Capturing Real: Beyond Two-Dimensional Character Building
By Therese Walsh | September 6, 2019 |
If you want your characters to seem like real people, they must present on the page as more than tokens that run through a plot point obstacle course. You already know, I’m sure, that real people are complex. They don’t always know who they are or what they want or why they behave as they do. But you, as a creator, must know these things about your characters.
Allow them to reveal their story as you write; don’t presume to know it all.
Knowing a character in full form before you write your first draft may not be possible, or even ideal. You may want to begin with a moderate understanding of your character—based on a well-considered backstory, and how that intersects with your story’s plot—and then allow them to evolve as you work. There’s a simple truth at play here: When you begin to tell a tale, you may have a skeleton plot worked out on paper or in your head, but there’s no way you have envisioned every turn your story will take, even if you’re a master plotter. And it’s the intersection of your character with these turns that reveal who they are. This is why you can’t fully understand them until you allow them to interact with these moments as you write them.
But what if the character-connection evades you? Is there anything you can do to help things along?
Let them loose on the page. Not every character is going to flesh out easily. For example, if you have a character who is Pollyanna-sunny or even boring, you may have to force them into a corner and see how they react; write that as an exercise, and force them to reveal the breadth of their territory to you in that way.
Try unconventional measures if it means getting inside the heads of quirky or difficult people. I had a quirky character in my second novel who came alive for me in footnotes that I never showed anyone. Her sister on the other hand—a jaded young woman who felt trapped in a life she couldn’t imagine evolving from—spoke to me in haikus: carefully composed with very few words. It was only through these measures that each sister revealed something that I would not otherwise have known.
Once, with a character holding a lot of anger, I let her vent via pages of rants that weren’t meant for the book. I needed to listen to them, though, in order to learn how she viewed her world. (Anger, I find, is often the lingering bruise behind a character’s greatest pain.)
Let them loose off the page, too. In The Velveteen Rabbit, the rabbit had to be let loose in order to shed the label of ‘toy’; only then did he become real. Your characters may become real for you when you let go the label of ‘character’—when you imagine them untethered from your specific plot. Think outside the confines of your story and they may unspool for you.
Brunonia Barry famously inhabits the mindsets of her characters while she’s drafting—eating, traveling, and speaking with others as those characters, sometimes for days at a time—in order to grow a better understanding of who they are. It’s through this exercise that she’s able to authentically channel them onto the page, pulling forward her experience of being them, imagining their thoughts, and walking in their shoes.
This isn’t always easy. In fact, if you hit a roadblock it may be because you’re resisting touching something about a character that hits too close to home. This happened to me while writing a depressed character in my second book. This character’s darkness was something I worked hard to avoid. But once I recognized my own avoidance, I carefully dipped into memory and let it intersect with her story: How would I feel if X? How would Y change everything? How was her response distinct from what mine might be, and why? That last part was an important safety net: Though I might share emotions with a character, I would never share an intersection between those emotions and that character’s backstory or forestory. But I could still deliver this character a huge dose of what I did know, and honor her with that much realism.
Adapt with every draft.
I had an illuminating experience with my editor while working through a draft of my second novel, involving the telling of a story within my story. The ‘embedded story’ just wasn’t gelling. I think my editor finally admitted, ‘I don’t really care about this character.’ Huh, I thought – neither do I. And, yes, that’s bad. Not every character you create is going to be likable, but I didn’t even care how readers might perceive this character beyond noting her similarities to a character in the alpha story. And because this side venture was also pulling focus from that alpha story, we decided to let it go entirely. Bye, bye, apathy.
It isn’t always as easy as nixing a troubled character-author relationship, of course. I recently worked with an author on a protagonist who felt a little untouchable, and recalled my experience with my own troubled character. I brought it back to my editor’s point, and gave it a spin: ‘Do you like this protagonist?’ I asked my client. He said that he did but when pressed couldn’t say why. That gave us a huge clue. There was some resistance there, which my client quickly identified—this duty-bound character was entirely defined by duty. As before, we let him loose on the page, learned more about who he was sans duty, and now he’s three-dimensional in all of his many, complex shades of gray.
Don’t forget the small stuff.
My son is in the Cinematic Arts program at USC, and we’ve occasionally had the opportunity to live vicariously through his experience. For instance, he’s given us the chance to view some auditions by aspiring actors trying to land a role that he’s been tasked to cast. It’s both great fun to see these auditions and surprisingly illuminating. You can tell, almost from first lines, who’s ‘got it’ and who – well – has a ways to go. We’ve talked about that, at length—what it means to be a good actor. We’ve speculated that a really good actor is able to deliver unscripted micro-expressions, reflecting the thoughts that person would have if they were living life in their shoes, in truth. A lot might go into that thought trajectory, or not. It might be obvious to go from ‘Sure, I’d like to go with you’ to ‘I’ll drive.’ Or it might not. It might be that person is thinking, ‘But I’m supposed to meet Thomas, so how am I going to juggle this?’ or ‘This will give me the opportunity I’ve been waiting for to spike your drink and dump your body in the river’ or ‘We’re going to pull off into that overgrown baseball field, aren’t we, just like old times? Good thing I’m wearing the black lace today.’
Actors who are aware of the power of micro-expressions, and know how to pull them off using facial expressions and body language, are in possession of a mighty skill. We writers need to know how to convey these things, too, if we’re to create characters who’ve ‘got it’ – who are believable, three-dimensional stand-ins for human beings. This starts with knowing what your pretend people are thinking, beat for beat, considering if those thoughts should be expressed internally or verbally or through a tell, or withheld, even though you know what they are. Put another way: It’s not always what they say, it’s what they mean.
Characters often become the reason we write, and that’s a good thing. Your need to tell a character’s story well, and your dedication to that end, is what will ultimately make them read as real.
What’s your experience with turning difficult characters into believable beings? Share your stories, and any tricks and tips you’ve used to good effect, in comments.
[coffee]
Therese Walsh (she/her) co-founded Writer Unboxed in 2006 and is the site’s editorial director. She was the editor of WU’s only book, Author in Progress, and runs the Writer Unboxed UnConference.
Her second novel, The Moon Sisters, received starred reviews and was named one of the best books of the year by Library Journal and Book Riot.
Learn more about Therese on her website, and sign up for her newsletter to be among the first to hear about any new projects.
Hey T—As you usually do, you’ve prompted me to think deeply this morning, and from an unboxed perspective. Your question, about liking one’s protagonist has me reviewing my history, through six manuscripts, of characters and whether or not I like them and why.
Funny thing: I’ve always liked my female protagonists. And the feedback I’ve received on them has always been pretty darn positive. When I ask myself about male characters I like (and there are several), they are always secondary characters. One in particular springs to mind. This character, the brother and right-hand of a clan chieftain, is thrust into a position of living among his brother’s rivals, in a foreign city. He has several secret goals and motivations, but all of them are altruistic. He’s curious, amused and amusing, loyal, and humble. One of my original goals in writing him was to have this alternate perspective—someone who stands back and perceives multiple sides of the various conflicts in my story-world.
Regarding the resistance you mention: I haz felt it. Twice! Both with male protagonists (perhaps to my subconscious, the female MCs are more clearly not me…?). And I can see that my resistance is born of another thing you mention—self-protection. Which I can clearly see is born of fear. Fear of revealing too much of myself on the page… Perhaps even to myself.
This has been going on for over a decade, so there is much that has set in stone. Sometimes it takes a sledge to break through. It’s important to remember your note: that though we share characteristics with them, our characters are not us. With that in mind, I think my liking the secondary character I mention is easy. He stands back, observes. He doesn’t put himself in positions that could cast him in a negative light. Through much of the story, he risks very little. So yeah, I can see myself in him. But he’s not going to make the pages turn, or leave anyone thinking or feeling too deeply (though I still think he’s a wonderful secondary character). Lots to consider here.
Thank you, oh wise StoryWhisperer, for always pushing us to think more deeply, and in various unboxed ways.
Hey, V, thanks for your comment! The observations you’ve made are potentially game-changing, especially “my resistance is born of another thing you mention—self-protection. Which I can clearly see is born of fear. Fear of revealing too much of myself on the page… Perhaps even to myself.” These revelations can make for some mighty tools if you mentally transfer them from the fear column to the assets column. Maybe you can use the experiences of your harder-to-access male characters to excavate and use some truths past the comfort zone. Maybe those guys can say some of what you yourself may have thought, even if you blocked the thoughts from becoming repetitive and/or ever leaving your mouth. Your pages are a safe place to push at and reimagine the boundaries of your own territory while forging a parallel territory for those characters. You’ve got this!
As the mom of an actress, I was especially interested in your insights about micro-expressions. It seems challenging to figure out how to implement them in fiction! I might have to reread some Virginia Woolf, who shows us human beings immersed in the unfolding moments of life, as they are actually lived. Right now I am reading A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles, and I am quite certain that Towles’ characters, particularly Count Rostov, must have once walked the earth.
S.K., I just scoured my bookshelves looking for a book I purchased at one point on body language and micro-expressions, but couldn’t find it. This post (and site) is an exceptional one for pointing toward micro-expressions you may be able to utilize throughout a novel — https://www.bodylanguagesuccess.com/2015/01/nonverbal-communication-analysis-no_11.html . Granted, a novel filled with accurate micro-expressions could become tedious fast, but a few thrown in at crucial moments in a scene and/or chapter might be truly useful.
For what it’s worth, I think one of the best ways to key in on fresh body language is to watch talented actors at key moments, with a notebook in your lap and a pen in hand.
Wishing your daughter well. Acting is a hard gig!
Thanks so much for the good wishes and the helpful info! That website is fascinating.
I’m going to spend some more time there myself!
I so much appreciated this post! It’s a wonderful example of the organic nature of fiction-writing, which (to me) is somewhere between outlining everything ahead of time”and “letting things flow” (or hoping they will). Just as you say, the character needs to evolve and reveal herself during the course of the writing. It’s the same way we get to know a real person = not all at once, and certainly not before spending time with her. How to listen and let oneself be surprised ….
And yes, how to deal with a character that one is just not connected to? I went through that recently with my second novel (slated for spring 2021). Something just wasn’t working, despite multiple drafts and lots of strengths. It was the main character. I needed to find a way to love her. That’s not the same thing as making her “likable” (a loaded word).
Well, lots more I could say, but for now just: Thank you so much for this post!
“Allow them to reveal their story as you write; don’t presume to know it all.” That sounds like pantsing to me! :)
More seriously, thanks for making me think about why I like (or don’t like) certain characters. Boring won’t do nuttin for nobody.
Carol, well there’s a new idea: Plan your stories but don’t let your characters go without pants–at least not all of the time!
In truth, I can’t imagine boxing a character in without letting THEM evolve through the story. Case in point: I wrote the first version of what became my debut novel over about 2 years time. After receiving an agent’s feedback, I decided to rewrite it entirely, for a different genre, and with a different voice. Same characters, which you’d think meant I’d have easy access to them, but boy was there a lot of resistance. I had to let go what I thought I knew about these people, let that knowledge go below the surface again, and allow them to interact in real time with this more serious narrative, via new scenes, and while exploring this more intimate voice. Two years later, I finished again, and sold the story.
So, yeah: Pants those people!
Barbara, I’m fascinated to hear more about this main character you had to learn to love. If you have the time, please circle back and let us know what your process was for connecting, despite obstacles.
Hi Therese, your POV in this post will help me as I read through a new draft. My problem? I like all of my characters. They are faulted people with desires, who when backed up against the walls in their lives, often utilize the same worn and comfortable beliefs. Unfortunately, some of those beliefs got them to where they are in the first place. Humans live by habit. Now to open their eyes to change, to other ways of looking at their lives. Maybe I’m getting there.
Beth, I feel for you. I had a similar situation with the first draft of what became my debut. Everyone was quite nice, and easy to like. I had to give myself permission to experiment a lot. I’d name a Word document ‘dysfunctional mother,’ for example, and push the limits, imagine a much rougher backstory for them all, and block the exits to ‘nice,’ knowing I could delete the document if I ended up hated it in the end. But I didn’t. Some brutal family dynamics took root in the story, which began to feel richer and truer, even if they took this writer out of her comfort zone. At some point, though, I began to love all of that conflict — because conflict is story fuel, of course. I still liked them all, too — even that dysfunctional mother — because I understood how they were still the heroes of their own stories. I hope this doesn’t sound preachy. My second book is filled with people in conflict, so I guess I learned my lesson! Wishing you well as you push your people out of their comfort zones.
I’ve wondered if this is why Tana French’s characters seem so real to me. She’s an actress so writes gestures and movements well.
I like to interview my characters when I get stuck. Let them tell their story. But I also think I tend to take the easy way out. Fear. Yeah, that’s a biggie.
The interview approach is a good one, Elaine. Thanks for sharing!
Therese, helpful counsel. “This is why you can’t fully understand them until you allow them to interact with these moments as you write them.” One of the great delights of writing is when characters take off their shoes and dance to their own tunes on the page, surprising the author.
I don’t write extensive character notes pre-writing, but the basic ones I do give me a visual on their looks and demeanor. I do write some fundamental notes on setting too, so that I see scenes/characters as they come to life. But as you suggest, sometimes they come to kaleidoscopic life in ways that the writer can’t imagine.
Great stuff on the micro-expressions too. I was watching Big Little Lies a few nights ago and thinking the very same about the ability of some actors to convey tremendous amounts of information and emotion by subtle cues. Good lessons for writing too. Thanks!
Thanks, Tom! I could not agree with you more about the joys of character surprise on the page. I live for that stuff.
And I need to watch season 2 of BLL; what a well-cast group of micro-expression-capable people on that show.
Write on.