Does This Novel Seem Crowded? A Rerun

[Author note: If you’re a pantser, sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'm hoping to show that some pre-writing activity can save you work later without killing creativity. Honest!]

Character, characters everywhere! But do they have a job to do? That’s a good question to ask. Just like you’re created with a purpose in mind, your characters should be, too.

It’s so easy to overpopulate a story. That’s how I’ve collected so many dynamite deleted scenes. But creating a cache of deleted scenes is not my objective. I need to look at my characters as part of an organic whole, not as detached individuals. Each character should help define the others.

According to John Truby in The Anatomy of Story, we learn the most about our protagonist when we can compare her to the other characters on four different levels: by story function, archetype, theme, and opposition. 

Today, I’m going to talk about the story function of your characters, because this helped me the most with crowd control—and revolutionized the way I think about developing characters.

This is my gift to you after being so snarky about Maass’s chapter, “Standout Characters.” Deepest apologies again, Mr. Maass, sir.

Every novel starts with a premise. The premise is what your story is about in one sentence. For instance, the premise of The Hunger Games (HG) is: In post-apocalyptic America, a teen-aged huntress takes her sister’s place in a last-man-standing battle against representatives of the eleven other districts of Panem.  

Once you know your premise, you create characters. Start with your protagonist or hero. She’s the one with the central problem. (Katniss must take care of her sister.) She’s the one who drives the action in an attempt to solve her problem. (Katniss volunteers to take Prim’s place in the hunger games.) The protagonist drives the action, but she isn't without her weaknesses and needs. (Katniss is a loner, but she must partner with other contestants to survive, knowing she will later need to kill them in order to solve her problem.)

This is where things get interesting. All other characters in your novel will represent an opposition, an alliance with the protagonist, or a combination of the two. Every character has a job to do to tell your story according to the premise.

Antagonist: The antagonist should want the same thing as the protagonist, which will bring them in direct conflict. This doesn't mean they hate each other, necessarily. Think of them as opposition, a less brick-wall kind of word. (Katniss has one big antagonist, the government, plus twenty-three contestants that want to live to take care of their families, so they must kill her.)

Ally: An ally helps the protagonist solve her problem. They listen to the protagonist, giving the reader a chance to hear in the protagonist's own words what she values and wants. Again, their goals are usually the same, but sometimes the ally has her own goal. (In HG, Katniss has an ally in Gale, her hunting partner in District 12. Also, Cinna, her stylist uses his cunning and skill to make Katniss a favorite in the games.)

Fake-Ally Opponent: This is where things get really interesting. This character seems to be on the protagonist’s side, but is really an opponent. This is how twists and turns are added to a story, as well as tension. (Effie Trinket plays this role for Katniss. She’s very proper and gathers a team to help Katniss, but she represents the government, the source of all Katniss’s problems. As the government’s representative, she facilitates the death of at least one, if not both of her charges, Katniss and Peeta.)

Fake-Opponent Ally: These are fun characters to write but not as common in storytelling as the Fake-Ally Opponent, but HG is full of them. This opponent appears to be fighting the protagonist but is actually a friend. (Peeta, of course, is the first of Katniss’s opponents to come to mind, but don’t forget about Rue. The most powerful Fake-Opponent Ally is Haymitch, Katniss’s supposed mentor. He is drunk and useless most of the time, but he sees something in Katniss that makes him believe she is finally the one who can survive. He recruits sponsors and sends supplies at just the right moment.)

Subplot Character: Their role is to give another opportunity to define the protagonist through comparison (they want the same thing or have the same problem but go after the solution differently) and to advance the plot. In HG, Katniss’s mother is a subplot character. She wants the same thing, to take care of Katniss and Prim, but her grief has paralyzed her. In this way we see the heroic side of Katniss. The mother moves the plot along by her passivity. Katniss is all Prim has in her broken world.

HG might not have been the best example because there are lots of characters, but they fit very nicely into their roles. Let’s look at a “smaller” story world to see how this works.  Feel free to disagree with me.

In The Language of Flowers, the premise is that a young woman uses flowers to say the things she cannot say on her quest for love. 

Victoria is our protagonist. Her central problem is that she wants to love and be loved but can’t do either. As a product of the foster system, Victoria has never properly bonded with a caregiver, so she probably suffers from reactive attachment disorder (RAD). She uses the language of flowers she learns from her foster mother to try to make connections. 

Her antagonist is RAD, I think. She sabotages herself in all of her attempts to make meaningful connections. 

The author brilliantly gives Victoria two strong allies, Renata the florist and Grant the flower grower. Renata gives Victoria a job to rescue her from homelessness and allows her room to be ellusive, and Grant is the most patient man in the world, and he loves her, literally and figuratively challenging her flower language. 

Victoria’s false-opponent ally, and this is up for debate, is her caseworker. Name? She comes off as making hurtful decisions for Victoria, but she introduces her to the only mother she will ever know because she understands what Victoria needs. 

The false-ally opponent is her foster mother, Elizabeth. She needs the same thing as Victoria, love, and she gives it freely until what she loves more than Victoria is destroyed. She ends up wounding Victoria worst of all. 

The subplot character is Victoria’s assistant whom she brings in from her old group home. Again, name? She’s there to compare how two foster system kids react to emancipation.

So, there you have it, a purpose-driven approach to populating your novels. Personally, this information has helped me develop a wider variety of characters with greater capacity for conflict and helped me to focus the story on the premise by not adding characters who aren't needed. (This is how adorable yet menacing Fred got booted from Goodness & Mercy.)

I would love to hear what you think of Truby’s story structure approach to populating your stories. Have you tried this approach? What benefits or hindrances did you experience? How do you keep from over-populating your stories? Have you ever asked yourself while reading a novel, "What is this character doing here?" 

No Tricks, Just Treats

As I’ve mentioned before, Ray Bradbury is one of my favorite authors. I was fortunate to hear him speak in 1990 and have him sign one of his books, The Halloween Tree. I read it again this week and was awed at his ability to pull readers along with the action.  Fly, actually.  Hanging on for dear life, just as the characters were doing in the story.

The story is about eight trick-or-treaters who embark on a wild chase through time led by Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud to find one of their missing gang, Pipkin.  Pipkin is the bees knees and they can’t have Halloween without him. But something’s gone wrong with Pip on this night and they don’t have much time to save him.

Here are some reasons why I think the book works so well:

• The pacing takes the reader on a breathless ride utilizing sentence structure and fine-tuned tension.  Pip is always just out of reach, in a mummy’s tomb, on the rooftop of Notre Dame, in a Mexican graveyard. The author’s avalanche of one, two and three word sentences gives the illusion of racing with eight little boys pulling you along by the hands and shirttail, crying, “We gotta find Pip!”  It also creates a lot of white space which encourages the eye to skim along the page faster. 

•  His use of description solidifies the setting – cements our feet right down to it.  “Wham.  Eight front doors banged shut” is much more powerful than ‘the boys came out of their houses.’ When they create a kite from old circus posters from the side of a barn, it becomes a mosaic of talons, claws, lion’s fangs and tiger eyes. They hear “roars of Africa down the wind.”   A review in the New York Times called his ‘frenetic imagery’ a ‘great treat.’

• His characters are endearing.   On the day Pipkin was born “all the Orange Crush and Nehi soda bottles in the world fizzed over.” The seat of his pants is full of splinters from fences and he’s the kind of kid who would run back and help a friend finish a race.  The other boys are brave and noble, especially in the end when they each make a sacrifice for Pip's sake.

•  Delicious active verbs make the action a feast for the tasting.  “...something dark frittered and danced and slithered away…”  Mr. Moundshroud’s house “leaned after them with soft groans.” As for the jack-o-lanterns hanging on the Halloween Tree “Sparks leaped out of their ripe-cut ears.”  He uses softer, sibilant sounds or harsher consonants to set different tones.  

•  His clever use of simile and metaphor creates memorable visuals.  “Like a big spider with many legs, the boys tried to cram through the door” and  “the windows blinked wide their ghastly eyes” says it better than narrative ever could. 

Do any of these strike a chord with you?  Do you see a writing technique that could enrich your writing?  We’d love to hear!

Does This Novel Seem Crowded to You?

[Author note: If you’re a pantser, sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'm hoping to show that some pre-writing activity can save you work later without killing creativity. Honest!]

Character, characters everywhere! But do they have a job to do? That’s a good question to ask. Just like you’re created with a purpose in mind, your characters should be, too.

It’s so easy to overpopulate a story. That’s how I’ve collected so many dynamite deleted scenes. But creating a cache of deleted scenes is not my objective. I need to look at my characters as part of an organic whole, not as detached individuals. Each character should help define the others.

According to John Truby in The Anatomy of Story, we learn the most about our protagonist when we can compare her to the other characters on four different levels: by story function, archetype, theme, and opposition. 

Today, I’m going to talk about the story function of your characters, because this helped me the most with crowd control—and revolutionized the way I think about developing characters.

This is my gift to you after being so snarky about Maass’s chapter, “Standout Characters.” Deepest apologies again, Mr. Maass, sir.

Every novel starts with a premise. The premise is what your story is about in one sentence. For instance, the premise of The Hunger Games (HG) is: In post-apocalyptic America, a teen-aged huntress takes her sister’s place in a last-man-standing battle against representatives of the eleven other districts of Panem.  

Once you know your premise, you create characters. Start with your protagonist or hero. She’s the one with the central problem. (Katniss must take care of her sister.) She’s the one who drives the action in an attempt to solve her problem. (Katniss volunteers to take Prim’s place in the hunger games.) The protagonist drives the action, but she isn't without her weaknesses and needs. (Katniss is a loner, but she must partner with other contestants to survive, knowing she will later need to kill them in order to solve her problem.)

This is where things get interesting. All other characters in your novel will represent an opposition, an alliance with the protagonist, or a combination of the two. Every character has a job to do to tell your story according to the premise.

Antagonist: The antagonist should want the same thing as the protagonist, which will bring them in direct conflict. This doesn't mean they hate each other, necessarily. Think of them as opposition, a less brick-wall kind of word. (Katniss has one big antagonist, the government, plus twenty-three contestants that want to live to take care of their families, so they must kill her.)

Ally: An ally helps the protagonist solve her problem. They listen to the protagonist, giving the reader a chance to hear in the protagonist's own words what she values and wants. Again, their goals are usually the same, but sometimes the ally has her own goal. (In HG, Katniss has an ally in Gale, her hunting partner in District 12. Also, Cinna, her stylist uses his cunning and skill to make Katniss a favorite in the games.)

Fake-Ally Opponent: This is where things get really interesting. This character seems to be on the protagonist’s side, but is really an opponent. This is how twists and turns are added to a story, as well as tension. (Effie Trinket plays this role for Katniss. She’s very proper and gathers a team to help Katniss, but she represents the government, the source of all Katniss’s problems. As the government’s representative, she facilitates the death of at least one, if not both of her charges, Katniss and Peeta.)

Fake-Opponent Ally: These are fun characters to write but not as common in storytelling as the Fake-Ally Opponent, but HG is full of them. This opponent appears to be fighting the protagonist but is actually a friend. (Peeta, of course, is the first of Katniss’s opponents to come to mind, but don’t forget about Rue. The most powerful Fake-Opponent Ally is Haymitch, Katniss’s supposed mentor. He is drunk and useless most of the time, but he sees something in Katniss that makes him believe she is finally the one who can survive. He recruits sponsors and sends supplies at just the right moment.)

Subplot Character: Their role is to give another opportunity to define the protagonist through comparison (they want the same thing or have the same problem but go after the solution differently) and to advance the plot. In HG, Katniss’s mother is a subplot character. She wants the same thing, to take care of Katniss and Prim, but her grief has paralyzed her. In this way we see the heroic side of Katniss. The mother moves the plot along by her passivity. Katniss is all Prim has in her broken world.

HG might not have been the best example because there are lots of characters, but they fit very nicely into their roles. Let’s look at a “smaller” story world to see how this works.  Feel free to disagree with me.

In The Language of Flowers, the premise is that a young woman uses flowers to say the things she cannot say on her quest for love. 

Victoria is our protagonist. Her central problem is that she wants to love and be loved but can’t do either. As a product of the foster system, Victoria has never properly bonded with a caregiver, so she probably suffers from reactive attachment disorder (RAD). She uses the language of flowers she learns from her foster mother to try to make connections. 

Her antagonist is RAD, I think. She sabotages herself in all of her attempts to make meaningful connections. 

The author brilliantly gives Victoria two strong allies, Renata the florist and Grant the flower grower. Renata gives Victoria a job to rescue her from homelessness and allows her room to be ellusive, and Grant is the most patient man in the world, and he loves her, literally and figuratively challenging her flower language. 

Victoria’s false-opponent ally, and this is up for debate, is her caseworker. Name? She comes off as making hurtful decisions for Victoria, but she introduces her to the only mother she will ever know because she understands what Victoria needs. 

The false-ally opponent is her foster mother, Elizabeth. She needs the same thing as Victoria, love, and she gives it freely until what she loves more than Victoria is destroyed. She ends up wounding Victoria worst of all. 

The subplot character is Victoria’s assistant whom she brings in from her old group home. Again, name? She’s there to compare how two foster system kids react to emancipation.

So, there you have it, a purpose-driven approach to populating your novels. Personally, this information has helped me develop a wider variety of characters with greater capacity for conflict and helped me to focus the story on the premise by not adding characters who aren't needed. (This is how adorable yet menacing Fred got booted from Goodness & Mercy.)

I would love to hear what you think of Truby’s story structure approach to populating your stories. Have you tried this approach? What benefits or hindrances did you experience? How do you keep from over-populating your stories? Have you ever asked yourself while reading a novel, "What is this character doing here?" 

Getting Snarky at Donald Maass

Dear Mr. Donald Maass, sir,
We're discussing your book, Writing 21st Century Fiction, at Novel Matters today. If you've stopped by to see how much we loved the chapter on standout character, please go away now. My writing career is on shaky enough ground as it is. Being black-balled by a top New York city literary agent would shoot my career between the eyes. So, you just mosey along. Go to the corner and get something highly caffeinated or one of those famous hot dogs they sell on the street. Forget you ever heard my name, please.
Sincerely,
Patti Hill

Reader Alert: I’m a little cranky about this chapter.  In fact, I may sound snarky when I don’t  mean to. Yes, Maass says true things about characterization, but he also quotes his other books on writing. 

Hello? could we have something fresh here?

And he speaks in broad generalities, which sound suspiciously like he really is talking to genre writers. Like this:

A standout protagonist is one who quickly stirs in your reader high admiration. p. 79

Yes. No. Duh! This isn’t wrong. It’s just prescriptive. Are we all writing books about Boy Scouts? This is the kind of stuff I taught my fourth-grade students. Ack! 

(Oh my, this is snarky. So sorry.)

My pulse quickened a bit when Maass started a section on characters who lack conflict. This is a huge problem for beginning writers. They want their characters to be nice and not make the writer look bad for being able to think up very human things for their characters to do. The result is a boring story. As we talked about last time, the inner journey—conflict and all—is crucial to creating characters and stories reader can relate to. I was genuinely eager to hear what Maass had to say.  

Any character, whether wholly negative or naively positive or somewhere in between (My question: Has he left anyone out?), can be alive, alert, and engaged in life. But how is that conveyed to the reader? There are three key techniques: the use of observation, opinions, and self-awareness. P. 100

Maass uses Aibileen Clark from The Help as an example of a character who is a keen observer, especially of the white family she works for and full of opinions she can’t express. And who was more self-aware than a black woman of the south in 1962? Aibileen knew her place.

But Aibileen is not wholly negative or naively positive or anything in between.  She is human! I can hear her voice in my head. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”  Her keen observations, opinions, and self-awareness are NOT add-ons. They’re who she is. 

(I didn’t like this chapter very much.)

But let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water. The qualities Maass attributes to a well-rounded and interesting character are valid. They just wouldn’t, in my humble opinion, resurrect a poorly conceived character. I love a character who can see things I can’t and describe them in such a manner that makes me groan with pleasure. And I happen to like opinionated characters, too. They make me squirm and laugh, all as that character turns a mirror on me. As for healthy self-awareness, I’m reading a novel now about a man who makes note of his bowel habits in his journal. Too much?

Here are five nuggets you can take from this chapter:

1. Heroic protagonists need to show us that they’re human.
2. Stronger than surprise is selfless focus. Think Enzo in The Art of Racing in the Rain
3. Put as much planning and work into your antagonist as you do your protagonist.
4. Don’t skimp on your secondary characters, either. Give them a history and know them well.
5. Work on your characters until they fascinate you, then they will fascinate millions of readers.

I was going to continue this discussion on Wednesday, but that’s about it. Instead, I’ll share something I've learned from a master storyteller that has changed the way I populate my stories. I promise more of a take-away. Also, I will put my snarky self on the shelf--with that obnoxious elf.

And I’ll be reading ahead to see if Maass has anything more to offer us.

Was I too hard on Maass? Help me out here, what's the most important thing you do to develop human characters? From whom have you learned the most about characterization? Name a character who took your breath away. Can I hide at your house?

Love Your Villain As Yourself

It's become the fashion, among authors in Christian circles, to say, "I'm not a Christian Writer; I'm a writer who is a Christian." There's good enough reason for this: to pin the label on an author changes the way people view his book. Correctly or not, it alters expectations. In some ways it raises them: this book will likely uphold Christian Values. In other ways, it lowers them: the writing will likely display weaknesses common to Christian fiction. One can draw a short line from the first expectation to the second: the felt obligation to present a positive witness so easily stifles a writer's abilily to paint the darkness dark, to draw three dimensional heroes with real faults and three dimensional villains with real virtues.

But I set myself one rule when I first began to write fiction, that actually improved my writing, though my purpose at first had more to do with behaving Christianly toward my readers. Or rather, toward my reader: at first, I thought only of the one woman whose story had provided the outline for Dara, my main character in To Dance In the Desert. Would this woman recognize herself in Dara? And if so, would she feel that I'd treated her badly, by misjudging her motivations, or minimizing the experiences that had led her to act as she had done?

As I progressed, I realized that Dara had changed enough in the writing that the woman on whom she was based would never recognize herself in the story, but by this time I understood that other woman or men might well see themselves in my characters. When I held that mirror up to show them their faces, I wanted to do it kindly, with love.

That went for Finis too, that legalistic, worst-nightmare of a self-help preacher. If some minister heard his own voice in the cadence of Finis' sales pitch, he must sense the same understanding and grace that each one of us needs.

This morning I discussed with a friend the rare insight a parent has into the core personality of her grown child, because she was there early to see what caused him joy, what made his eyes tear and his shoulders curl in around his heart.

I believe we should have that same insight into our characters - especially the less positive ones. Not only does that uphold the golden rule, but it rounds out the writing as well, adds a complexity that both rings true and offers insight to the reader.

To illustrate, here is a picture that has fascinated and troubled me since I first saw it several years ago. A beautiful, sweet-faced boy, who loved to play cowboys and Indians, whose childhood ambition was to be a priest. What was his name? Adolf Hitler.

What happened to this child? What was he thinking, as the photographer took his picture? What was done to him as he grew, and why did it affect him one way, and not another?

We all come out of the box as children, beautiful, with joys and vulnerabilities. To quote Marcus Zusak in The Book Thief, "I am haunted by humans."

Please Lord, let my readers be, as well.

Getting Past What Your Characters Aren't

Welcome to our book talk on Bird by Bird. I know, the book has been out forever, but I missed the discussion group! Finally, this is my chance. I’m glad you’re here to discuss the chapter, “False Starts.” If you haven’t read the chapter, you must forget your groundless inhabitations and jump into the conversation. I learn so much from you.

“Brother Lawrence…saw all of us as trees in winter, with little to give, stripped of leaves and color and growth, whom God loves unconditionally anyway…When you write about your characters, we want to know all about their leaves and colors and growth. But we also want to know who they are when stripped of the surface show. So if you want to get to know your characters, you have to hang out with them long enough to see beyond all the things they aren’t.” Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott

All I have in my writing pocket right now is a seed of an idea. The story is peopled by shadows of characters—a middle-aged woman, her mother and father, perhaps a child, and another older man. Keeping the analogy of bare trees in mind, my characters are mere sprouts, indistinguishable from a stalk of corn or an oak at the moment.

I definitely need to hang out with them. Won’t you sit in? I heard an author interview on my favorite podcast, Pen on Fire. The author—can’t remember her name—interviews her characters as if preparing to write their biographies. She fills notebooks with notes.

Here is my first interview with Barb, my protag. We’re sitting at a sidewalk café in a small California beach town, because this is my interview, and I can do it anywhere I want. There's coffee and lots of chocolate on the table, so this should go well.

Me: You look nervous, Barb.

Barb: Shouldn’t I be? I won’t have a secret left when you’ve filled your notebook.

Me: We’ll start slow. There’s no rush. We’re both after the same thing, the truth.

Barb: Really? The truth? I’m not sure I’m all that familiar with the concept anymore. I thought I was, but in the last six months…

Me: You’ve had the rug pulled out from under you?

Barb: I’ve been swallowed by a whale. Which way is up, really?

Me: Perhaps we should start earlier. What is your earliest memory?

Barb: That would have been the Maple Street house, I suppose. Before Gary. That’s my younger brother. I don’t know…

Me: You’re thinking of something.

Barb: It’s silly.

Me: Go on.

Barb: Okay, if you insist. I was hiding in the broom closet. In fact, I was sitting on Mom’s Electrolux. She was calling for me from the kitchen. I should have gone to her. I knew I should have. I heard it in her voice. She was getting angry. But I stayed in the closet. I remember having to go to the bathroom. Number two. I’m sure there’s some deep meaning to that. I remember reading something.

Me: I’ll do some research.

Barb: You will?

Me: What happened next?

Barb: I was afraid of having an accident but more afraid of coming out. I’d waited too long. She would know I’d hidden from her. Our house was small, not a manor house where a little girl could get lost in her dreams. Mom wanted something from me. I don’t remember what.

That’s it. That’s my first memory. Your book is going to be awfully boring.

Me: Not at all. Besides, we aren’t finished yet. Was anyone else there, in the house?

Barb: I don’t think so. I remember other times, and, you know, they could have been before the closet thing or after, now that I think about it. Once I screamed my throat raw, trying to avoid a nap. My temper was legendary, the topic at many a family function. And another time, I remember eating tomatoes, still warm from the summer sun, with my dad under the apple tree.

Me: Tell me more about your father.

Barb: Dad? Well, he has his passions. Of late, he’s a bit delusional. I worry about his arteries hardening. That would affect his thinking, wouldn’t it? Anyway, he’s always been a bit of a showman.

Me: Is he a good father?

Barb: I love my father very much.

Me: Perhaps my question was too broad. Did you and your father get along?

Barb: Absolutely.

Me: Care to elaborate?

Barb: He’s not the man I thought he was. But then, I’m not sure I know my mother either.

Me: That’s quite a discovery to make at forty-eight. We’ll have to talk more about your parents, but I can see you’re about to bolt. Shall we set a time for tomorrow?

I’m not feeling great about the interview. Getting information out of Barb is like giving birth to a water buffalo…breach! I’m not even sure I like her name. Cynthia? Linda? Lady Gaga? Better? Not? Was this a false start? I’m not going to worry about it, much. After all, this was our first lunch. Once she trusts me, I’ll see her true colors. Her personality will bloom. She’ll tell me funny stories about her dog. Is she married? I’ll ask her tomorrow.

For now, all I know is she isn't all that close to her parents. She seems bitter. But she has nice memories of her father. Her mother, not so much. Chances are I'm completely wrong about her. More chocolate. Definitely more time.

How do you get beyond all the things your characters aren’t? Do you fill out an inventory? Use Meyers-Briggs personality types? Base your characters on people you know? When have you had your first impressions of a person changed by spending time with them? How much time are you willing to invest in getting to know your characters? How do you know when you know them well enough to start writing?

I spent all of Thursday on a very long flight from Sacramento to Los Angeles to Nashville on the way to a family reunion. But what an interesting position

for a writer to be in! Three airports in one day. I took advantage of the downtime between flights to people-watch. It's a great place to collect details about people which can tell a story of their own. Here are some of my observations:

A family of four, dressed in shorts, sandals, and sleeveless shirts & t-shirts, checked in their bags on the sidewalk in the chilly pre-dawn hours in foggy Sacramento. From this I deduced they were a happy family headed for Hawaiian Airlines. Aloha!

While waiting to board, I saw a young woman feed a medium-sized Chihuahua eyedroppers of what appeared to be medicine. I saw no kennel. How did the dog travel? She only had a carryon that did not look like it would accommodate an animal, and our flight was four hours long. I wanted to hang back to see how she managed to get her pet on board.

Sitting in Los Angeles, I saw a tall 30-something man with a flowing beard wearing a long black dress coat and a quirky Eastern European style hat. He carried a briefcase and looked solemn and unapproachable.

One of my seatmates was very pleasant older woman with a round face and a thick Romanian accent. When she returned from the restroom and squeezed past me, she reeked of cigarettes. I wondered if she'd found a way to thwart the smoke detectors in the restroom and tried to imagine how it might be done.

I realized that the simple act of taking off your shoes and standing in your bare or stockinged feet in front of others at the bag check area can be a great leveler of persons. Suddenly that polished professional in the suit with the big briefcase is just a guy in saggy socks.

It's amazing how a small detail can alter appearances or create dissonance when creating characters. If that businessman in the expensive suit wore mismatched socks or his toes stuck through, or if the solemn guy in the beard suddenly began blowing Bazooka bubbles, it would have been totally at odds with their appearances. At her age, my seatmate who smelled of cigarettes didn't have a smoker's voice or cough so maybe she wasn't the smoker. Perhaps she'd been married for 40 years to a chain smoker and unknown to her, a small cluster of abnormal cells insidiously multiplied in her lungs. Could the eyedropper have held the equivalent of doggie Dramamine so Fifi would sleep the flight away tucked in a comfy bag beneath the seat at her owner's feet? What if the dad in our happy Hawaii-bound family found out quite by accident while checking his email that he would be laid off from his job when they returned?

People are so interesting, and in many more ways than just in appearance. As writers, we take time to observe people wherever we go, gleaning bits and pieces of characterization and sifting through the mundane for nuggets of truth and uniqueness for each character we create.

Where have you found the most interesting people to watch? Have you ever made an observation which led to creating a character based on it? Share it with us!

Paper Doll People

Multi-layering, or depth, in writing is as important as depth in painting. One-dimensional art is color-book drawing compared to the painting of, say, Rembrandt or Gauguin. In literature, the comparison may not be as stark on the surface, but the experience is just as flat.

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Patti's comment to Bonnie's post on Monday gives us a great visual of what I mean. "Subtext is the difference between looking across a glinting lake, and swimming through the bottom weeds, letting them slide across your body." What a great analogy. But how do you add that kind of depth to your writing? How do you make it three-dimensional so that your readers want to dive in? Subtext, about which Bonnie so capably educated us on Monday, is one very important way. Conflict and unique plot--or a unique method of conveying the plot--are equally important. I'm about to begin life on the refrigerator door by Alice Kuipers, a story which consists entirely of notes between a mother and daughter, posted on their refrigerator. Unique? Absolutely. I can't wait to, well, dive in.

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To me, one of the most important elements to three-dimensional writing is characterization, to follow Debbie's lead from Wednesday's post. This is true even in plot-driven stories. As Lajos Egri says in his book The Art of Creative Writing, "living, vibrating human beings are still the secret and magic formula of great and enduring writing." Does this mean we must never write about ordinary people? Certainly not. Lori Benton, in her comment Wednesday, made the point, "the characters that have touched me most deeply and stayed with me the longest...were ordinary folk placed into extraordinary circumstances, called upon to find the mettle...to journey through those circumstances."

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Exactly.

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In fact, "ordinary people in extraordinary situations" is the hearbeat of good fiction. Nothing else allows us to dive into a character's world as deeply as relatability. That doesn't mean I only want to read about characters like myself; but it does mean the character that will hold me in their story world has to have flaws, fears and failures...because I do. They must be misunderstood, and have goals and desires they're willing to stake everything on. They can be young or old, male or female, human or hobbit--but what they must be is real.

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Nothing kills a character or a story more completely than cliche. "Cliches are like fast food hamburgers. No matter what city you eat them in...the burgers taste the same." So says William Brohaugh in Write Tight. He's absolutely correct. And cliches are more than overused phrases. They're overused plots, overused character traits, overused anything; the complete opposite of fresh and inviting. The heroine isn't always beautiful. The bad guy doesn't always wear black. The protagonist's life isn't--cannot be--smooth sailing if I'm to care about them. Don't give me paper doll people, don't give me perfection, please. Give me someone to yell at, to cry with, to learn from, even to abhor, or I'll be a stone skipping over the surface of your book on my way to deeper water.

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Who's the most unlikely character you've related to lately? Why? What have you learned from that?