Picabo Creative

Character development

Most authors either love or hate creating characters. Of course you can create the most indepth, loveable (or loathesome) character but they need something to do! Plot is one thing I’ll get into another time, but for now let’s chat about characters.

Best way to get into the right frame of mind is to people watch. Create a history for a total stranger. If you’re starting your story or idea from scratch, you could even just place this character in the middle of some event and see what they do. Personally, I see each character as his or her own person with their own choices and decisions. Sometimes they may even surprise me as to where they choose to go.

If you can touch type, the following method is perfect. If you’re a bit slower or prefer writing by hand the same principles can apply, you simply have to be a bit more disciplined.

Sit at the computer, blank document open, and close your eyes. Visualize the person as if they are standing in front of you. Starting asking them questions, knowing that they will answer you honestly and without reservation. “what makes you smile? what makes you cry? where did you grow up? what are your parents like? what makes you tick?” Just type and let yourself get into the freewriting without any edits or rethinking.

Here’s an unedited example of one freewriting session I did a while back. This character later became a major player in a short story I wrote.

“She looks younger than she is, by 5 years or more. Really, she’s in her middle 40’s, but she won’t set anyone straight who thinks she’s 35. Always been petite. She has an abnormally long torso and relatively short stumpy legs, something she’s been self conscious about for most of her life. She wears high heels to compensate which gives her an unnatural height, as tall as most men. Manicured nails, goes once a week and is starting to learn a little Korean so she can converse with her manicurist. She works behind the counter at Macy’s selling cosmetics, not because she has to, but because she wants to. Few people know she has a BA in political science. Even fewer know that she went to law school. Not even her parents know that she actually did take the bar exam and passed, scoring well above average. She has the desperate look of an older woman clinging to youth, wearing styles that simply don’t suit a woman of her age. This is particularly aggravating because she wants nothing more than to wear the newest styles of the season, but unfortunately this season requires long, stick thin legs. Her hair is blonde, dyed, and constantly changing shape each month. The only thing that dates her is the lipstick she’s been using for two decades now. Some things women just can’t let go of. She says she works at Macy’s because she likes the job, likes helping women find beauty through makeup and feel better about themselves. In truth, she works there so she can feel prettier than those who surround her. Though she did have the brains for law, her heart simply wasn’t in it. She lives in a small apartment about a mile away from the store. It’s decorated in a tacky, tasteful style that better suits Florida, not Chicago. Melon is her favorite color and varying degrees of it flood her one bedroom apartment. There’s no elevator to get to her third floor apartment and she tells herself the walk up is good for her glutes, but she’s unwilling to admit that more days than not she’s too tired to walk up those stairs. Her dining room table is a solid round piece of glass supported by a fake branch of driftwood. She doesn’t entertain often, but when she does it’s a lavish affair and something people gossip about for weeks afterwards. She was married when she was 30, divorced by 32, but in that short span she gave birth to Henry, who would rather live with his father in Oregon. She has a boyfriend of two years who treats her well enough, an attractive older man who is since retired and independently wealthy. She couldn’t care less about the money, yet she does enjoy the lifestyle he brings to her life. More so, she just keeps him around for the sex and to keep people from wondering what a woman her age is doing alone. She’s meticulous about her meals, making sure each one is properly balanced, but she habitually hides candy bars in the glove compartment in her car, eating them whole several times a week as she drives to and from work. In an odd form of exhibitionism, she gets a surge of excitement, guilt, and pleasure in the thought that someone might even see her eating one in the car, might catch the faint smell of chocolate and peanut butter on her breath.”