We take it for granted that most fictional characters have belly buttons. They are, after all, supposed to be human. Stories are about people and even supernatural heroes exhibit human emotion and characteristics. Personification aside, only cartoon characters act out their scenes with no viewer or reader concern for family origin or influence.
Would you want to read a story, let alone a book-length work, in which you have to assume the main character hopped from under a rock one day and began living a tumultuous life, using multiple coping skills reflected by deeply revealing internal dialogue at the tender age of no way would you believe this? Don’t expect any reader to believe characters have no past. Their past is often the impetus of suspense.
If readers are to suspend disbelief, to enter the world the writer has created so intentionally, the writer must people their fictional world with three dimensional characters. This includes emotional or psychological character profiles that reflect either circumstance of birth or the separation from or defeat of inherited morality or perhaps some revealed dysfunction.
As “real” people, heroes and heroines are not perfect. They sometimes fight with their parents and/or siblings. They sometimes make mistakes. They sometimes feel regret, or anger, or pain, or happiness, or anxiety, or hope, or defeat. Whatever they feel, or think, or choose, they are products of their existential past. If they don’t bring emotional baggage with them, they have unloaded it before they arrived at the here and now. Readers need to know that, too. Readers get to know characters through their actions and interactions with other characters. Internal dialogue can be as important as dialogue. It often helps the reader understand the character’s motivation. Serial killers have reasons for what they do. Their reasons are sometimes crazy and dysfunctional, even diabolical, but they are still reasons. And even serial killers have mothers.
Ask Dexter Morgan. He has a plentitude of separation anxiety associated with his mother. Okay, yes, he had post traumatic stress disorder as a toddler. Thank goodness he had such a guilt-ridden father, who was happy to explain morality to him, and give him the survival skills he needed to succeed and thrive at both his job and “vigilante hobby”. Let’s don’t forget that sibling rivalry with his brother, either—which leads us to his often dysfunctional relationship with his sister.
Your characters, too, have families. They certainly have or had mothers. Perhaps they miss the umbilical cord, or perhaps they feel it’s wrapped around their necks and tightening fast. Either way, when thinking about your character’s description, don’t forget about their belly buttons!
Would you want to read a story, let alone a book-length work, in which you have to assume the main character hopped from under a rock one day and began living a tumultuous life, using multiple coping skills reflected by deeply revealing internal dialogue at the tender age of no way would you believe this? Don’t expect any reader to believe characters have no past. Their past is often the impetus of suspense.
If readers are to suspend disbelief, to enter the world the writer has created so intentionally, the writer must people their fictional world with three dimensional characters. This includes emotional or psychological character profiles that reflect either circumstance of birth or the separation from or defeat of inherited morality or perhaps some revealed dysfunction.
As “real” people, heroes and heroines are not perfect. They sometimes fight with their parents and/or siblings. They sometimes make mistakes. They sometimes feel regret, or anger, or pain, or happiness, or anxiety, or hope, or defeat. Whatever they feel, or think, or choose, they are products of their existential past. If they don’t bring emotional baggage with them, they have unloaded it before they arrived at the here and now. Readers need to know that, too. Readers get to know characters through their actions and interactions with other characters. Internal dialogue can be as important as dialogue. It often helps the reader understand the character’s motivation. Serial killers have reasons for what they do. Their reasons are sometimes crazy and dysfunctional, even diabolical, but they are still reasons. And even serial killers have mothers.
Ask Dexter Morgan. He has a plentitude of separation anxiety associated with his mother. Okay, yes, he had post traumatic stress disorder as a toddler. Thank goodness he had such a guilt-ridden father, who was happy to explain morality to him, and give him the survival skills he needed to succeed and thrive at both his job and “vigilante hobby”. Let’s don’t forget that sibling rivalry with his brother, either—which leads us to his often dysfunctional relationship with his sister.
Your characters, too, have families. They certainly have or had mothers. Perhaps they miss the umbilical cord, or perhaps they feel it’s wrapped around their necks and tightening fast. Either way, when thinking about your character’s description, don’t forget about their belly buttons!
No comments:
Post a Comment