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by Julie Eshbaugh

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We all want to write vibrant, lively, realistic characters that leap to life from the page. We want our characters well-rounded and interesting. We want our characters to each have their own “voice.”

In pursuit of this worthy goal of creating a realistic character, we write lengthy character histories, we write journal entries from the point of view of our character, and we fill in character worksheets.

Yet sometimes we do all of these things – we endow our character with personality, background, depth, and breadth – and still, our beta readers say they just don’t “connect” with the character.

In other words, they didn’t care about the character.

How do you take your well-rounded character and carry him over that giant chasm that separates “realistic” from “relatable”? How do you give him the traits that will make a reader stay up all night with him, anxiously turning page after page just to know if he achieves his goal?

The answer is simple:

To be relatable, a character needs to be vulnerable.

Obviously, the concept of creating vulnerability isn’t a well-guarded secret in the writing world. If you’ve watched your share of Disney animated features, you know that almost no Disney character is entitled to grow up with both parents. (Of course, this truism isn’t limited to Disney – Harry Potter, Bruce Wayne, Peter Parker, Luke Skywalker, and Katniss Everdeen have all lost at least one parent.)

Vulnerability gives a reader something to root for. Vulnerability opens a character up to empathy.

So if this rule of endowing a character with vulnerability is so simple, why aren’t all of our characters sympathetic, relatable heroes?

The reason may be that – like many concepts in writing – creating vulnerability in a character is much easier to understand than it is to execute. Here are a few things to consider when thinking about your character’s weaknesses:

Vulnerabilities should directly relate to your character’s goal and motivation. In the Hunger Games trilogy, Katniss’s loss of her father is more than just a personal loss – it sets in motion her strong desire to protect her family. It also influences the actions she is willing to take to obtain her goals. Having lost her father in a mining accident, setting off an explosion in a mine is not a tactic she can endorse.

Your reader will relate more to a character’s fears if they share those fears themselves. Harry Potter is thrown into an unfamiliar world and learns immediately that someone very powerful and evil wants to destroy him. Part of why readers find him so relatable is that we all fear the monster under the bed – the unseen thing that wants to harm us – and Voldemort embodies that perfectly.

A loss that creates both a weakness and a strength can be especially compelling. Luke Skywalker learns that his father was a great Jedi. Knowing this makes the fact that he never knew his father all the more painful. Yet Luke has this incredible legacy that empowers him. (And when Luke ultimately learns that his greatest nemesis is actually his father, this vulnerability gains a whole new level of uniqueness and complexity.)

What do you think about creating relatable characters? Do you have an approach to ensure that your characters have a balance of strengths and weaknesses? Please share your thoughts in the comments!

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Julie Eshbaugh writes fiction for young adults. She is represented by Adams Literary. You can add Julie on Goodreads and follow her on Twitter and Pinterest.

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How does an author take a reader deeply into a character’s POV? By using direct interior monologue and a stream of consciousness techniques.

This is part 3 of a 3-part series on Point of View: Techniques for Getting Inside a Character’s Head. Read the whole series.

Outside

Outside/Inside

Inside

Going Inside a Character’s Head, Heart and Emotions

Omniscience.Jauss says, “In direct interior monologue, the character’s thoughts are not just ‘reflected,’ they are presented directly, without altering person or tense. As a result, the external narrator disappears, if only for a moment, and the character takes over as ‘narrator.’” (p. 51)

Here, “. . . the narrator is not consciously narrating.” In much of IVAN, he is consciously narrating the story. Sometimes, it might be hard to distinguish the difference because the character and narrator are the same, and it’s written in present tense (except when he is telling about the background of each animal). This closeness of the character and narrator is one reason to choose first-person, present tense. But there are still times when it is clear that IVAN is narrating his story.

But there also times when that narrator’s role is absent. In the “nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six days” chapter, Ivan is worried about what Mack will do after the small elephant Ruby hits Mack with her trunk:

“Mack groans. He stumbles to his feet and hobbles off toward his office. Ruby watches him leave. I can’t read her expression. Is she afraid? Relieved? Proud?”

The last three questions remove the narrator-Ivan and give us what Ivan is thinking at the moment. The direct interior monologue gives the reader direct access to the character. With a third person narrator, those rhetorical questions might be indirect interior monologue; but here, because of the first person narration, it feels like direct interior monologue.

Or, in the “click” chapter, Ivan is about to be moved to a zoo:

The door to my cage is propped open. I can’t stop staring at it.
My door. Open.

The first two sentences still feel like a narrator is reporting. But “My door. Open.” feels like direct access to Ivan’s thought at that precise moment. He’s not looking back and reporting, but this is direct access to his thoughts.

A last technique for diving straight into a character’s head is stream-of-consciousness. Jauss says, “. . . unlike direct interior monologue, it presents those thoughts as they exist before the character’s mind has ‘edited’ them or arranged them into complete sentences.” (P. 54)

When Ivan is finally in a new home at a local zoo, he is allowed to venture outside for the first time. The “outside at last” chapter is stream-of-consciousness.

Sky.
Grass.
Tree.
Ant.
Stick.
Bird. . . .
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.

What the reader feels here is Ivan’s wonder at the great outdoors. It’s a direct expression of Ivan’s joy in being outside after decades of being caged. We are one with this great beast and it gives the reader joy to be there.

Or look at the “romance” chapter, where Ivan is courting another gorilla.

A final note: Sometimes, an author breaks the “fourth wall,” the “imaginary wall that separates us from the actors,” and speaks directly to the reader. This is technically a switch from 1st person POV to 2nd person POV. But it is very effective in IVAN in the second chapter, “names.” Here, Ivan acknowledges that you—the reader—are outside his cage, watching him. It was a stunning moment for me, as I read the story.

“I suppose you think gorillas can’t understand you. Of course, you also probably think we can’t walk upright.
Try knuckle walking for an hour. You tell me: which way is more fun?”

Do stories and novels have to stay in one point of view throughout an entire scene or chapter? No. Not if you are thinking about point of view as a technique to draw the reader close to a character or shove the reader away. You can push and pull as you need. You can push the reader a little way outside to protect his/her emotions from a distressing scene. Or you can pull them into the character’s head to create empathy or hatred. You can manipulate the reader and his/her emotions. It’s a different way of thinking about point of view. For me, it’s an important distinction because my stories have often gotten characterization comments such as , “I just don’t feel connected to the characters enough.” I think a mastery of Outside, Outside/Inside, and Inside point of view techniques holds a key to a stronger story.

In the end, it’s not about the labels we apply to this section or that section of a story. These techniques can blur, especially in a story like IVAN, written in first person, present tense. Instead, it’s about the reader identifying with the character in a deep enough way to be moved by the story. These techniques–such a different way to think about point of view!–are refreshing because they give us a way to gain control of another part of our story. These are what make novels better than movies. I’ve heard that many script-writers have trouble making the transition to novels and this is the precise place where the difficulty occurs. Unlike movies, novels go into a character’s head, heart and mind. And these point of view techniques are your road map to the reader’s head, heart and mind.

This has been part 1 of a 3-part series on Point of View: Techniques for Getting Inside a Character’s Head. Tomorrow, will be Inside: Deeply Inside a Character’s Head. Read the whole series

Outside

Outside/Inside

Inside

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Partially Inside a Character’s Head: OUTSIDE AND INSIDE POV

How deeply does a story take the reader into the head of a character. Many discussions of point of view skim over the idea that POV can related to how close a reader is to a reader. But David Jauss says there are two points of view that allow narrators to be both inside and outside a character: omniscience and indirect interior monologue.

This is part 2 of a 3-part series on Point of View: Techniques for Getting Inside a Character’s Head. Here are links to parts 2 and 3.

• Outside
• Outside/Inside
• Inside

These posts are inspired by an essay by David Jauss, professor at the University of Arkansas-Little Rock, in his book, On Writing Fiction: Rethinking Conventional Wisdom About Craft. I am using Ivan, the One and Only, by Katherine Applegate, winner of the 2012 Newbery Award as the mentor text for the discussion.

Omniscience. Traditionally, “limited omniscience” means that the narrator is inside the head of only one character; “regular omniscience” means the narrator is inside the head of more than one character.

I love Jauss’s comment: “I don’t believe dividing omniscience into ‘limited’ and regular’ tells us anything remotely useful. The technique in both cases is identical; it’s merely applied to a different number of characters.”

He spends time proving that regular omniscience never enters into the heart and mind of every character in a novel. A glance at Tolstoy’s WAR AND PEACE, with its myriad of characters is enough to convince me of this truth.

Rather, Jauss says the difference that matters here is that the omniscient POV uses the narrator’s language. This distinguishes it from indirect interior monologues, where the thoughts are given in the character’s language. This is a very different question about POV: is this story told in the narrator’s language or the character’s language?

In IVAN, this is an interesting distinction because Ivan is the narrator of this story; it’s told in his voice. But as a narrator, there are times when he drops into omniscient POV. In the “artists” chapter, Ivan reports:

“Mack soon realized that people will pay for a picture made by a gorilla, even if they don’t know what it is. Now I draw every day.”

Ivan tells the reader what Mack is thinking (“soon realized”) and even what those who purchase his art are thinking (“even if they don’t know what it is”). Then, he pulls back into a dramatic reporting of his daily actions. Notice, too, that he makes this switch from dramatic POV to omniscient POV within the space of one sentence. And the omniscient POV dips into two places in that sentence, too.

Because Mack is Ivan’s caretaker and has caused much of Ivan’s troubles, the reader needs to know something of Mack’s character. This inside/outside level is enough, though. The author has decided that a deep interior view of Mack’s life isn’t the focus of the story. It’s enough to get glimpses of his motivation by doing just a little ways into his head.

Indirect Interior Monologue

Another technique for the narrator and reader to be both inside and outside a character is indirect interior monologue. Here, Jauss says that the narrator “translates the character’s thoughts and feelings into his own language. “ (p. 45) The character’s interior thoughts aren’t given directly and verbatim. This is a subtle distinction, but an important one.

Interior indirect monologue usually involves two things: changing the tense of a person’s thoughts; and changing the person of the thought from first to third. This signals that the narrator is outside the character, reflecting upon the character’s thoughts or actions.

They are all waiting for the train. (dramatic)
They were all waiting reasonably for the train. (Inside, indirect interior monologue)

The word “reasonably” puts this into the head of the narrator, who is making a judgment call, interpreting the dramatic action.

Interior indirect monologue most often seen with a third-person narrator reflecting another character’s thoughts. But in Ivan, we have a first-person narrator. Applegate stays strictly inside Ivan’s head, except for a few passages where Ivan reports indirectly on another character’s thoughts. Because the passages are already in present tense, she doesn’t have that tense change to rely on.

Here’s a passage that could have been indirect interior monologue but Applegate won’t quite go there. Stella is an elephant in a cage close to Ivan.

“Slowly Stella makes her way up the rest of the ramp. It groans under her weight and I can tell how much she is hurting by the awkward way she moves.”

By adding “I can tell. . .” it stays firmly inside Ivan’s head. He tells us that this is true only because Ivan makes an observation. The story doesn’t dip into the interior of the other characters.

But there are tiny places where the interior dialogue peeks through. This from the “bad guys” chapter. Bob is Ivan’s dog friend; Not-Tag is a stuffed animal; and Mack is Ivan’s owner.

“Bob slips under Not-Tag. He prefers to keep a low profile around Mack.”

Ivan can only know that Bob “prefers” something, when he, as the narrator, dips into Bob’s thoughts.

But indirect interior monologue is also used by a first person narrator to report his/her prior thoughts. When the first person narrator tells a story about what happened in his past, he is both the actor in the story and the narrator of the story. Ivan tells the story of his capture by humans over the course of several short chapters. It begins in the “what they did” chapter:

“We were clinging to our mother, my sister and I, when the humans killed her.”

While Ivan’s story is most present tense, this is past tense because Ivan is reporting on prior events. Even here Applegate refuses to slip into interior indirect monologue. Instead, she just presents the facts in a dramatic manner and lets the reader imagine what Ivan felt. It’s interesting that withholding Ivan’s thoughts here evoke such an emotional response in the reader.

On the other hand, in “the grunt” chapter, Ivan tells about his family. Again, he is the narrator telling about a past event when he was a main character of the event:

“Oh, how I loved to play tag with my sister!”

This could be called direct interior thought, but because he’s narrating a past event, it’s indirect interior thought. Otherwise, he would say, “Oh, how I love to play tag with my sister!”

Or from the “vine” chapter, where Ivan talks about his thoughts after being captured by humans:

“Somehow I knew that in order to live, I had to let my old life die. But sister could not let go of our home. It held her like a vine, stretching across the miles, comforting, strangling.
We were still in our crate when she looked at me without seeing, and I knew that the vine had finally snapped.”

If this was direct interior, it would be:
“Somehow I know that in order to live, I must let my old life die.”

Applegate could have chosen to stay inside Ivan, but here, she pulls back so the reader isn’t fully inside this emotionally disturbing moment. She uses indirect interior monologue, instead of direct.

As Jauss says about a different passage, but it applies here, “This example also illustrates the extremely important but rarely acknowledged fact that narrators often shift point of view not only within a story or novel but also within a single paragraph.” (p.50)

This has been proclaimed a mistake in writing point of view, but Jauss says it’s a normal technique. We dip into Mack’s point of view, but then pull back to a dramatic statement about what Ivan is doing.

Indirect interior monologue often includes “rhetorical questions, exclamations, sentence fragments and associational leaps as well as diction appropriate to the character rather than the narrator. “ (p. 49) In one of my novels, I used a lot of rhetorical questions as a way to get into the character’s head and an editor complained about it. Now, that I know why I was using it (as a way to manipulate how close the reader was to the character), I could go back and use a variety of techniques. Knowledge of fiction techniques is freeing! Tomorrow, we’ll look at how to go deeply into a character’s head, heart and emotions.

This is part 1 of a 3-part series on Point of View: Techniques for Getting Inside a Character’s Head. Join us tomorrow for the final part of the series, Inside: Going Deep into a Character’s Head.

This has been part 2 of a 3-part series on Point of View: Techniques for Getting Inside a Character’s Head. Tomorrow, will be Inside: Deeply Inside a Character’s Head. Read the whole series.

Outside

Outside/Inside

Inside

As Mary Ann mentioned on Monday, we're saying "farewell" to Jeanne Marie by linking back to one of our favorites of her 101 TeachingAuthor posts. And since today is Wednesday, I had the added task of choosing a favorite post that also lends itself to a Writing Workout. Turns out, that wasn't very hard. Last July, Jeanne Marie blogged about a picture book writing course she was taking. One of her assignments was to discuss the contents of her Writer's Toolbox. She shared an excerpt from her response to the assignment (which I encourage you to go back and read) and talked of the value of reflecting on one's own Writer's Toolbox.

"I think that one of the most challenging aspects of creating a rootable character is finding a way to make him/her likeable and flawed at the same time." 

START YOUR NOVEL

• 29 Plot Templates
• 2 Essential Writing Skills
• 100 Examples of Opening Lines
• 7 Weak Openings to Avoid
• 4 Strong Openings to Use
• 3 Assignments to Get Unstuck
• 7 Problems to Resolve

On my current WIP novel, I am revising to make sure the character relationships are consistent. The main character has three main relationships in the story, with a friend and traveling companion, with her father and with the villain.

Among other things, a first reader pointed out some inconsistencies in these relationships. I agreed and decided to tackle this. The first thing I did was the re-read the manuscript and find the places where the main character interacts with each of the others.

It was actually fairly easy because each interaction had about three chapters each, at least in the first half of the novel that I am working on. I physically separated these into three stacks of paper and then marked them up. I was looking for emotional content, reactions to each other, all those small things that create a relationship. Surprisingly, these can be a small part of chapter/scene. You’ve got to have the action going along and the plot will take up a lot of space. There’s description and dialogue. Some of the emotional stuff is in all of this because you can and should color any of it with an attitude.

But surprisingly little of it directly reflects the relationship between these two characters.

Now, I just need to decide on what the relationship should be–actually the hardest part of all. For a father-daughter relationship, should the father be wishing for a son, instead of a daughter? Or does he support his daughter in all her hopes and dreams? Of course, we know what the perfect father would do. But this is fiction, which about dysfunctional families, and the ways in which relationships can get tangled up. Once I decide where it should go, then it will be easy to see where to revise.

Then, I just need to repeat it for the other two relationships.
For me, it is easier to gain consistency by pulling out chapters like this to look at a specific aspect of the story.

START YOUR NOVEL

• 29 Plot Templates
• 2 Essential Writing Skills
• 100 Examples of Opening Lines
• 7 Weak Openings to Avoid
• 4 Strong Openings to Use
• 3 Assignments to Get Unstuck
• 7 Problems to Resolve

All those fiction techniques you’ve spent time mastering — dialogue, description, setting, mood, scenes, characterization, and plot — are equally useful in writing nonfiction. Yes, there is more leeway in nonfiction than in the last twenty-five years, but publishers still value creative nonfiction or fiction written with fiction techniques.

For example, I have a new nonfiction coming out next year, Kentucky Basketball: America’s Winningest Teams (Rosen, 2014). I searched and searched for an interesting opening to the story, until I found a scene that was worthy of describing.

It was Valentine’s Day, 1938. Packed into the University of Kentucky Alumni Gym were over 4000 people, some sitting in windows, others literally hanging from the rafters. The UK Wildcat basketball team led top-ranked Marquette University team by 10 points.

It’s an exciting rivalry game, early in the history of the basketball program at Kentucky. Fiction techniques dictated that I set the scene immediately. Then I use sensory details to fill in the scene to describe the fast-paced last few minutes. Joe “Red” Hagan shoots a long 49-foot field goal from near the half-court line. When Marquette missed three more times, it becomes the winning score. Then, the interesting part started. In the audience was “Happy” Chandler, governor of Kentucky. He was so excited by the win, and especially Red’s winning shot, that he called for a hammer and nail. He rushed onto the court and at the spot from which Red shot, Chandler hammered a nail into the floor to commemorate the moment.

It’s stuff of legends. And it deserved a full scene, which meant fiction techniques.

Research Details for NonFiction: Think Fiction

This means that while I was researching the nonfiction topic of Kentucky basketball, I was really looking for a certain type of information.

Scenes. I look specifically for scenes with a beginning, middle with conflict, and ending. It needs to be something fun and interesting, a specific event.

Details. Next, I look for details. Here’s a fact: the basketball arena was meant to seat 2500, but 4000 fans were in attendance. A newspaper article of the times specifically said that fans were literally sitting in windows and hanging from the rafters. I look for numbers, colors, sizes, shapes, extended descriptions, and other specific details. These will all help the story come alive.

Timelines. The timeline of the basketball game was important to lay out and newspaper reports were helpful. The details of the first half were important to understand, so I could focus on the last three minutes.

Personalities or Characters. This story is made richer by the presence of Happy Chandler, governor of Kentucky. What a happy thing that he was named Happy! It added to the appeal of the story that the governor with such a nickname was so Happy that he did something unexpected.

Unexpected. The story is interested because of the governor’s unexpected reaction. Stories of last-minute wins are commonplace, even if in the moment it feels like a miracle. By itself, Red Hagan’s shot isn’t remarkable enough to include in a book like this. But add to that the unexpected hammer and nail, and it becomes a remarkable story of a fan who wanted to acknowledge a miraculous shot. That’s why this story made it into the book’s introduction, surprise.

Research and document all your research; but while you’re researching, think fiction techniques. And your nonfiction article will become an interesting story that both informs and entertains.

go on and shop for your character!Until you've got characters that seems to exhale the letters onto your page, you don't have a great story. Here are five crazy things I've done to try and get to know my characters:

1. Interview them. I'll sit on the couch, turn as if there's someone curled up next to me, and ask questions out loud. Sometimes I'll even answer them out loud, as if I were my character. I keep my iPad close so I can jot down the answers that come. This method can really "unstick" me and often works better than simply filling out character questionnaires on my laptop. 

2. Rant and rave out loud--as your character. Think about something that enrages or frightens your character. Then talk like them. Out loud. For at least fifteen minutes. In an accent, if applicable (and hopefully it is, because that is WAY more fun). At first you'll feel reluctant and more than a little strange. But as you progress, you'll discover new things about your character--and you might even go longer than fifteen minutes. 

3. Put on a play. I'll admit I stole this one straight from Meg Cabot. Except I don't have any Barbies left, having sold them off for a buck a piece at a yard sale twenty-five years ago. So I steal my son's stuffed animals and assemble a little play. It's amazing how making a stuffed pig yell at a stuffed wombat can really get to the root of my characters' needs and fears.

4. Write them a letter. Pretend you are a good friend or parent of the character. Write them a letter. Express your worries. Your confusion. Ask questions about their motives. Be a nudge and tell them how you think they should fix their problems. This can be a great way to surface the questions you've got about your characters--questions you may not have even known were there.

5. Go shopping for them. I got this idea from a speech that Paula Danziger gave to a Florida SCBWI conference years ago. She always liked to buy little sparkly geegaws and such for her characters. But you don't even have to buy things. Just get yourself to the nearest main street, mall or laptop, and browse for things that your character would love--or at least need. This lets you crawl out of your own head and see the world through their eyes instead. Heck, why not make a Pinterest board for them? But, uh, don't actually buy that renovated circus train car. Not unless you really, really need it.

Meditate, Louise Hawes said. What? 

     Writing with coaches?  Like "Dancing with Wolves," these two phrases don't sound right together.  Yet, this exercise not only got coaches to write, they wrote well. I have done this particular exercise with adults and children, but my most successful session was with a group of middle school coaches.

     The writing workshop was the last item of the day for this school visit. It was a Friday afternoon. A Friday afternoon after school. I don't remember the details, but I had agreed to do an hour's after school writing workshop for faculty. I did think that a Friday afternoon after a long week would not have been my choice. I also assumed I would be working with language arts teachers.

     Imagine my surprise when a group of bedraggled teachers in sweats, sneakers and lanyards stumped into the library, pulling on Gatorade bottles. There was no mistaking their identity.  These were coaches.

     I don't know whose idea it was to make coaches (none of whom taught language arts) sit through an hour of me on a Friday afternoon. Maybe they were being punished. All I could think it was "OMG this is going to be the worst workshop ever. Thank God I already have my paycheck."

     Bad, bad me, for all my preconceived notions of coaches (OK, I have to admit I am still harboring my own middle school issues with PE teachers, but still, it wasn't very professional of me).  However, once I gave out the instructions for this exercise, those pooped-out specimens of physical health and education, sat up straight, and surprised the living heck out of me with the quality of their writing. So what was the magic exercise?

Found at this link: http://www.sonofthesouth.net/leefoundation/civil-war/southern-belle.htm

In Finding My Place (White Mane Kids, October 1, 2012), Anna the main character definitely changes from the beginning of the book to the end of the book. I think it’s one reason why the book was accepted by a publisher and the reason why it’s fairly universal, even though it’s set in 1863 during the Civil War. Anna has to grow up and accept responsibility. She has to adopt to her new role in the family. She has to make decisions that affect more than just herself. She is not like this in the beginning of the book–in spite of her 13 years of age back in Civil War times. She was still acting like a child before the Siege, always wanting to write in her journal and not help out her ma.

You can help children understand character growth and change using books and characters, like Finding My Place or even picture books with younger students–any book or story that has a character (not concept books probably) who shows growth due to experiences. You can discuss these questions below with students when focusing on characters. (These questions will work for any book–not just mine. )

• How is the character different at the end of the story than at the beginning?
• What events happen in the book to help the character change?
• Does the character change for the better or for worse? Explain!
• Why do you think the character changed?
• Can you think of a time in your life when you might have changed like this character did?

You would probably focus mostly on these questions during reading, but remind students of the answers when they are writing their own fiction stories.

For more information on Finding My Place: One Girl’s Strength at Vicksburg, please see this page.

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How many times do I start a manuscript and think, “I am lost.”?
Too many.

One of the crucial goals of an opening scene is to orient the reader–quickly, efficiently.

Telling details. The story opens in a certain location and the writer must choose the right details to evoke the story’s setting. By setting, I mean the historical time period, the time of year (season or exact day), physical location and details of that setting, whether indoor or outdoors. And yet, that setting must be in the background of the scene, allowing the characters to come to life in context, but without the setting intruding on the action and slowing down the opening. It’s a tricky balance.

We call such details, the “telling details.” They are small things that evoke the setting, without bashing someone over the head with it.

One of my favorite early chapter books is Clementine by Sara Pennypacker. The first paragraph begins like this:

I have had not so good of a week.

Well, Monday was a pretty good day, if you don’t count Hamburger Surprise at lunch and Margaret’s mother coming to get her. Or the stuff that happened in the principal’s office when I got sent there to explain that Margaret’s hair was not my fault and besides she looks okay without it, but I couldn’t because Principal Rice was gone, trying to calm down Margaret’s mother.

Someone should tell you not to answer the phone in the principal’s office, if that’s a rule.

Immediately, we get a strong sense of character; Clementine is the sort of girl who gets in trouble and doesn’t always understand why she is in trouble. The setting is minimal, but clear: we are in a school setting, specifically, in the principal’s office. That’s enough. The setting is conveyed with humor, when Clementine answers the phone in the principal’s office.

Telling details include these: Hamburger Surprise, Margaret’s mother (we know the other main character right away), Principal Rice (a recurring character), and of course, the phone.

Put characters into motion within the setting.It’s not enough just to tell us where we are when the story opens. Stories move along better when you put the character into motion within the setting.

Economy of words. Pennypacker uses an economy of words, not taking the time to describe the school cafeteria or the principal’s office. She lets them stand as generic settings, except for the Hamburger Surprise and the phone. For this story, it’s enough.

Focus on moving the story forward. Instead of droning on with a long description of the principal’s office, the focus is on moving the story ahead. For this story, that means strong characterization because it is more of a character story than anything else.

For your story, decide what is the most important details in the opening setting, then move quickly into the action of the story. Try to use those Telling Details within the context of character movement or characterization.

The main goal? Don’t let the reader get lost. Give enough information to orient the reader to your story, but do it with an economy of words that gets the reader turning the pages. You need just enough information–and no more.

The other day I finished a YA novel by one of my favorite authors and felt as if I’d scraped my knees on the bottom of the pool. Until I turned the last page, I hadn't realized–or maybe hadn't wanted to admit–that I’d been swimming in shallow water. From the beginning, the story had all the requisite ingredients. Intriguing plot-line. Quirky characters. Lots of snappy dialogue. And it gave the

A secret that is. Everyone’s got a secret. What were you thinking?

One of my favorite filmmaking tips is as the director, to give each actor a secret about their character. One they can’t share with anyone, but will inform everything they do in every scene.

Secrets can add depth and subtext to a scene that might otherwise be merely functional, or ordinary. For (a poor) example: A character who is hiding a fear of heights, might try to convince his crush not to hike up to a popular make out spot on a cliff despite wanting desperately to make out with her.

While it works really well in film where we can both see an actor’s face, and hear their change in tone when responding to an innocuous request, I think it can also work well in a novel.

You probably already know your main characters darkest secrets, and maybe even some of their love interest’s or antagonist’s, but what about everyone else? This ties in with my previous post “Why Are You Here?” about every character having a reason to be where they are in every scene.

In this case, having a secret can help give conversations between characters more depth and realism. If you know a character’s secret, it will color everything they do and say. It will make the world feel more real, because the people in it are real. It might even change your main character’s or the reader’s opinion of the character, and that can be used to your advantage when working on stories with mysteries. (And I believe every story should have a mystery, even if it’s not a mystery story, but that’s a whole ‘nother post!)

I would bet that if you’ve gotten pretty far into writing the book, that most of your characters already have a secret, you just haven’t picked up on it because you’ve been too busy forwarding the story. If you’re just starting your book, or you haven’t seen your characters dropping any hints, try giving them one and see if it perks up one of your lackluster scenes, or changes the way your characters view each other. You might just make a discovery or two!

What about you, do you give your characters secrets? What are some of the ways you add subtext and depth?

Don’t make things easy on your character. In fact, you should make things as difficult as possible. Most of us know this and we throw one complication after another in the path of our beloved character.

When it comes time to cook up a complication, many writers turn to their character’s flaws. Perhaps a character, let’s call her Marie, who is a compulsive shopper needs to get home for her sister’s wedding. Unfortunately, she’s maxed out her credit cards and can’t charge the air fare.

In many ways this works. You have the complications you need to create tension and, if you handle the story in the right way, your character grows by the time your reader reaches the last word. Marie scrambles around returning and selling all that she can. By the time she can afford the air fare she’s realized how little all this stuff meant and how truly grateful she is to make it back to her family.

Not bad for a feel good story but what if you want to create something with more tension? More depth? Then the complications need to go deeper. Create a moral dilemma for your character with complications based on her strengths.

This time we are working with Diane. Diane’s friends and family love her honesty because she isn’t going to hide facts or sugar coat reality when they go to her for advice. This unwillingness to lie could make some people harsh but Diane is also incredibly loyal. She truly has the best interests of her husband and friends at heart.

Now let’s consider how these positives can become negatives.

Scenario: The company Diane’s husband works for is failing. He has confided in his wife but the information can’t be made public for weeks. If it is, he will never find another job in the industry. Unfortunately, Diane’s best friend has come into an inheritance. She wants to invest the money to assure a good life for herself and her children. She is consider the failing company as her primary investment.

Diane can’t be honest and loyal to both her husband and friend at the same time. Instant moral dilemma.

Now its your turn. Look for ways to use your character’s strengths to create tension and soon she’ll face a moral dilemma that will drive the story forward and keep your readers talking long after the last word has been read.

–SueBE

Author Sue Bradford Edwards blogs at One Writer's Journey.

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Reread your story.
Does it surprise you at any point? Does it keep YOUR interest?

Recently I reread a story that I had not read for a while, long enough for me to start to be fuzzy on details. Here are some things that struck me.

“To see Mrs. Lopez’s smile was to understand the amazing abilities of a mouth: her mouth was as wide as a whale’s and everyone knew her business–and the silver in her molars.”

What are you noticing afresh in your reading these days?

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When a first draft is slightly off in the Show-Don’t-Tell of a relationship, how do you correct the relationship? Three places in a story can be tackled.

Direct confrontations. When characters interact, it’s relatively easy to adjust a character relationship to heat it up or cool it down. The exact wording of dialogue can change: “That was mean.” v. “I hate you.” In both cases, the speaker may hate the other person, but what they actually said was a reason for the hatred. These wordings must exactly give the impression you want for this relationship. Further, you can build in progressions of similar comments throughout the story to indicate the changes in the relationship.

Talking about a character. If only A is present, we can still learn about A’s and B’s relationship by the way the A thinks about B, or how A tells someone else about B. Again, both denotation and connotation are important. Within the context of the story, words take on extra meaning or connotations. For example, in a story about cowboys, most discussions of horses would take on an affectionate tone. Comparing a working relationship to a cowboy’s relationship with his horse would be a good connotation. Comparing a working relationship to a cowboy who comes up on a rattlesnake, well, that’s bad.

Symbolism within a story. Finally, within a story, certain objects or events can carry a symbolism that reflects back on the character relationship. For example, in a story about a father and daughter, a symbolic moment might be a description of a bird forcing its chick to fly for the first time. You don’t have to explicitly connect the flying with the father-daughter relationship; instead, the reader will understand that the father is only trying to make the daughter grow up.

If you’re working on a character relationship, work on all three levels, not just one. Adjusting only one will leave the reader unsure what you meant. Make sure you are controlling what the reader understands and feels.

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I fully intended to write another blog post on character. Then Miss Footloose commented on my post Characterization and Location: What I Learned Watching Reruns. In part, she said, “Creating a background is a very useful subliminal technique, not only for characterization, but also for mood and contrast.” 


And she’s right. Just as you can use your setting to emphasize specific character traits, you can use it to emphasize the mood of a particular scene. 


I still remember the first time I discussed this with a fellow writer. She explained that when she wanted a creepy mood, she described a trees branches as claws. 


Most writers, at least in part, choose our settings based on the mood we need to create. Need a creepy mood? Then you set your scene in a cemetery. A cheery setting? Try a flower garden. But you can do so much more. As always, its in the details. 


One setting, such as a mansion, can be used for a variety of moods. Grim? Think dark wood, dimly lit rooms and dark upholstery, drapes and rugs. Sad? Add rain coursing down the windows. Romantic? Cut the rain and the dark colors. Lighten the place up with sunshine and throw in some flowers.The details we choose can do a lot toward creating a mood, but these examples still take the easy way out. 


Details can be used much more subtly than the above. Think about how to shift the mood given this setting: A drawing room with huge sun-filled windows, flowers and golden yellow upholstered furniture. Yet your heroine senses an undercurrent of foreboding, so you want the mood to be darker, threatening. What kinds of details could you add? Perhaps the scent of the flowers reminds your character of a funeral. Or she spots disturbing details in a portrait that hangs over the fireplace; visible in the painting’s distant background wolves have cornered a stag. Perhaps the pitcher of milk on the tea tray has soured or the butter is rancid. 


More difficult, for me, would be a scene that initially seems scary or ominous but is actually much lighter in tone. Perhaps your main character works at a funerary chapel. The building is old, grey stone. The pews are cushioned with somber maroon. What kinds of details could lighten things up? Birds singing outside. Early spring sunlight glimmering through the newly cleaned windows. Perhaps a cup of cheery mint tea. 


No matter where your story is set, you can emphasize the details that you need to match the current mood. Why not spend some time brainstorming today about your setting and how it might relat

Recently my husband decided to introduce our son to the X-Files, so I found myself watching the pilot. At one point, the camera work grabbed my attention. 


Scully and Mulder were having a l-o-n-g conversation. Perhaps in an attempt to make talking heads more interesting than they really are, the camera would show only one character at a time. First Mulder. Then Scully. Then back to Mulder. Now back to Scully. Back and forth. It was a very long conversation, and, if you don’t remember, Mulder was quite a bit taller. So when they shot him, the camera would be angled up as if Scully were looking up at him. When they shot her, the camera was angled down. Down. Up. Up. Down. 


But then something else hit me. In the shots of Scully, the down-to-earth scientist, the shots always show the grassy ground in the background. Down-to-Earth. Ground. Get it? Then the shots of flighty, spooky Mulder, show sky and tree branches. 


Before I was a writer, I might have thought it was a coincidence, but now I know this was more than just background. It was a simple visual that reinforced what we knew about the characters. 


Think about your main character. How would you describe her? Is she studious and determined? Or carefree and full of fun? Come up with several words that describe your character. 


How would you show these things through your story’s background? Obviously, unless you are illustrating your own graphic novel or picture book, you aren’t likely to have visual background within your control. But you do control, the setting which could consist of your character’s home, school, or workplace, her backpack, purse or the back seat of her car. 


“Wait a minute,” you may be thinking. “This is a story for kids. My main character is only six years-old. She doesn’t have any control over how her school or her living room looks.” No, she doesn’t. But you need to think beyond simple appearance. This isn’t a matter of interior decorating. It’s a matter of revealing your character through location. 


If your teen character is super studious, set the scene in an advanced placement class at school. A character who is all about the bottom line might get a scene set in the checkout at the grocery or in front of an ATM. 


The next time you create a scene, think about your character. How can the setting reinforce who the character is? Its definitely something I’ll be thinking about as I work on my current ficti

I've noticed a strange theme with my novel projects: they always start out with an old lady in them. I apologize for the bald term; I think my mother just aimed a virtual snap-and-point at me. But these ladies don't mind. It's what they call themselves.

Marilla CuthbertCANDOR had, for many drafts, an old woman that the other characters nicknamed Crank. And boy was she that--mouthy, grouchy, in pain and mostly deaf. But I cut her to keep the focus on the teen characters.

DROUGHT actually kept its old lady--Ellie--though she didn't necessarily stick around that long. Let us all pause for a moment of silence for Ellie.

The project I'm working on now had a strong, wise grandmother character--Willadene Ashby. I love that name. And I love Willadene. But she became unnecessary; I just foisted her grandson off on another family, where he will now be the eldest child. It's going to make a big difference for tension and conflict in the plot. So Willadene just joined the "Dearly Departed" folder of character notes for this project, along with wily French hunter Foy Moro and his daughter Nikole Moro. They'll enjoy her company, I'm sure.

I can't quite explain why I keep dreaming up this old lady characters, only to kill them down the road. Maybe it's because I was raised on ANNE OF GREEN GABLES--I'm trying to put Marilla Cuthbert in every book. Or maybe I'm creating this "wise woman" archetype to keep me company as I try to figure out my story. Once I reach a certain point, I don't need her anymore. 

Crank, Ellie, Willadene, I imagine for you a sweet cabin. Inside there's a bedroom for each of you, with handmade quilts and cozy stoves. Come on out to the deep front porch with its hanging ferns and geraniums. Go on, sit down on one of the rocking chairs. Have a glass of sweet tea and some of the peanut butter cookies I just baked. Sorry things didn't go well for you in my stories, but I love all three of you. And you'll always travel with me.

Feel free to ask Marilla over for dinner some night. Be sure she brings some of her famous raspberry cordial.

"I’ve just read a book set in the 13th century where neither the feisty heroine . . . nor her lover nor her horrible husband nor any other character ever goes to church. Never a priest wanders into the story, never a bell rings, never a new cathedral appears on the skyline. Don’t get me wrong – it was exceptionally-well written and a gripping read. It was just that something was missing, . . . ."

< 2 Comments on Writing Authentic Women's History--Getting Inside Your Character's Skin, last added: 3/8/2012 Display Comments Lisa L. Owens said, on 3/8/2012 8:48:00 AM Great post, Carmela! Funny, I am working on a YA historical, and I switched my protagonist to the younger sister who was not the one that originally caught my attention. Once I made the shift, writing the story became so much easier! Carmela Martino said, on 3/8/2012 9:12:00 AM What an interesting coincidence about your main character shift, Lisa. Good luck! Add a Comment More from this Blog | Email This | Add a Tag 49. People Have Layers 5 Comments | Previous | Top | Next By: Kristi Helvig, on 11/30/2011 Blog: Kristi Helvig YA Author (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap) JacketFlap tags:  writing tips, characterization, valerie, Add a tag For the last few holiday seasons I've worked at a book store. One of the things we do every year is a book drive for area children. Our goal is massive, around 400 books. In order to meet this goal, the store has a simple, but effective strategy. Ask EVERYONE. Even if they're frowning, even if they only bought a .50 newspaper, even if they're in a rush, even if they've said "no" to everything else you've asked them. As a somewhat why person, this took some getting used to, but once I did, I noticed something fascinating. You never know who's going to say yes. Mr. Crankypants might just stop in the middle of his rant about rising costs, blink at you a few times and say "Sure." The sweet grandmother with the kind eyes might scowl at you and act offended you had the nerve to ask. This is something I keep in mind when developing my characters, and writing my scenes. People have layers. There are all sorts of tiny things that affect them from moment to moment. What they show on their face or their body language might not be a true indicator of who they are or what they're thinking. They might be frowning because they can't remember a lyric to their favorite song, with no idea that they look angry. They might've just found out their kid got arrested while shopping for his expensive present. So I try to make sure I have little moments like this in my book. Scenes where a character is thinking one thing but showing another, scenes where a character is completely misjudged or misinterpreted, because that's real, and I think it's always interesting to see the difference between the way a person is perceived, and the way they perceive themselves. What about you, do you have any little tricks or reminders like this when you write? 5 Comments on People Have Layers, last added: 12/1/2011 Display Comments Anita Saxena said, on 11/30/2011 6:29:00 AM I had never thought of this! And it's so true. The expression we wear on our face isn't always a reflection of what's going on inside. Best of luck with the book drive! Kelley said, on 11/30/2011 7:58:00 AM Haha. I think of the movie Shrek when I read this. Shrek: Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. Onions have layers. You get it? We both have layers. Donkey: Oh, you both have LAYERS. Oh. You know, not everybody like onions. What about cake? Everybody loves cake! Shrek: I don't care what everyone else likes! Ogres are not like cakes. I think that's what makes characters relate able, their layers. Because we all have them Kristi Helvig said, on 11/30/2011 3:08:00 PM I think it's so important to have layers to characters, even the "bad guys." Too often, I see the layers primarily attributed to the MC, but the antagonist is more one-dimensional. It helps to see the world as grey, rather than black and white. Great post, Valerie! Valerie Kemp said, on 12/1/2011 6:39:00 AM @Anita - I love thinking about the differences in perception, every story has so many sides! @Kelley - LOL I didn't even think of Shrek, but it sounds like my subconscious did! @Kristi - I agree. I firmly believe that most people, not matter who they are or what they're doing, believe they're doing the right/best thing. That includes bad guys. We all rationalize and see things through our own lens. commutinggirl said, on 12/1/2011 9:59:00 AM Interesting post! I am trying to get those layers through as my characters. And now everytime I type "layers" I smile thinking at Kelley´s post. Gosh I love Shrek! Good luck with the book drive! Add a Comment More from this Blog | Email This | Add a Tag 50. REVENGE: A Case Study in Concept and Character Likeability Add/View Comments | Previous | Top | By: Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing, on 11/8/2011 Blog: Adventures in YA Publishing (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap) JacketFlap tags:  Characters, Characterization, Add a tag It's no secret that this season's hot new TV series, REVENGE, is a modern twist on THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO with a female lead. Genius idea, right? Dumas' classic was originally serialized, presented, one segment at a time, for maximum impact. A high-adventure soap crafted to get people talking about vengeance and mercy, hope and hopelessness, justice and injustice. And REVENGE, too, offers all of that. But talk about likability issues. The show's writers have a challenge before them. Emily Thorne aka Amanda Clarke shows up in the Hamptons intent on revenging herself against the people who destroyed her life, and she does it with a chillingly cold, systematic ruthlessness that leaves us shivering as we watch. There is nothing to connect us to this character. Or is there? What makes us willing to swim in the cesspool of her head? First, there's the glamour and suspense. The program opens with a literal bang as we discover Emily's fiance, the son of the people most responsible for falsely imprisoning Emily's beloved father, getting shot during her engagement party. So right off, there's the mystery: who did it? Only then do we get the backstory. Amanda Clarke is idyllically happy with her father in their huge Hamptons home until the society Queen he loves conspires with her own husband to lock him up for crimes he didn't commit. Then Amanda herself if locked up as the Grayson's bribe and coerce a series of officials in the interests of greed and self-preservation. So okay, we're sympathetic. Emily lost her father and her childhood. She's lost her fiance. (We're not actually sure that she loves him though.) We do know, or at least we quickly come to find out, that Emily had a dog and a best friend, Jack, when she was little. Jack is now grown and gorgeous, and the dog is old and still loyal to Emily. More sympathy. Brilliant but predictable. Except that Jack isn't who Emily is engaged to. Nope, that would be Daniel Grayson. But the writers still use Jack (and the dog) shamelessly to show us why we're supposed to like Emily. Why we are should forgive her being cold to Nolan, the one guy who goes out of his way to help her. Why we should ignore her coldly turning down Jack in favor of Daniel. Why we forgive her for being cold period. Because we don't ever see Emily breaking down, being weak, being traditionally, compensatingly kind. The writers keep Emily teetering on the edge of likeability in the greyspace between too cold for sympathy and warm enough to make us less fascinated. And they keep us breathless, wondering when the crash is coming, while every week Emily makes one tiny miscalculation after another, out of compassion or arrogance or poor assumption, that leads her deeper into danger. So what can we learn from Emily? What do you think? What would you put into her story to keep her symptathetic? How often would you remind the reader about her motives? How well would her story work if we were reading it as a young adult novel? How much, in the end, does character likeability matter in the face of a brilliant concept? Leave a comment and I'll throw in a copy of THE OTHER COUNTESS by Eve Edwards. Here's the book blurb from Goodreads: It's 1582 and eighteen-year-old Will Lacey's family is in trouble. After years of wasteful spending, his late father AtomicNicky said, on 11/8/2011 6:15:00 AM Having a main character like Emily is the kind of thing you would get a "smackdown" for in Scriptwriting class. Straight up you have to make the most unlikeable character (on paper) not only likeable, but relatable. Without getting into the nitty gritty - the writer's have already accomplished this to a point where everyone tunes in every week to see who will be the focus of Emily's wrath and how she will, literally, destroy them. I think Emily did all her crying and breaking down as a child and now she's just a lean, mean vengeance machine. I also scratch my head as to why she's so mean to Nolan. Although his character does seem to respond well to negative attention... Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing said, on 11/8/2011 7:15:00 AM Nicky, It is definitately a delicate balance, right? I marvel at the skill of the writers. And it is definitely not something that a novice could pull off, is it? Martina Beth said, on 11/8/2011 7:23:00 AM That's an interesting thought. I'm too much of a softy, because I like main characters (or even people who become close to the mc) to be likable, and I'm frustrated when they're hard-hearted. I'm going to have to address it in my Nanonovel this month, though. I guess that's why I'm in MG instead of YA. You don't see as much of it there. For some reason this post puts me in mind of Madeleine L'Engle's characters Vicky Austin and Zachary Grey (who wavers between a softer and a more dangerous side). Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing said, on 11/8/2011 8:44:00 AM Beth, That's true, isn't it? MG tends to be more upbeat than YA, but I think it's because the kids aren't tested by life as much. I think that's what draws me to YA, the testing. Martina Laura Pauling said, on 11/8/2011 11:49:00 AM I've enjoyed the show so far. And I like the mystery of her character, not necessarily her character. I look forward, in anticipation, to the time where she shows the brief moments of emotion or will realize that revenge isn't worth it. But yes, the dog definitely helps. I think we like the Emily who could be - the amanda Clark behind the Emily thorne. Even if we don't' really like Emily thorne. That's exactly what Edmond Dantes was like. Cold and aloof and vengeful. There was no passionate reunion with Mercedes at the end, for he had become a different person. Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing said, on 11/8/2011 1:33:00 PM Laura, I love that: "I think we like the Emily who could be - the Amanda Clarke behind the Emily Thorne." YES! It's that hope of redemption that keeps me tuned in. I'll admit, I enjoy seeing the Grayson's squirming, but so far, nothing has hit home to them quite yet. Amanda is hurting herself as much or more than she is hurting anyone else, and that makes for compelling viewing. C0 said, on 11/8/2011 1:47:00 PM Ah. This show tries to justify the protagonist's motive through A Freudian Excuse (she lost her family/childhood/etc). However, as TV Tropes had stated, a Freudian Excuse doesn't excuse a character's motivation. The presence of the best friend and dog is better, but, as you stated, the protagonist herself has to be nice in at least one way. Someone more than petting that dog. Gail Shepherd said, on 11/8/2011 1:49:00 PM I think fascinating characters can carry a story even when the MC isn't so likable: look how we watched Glen Close in Damages. I haven't watched Revenge yet, though, since I have no tv--I always have to wait for these shows to come out on Netflix. Diane said, on 11/8/2011 2:23:00 PM I saw the upcoming promo for that show and did not like it. Maybe it is the likeability thing. I wasn't sure what vibe I didn't like and I think you've hit it. :O) Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing said, on 11/8/2011 3:10:00 PM CO, that's the edge they walk on the show. I'm constantly fascinated by how little they give us in terms of likeability, and how much I put up with from Emily and manage to justify. :D Gail, I agree. Likeable characters make for a pleasant read, but the stories that create a visceral response for me often include questionable moral or unlikeable actions by a character. A likeable character who does something UNLIKEABLE is fascinating! :) Diane, interesting. I don't know that this is the kind of a show you can jump into mid-season, but it would be interesting to know if you liked it once you saw it? Lia Keyes said, on 11/8/2011 3:57:00 PM A more interesting character to explore in this context would be Dexter! Adventures in YA and Children's Publishing said, on 11/8/2011 5:49:00 PM Lia, yes! Instinctively though, the fact that Dexter loves kids and goes out of his way to actively avenge them makes him more easily likeable. He's channeling his own dark urges into doing something arguably "good" for others, even if it is morally and legally "bad," and he does good things in his "day job" too. Is Emily doing anything good for anyone? If so I can't think of it. So on the surface of it, Dexter is far more redeemable, I think. C0 said, on 11/8/2011 9:51:00 PM Oh, and this topic reminds me of the YA book YOU by Charles Denoit. I didn't enjoy it because the protagonist, Kyle, is not likable. He lacks motivation, which makes him boring since he does nothing but drift through the story. And it's character-driven. While the novel can be seen as a tragedy, he lacks the sympathy MacBeth similar characters possess before their fatal flaw drags them down. And from the 1st person parts, he has the type of attitude that would make me cringe constantly in real life. The 2nd person narration works against the book. If it wasn't for the ending, I might've not finished it due to pure apathy. The book's suppose to be thoughtful, but any thoughts the narration presented I rejected because of Kyle's unwilliness to change or develop. Ghenet Myrthil said, on 11/10/2011 12:04:00 PM The flashbacks to Amanda Clark are what make me like Emily. I feel for her and understand why she wants revenge so badly. It'll be interesting to see Emily crack at some point. I'll tune in because the show is pretty suspenseful! Add a Comment More from this Blog | Email This | Add a Tag View Next 25 Posts © 2017 Jacketflap.com                         About Us   FAQ   Advertise on JacketFlap   About our Widgets program for Publishers   Privacy   Terms