurs in our unconscious minds (or is the subconscious mind? I get that confused), sometimes there’s instinct going on that we’re not aware of, so when the characters start to act on their own? Well, I chalk that up to my un/subconscious mind knowing better than my conscious mind. :-)
I can relate, Lisa. I’ve had trouble getting into a good writing routine this past year and find that I have to go back and revisit my characters again and again. I did a workshop with Elizabeth George at the Book Passage in Corte Madera and find her character analysis strategy a huge help, especially with recurring secondary characters. Was it her influence that made you choose Ireland as a setting?
My latest WIP (I also write a mystery series, but wanted to set it in North America) is way behind schedule. I’m not sure if it’s entirely because of life events, or partly because I’m using Scrivener for the first time. I also need a large block of time and solitude to work effectively.
Best of luck with your series.
Ruth
Hi Ruth, isn’t Elizabeth George the best teacher? I’ve workshopped with her a few times. I go back to the character sections in her book every time I start a new first draft. I was already writing stories set in Ireland when I took her first workshop.
I just used Scrivener for the first time for my last novel–I think it helped streamline my process a bit. I really like it.
This post resonates with me as I’m writing a new synopsis for a novel. Not, perhaps, entirely Jungian but more aligned with the characters’ inner arcs. After the last edits essentially mining for every overlooked or too-easily dismissed bit of loneliness or alienation, I’ve realized the old synopsis was accurate for plot but didn’t really hint at the characters’ drives. It was ‘good enough’ for a contest win but I don’t think it conveys the true, deeper story of the three friends’ individual psychological journeys through the story. Ergo, a new synopsis for the querying phase.
Hi Jayne, congrats on the contest win! I know a writer who cycles through her drafts for different storytelling aspects. Maybe on one round of edits she hones in on the character drives/arcs, maybe on another, theme, etcetera. I don’t do this, but always thought it was an interesting strategy.
I just keep thinking like them, until their behavior comes second nature. I had to step back for a few weeks (a leaky roof helped to distract me), but now their thoughts seem to be coming without the earlier frustration. Perhaps I was trying too hard to think like them, so letting them stew for awhile seems to have helped.
Hi Frank, I so get the stewing thing. Sometimes we need a little time away to fill the well again and to let our brains work on things in the background. I’m on a break from my WIP right now. Hopefully, I’ll come back to it with better perspective.
Hi Lisa,
Thanks for this! I experienced the same thing about a month ago but had never heard of it. I’m working on a first novel that’s actually working (domestic suspense? Women’s fiction/romance/psych thrill combo), and it’s been going great. The characters are driving it and all that you (and others in the comments) have described.
A little past midway, my male protagonist (love interest) steps out on the patio where my main character is lounging. She pops up, all excited to see him, and he goes silent. Stares at her. It was like I’m in his body, sort of, looking at things from his viewpoint, you know? And I was getting the creeps or feeling repulsed just looking at the main character, the woman he’s been madly in love with. And suddenly, I can’t write his reaction or anything at all because he’s not saying or feeling anything. Or he hates her. I was like WHOA. Dude. You can’t do this. This isn’t the plan! You can’t do this to her! He just clammed up.
So I had a talk with him. Or just opened myself up to whatever he wanted to say or show me. Turns out, he had his own plan. Took me two days to figure it out. Not only has the main character not been paying attention to him (much) since she’s all wrapped up in her drama, I hadn’t been paying attention to him, either. How did all the drama affect *him*? How does *he* feel?
Once I figured that out, it all came together. At the end, they’re still together but…he’s still iffy.
Glad to know others deal with the same thing. And I’ll definitely try the therapy approach! lol His mom is a psychoanalyst, though–he just rolled his eyes :)
Hi Leah, thanks for sharing that anecdote. Isn’t it amazing how the characters can surprise us that way? And usually the surprises improve the story! I’m glad your male protagonist is getting the attention he wants! :-)
Perfect timing on this post for me (that so often happens at WU). I stalled out at 72,400 with the same sort of issue–knowing how it will end, but struggling to get that soul element in place. And I realized the same sort of thing–I had to go back and examine arcs. The dialogue trick will help. Thanks!
Hi Erin, isn’t it comforting to know that we’re not alone with our writing snafus? :-)