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CharacterisationWhen youīre putting a character in a story, there are lots of challenges. Arguably, the three biggest problems are:
If youīre unsuccessful, people will notice, and your friends or editor will probably tell you to change the character. But changing the character will not get the effect you want. If you start pulling at one string, making the character more interesting, it will be less consistent, and if you make it more consistent, it will be less interesting. And introducing the character just right is no easy task, if you want the character to be both consistent and long-term interesting. Thatīs because these problems has nothing to do with the character, but rather with characterisation. Characterisation may strike you as a funny word. Not ha-ha funny, but strange funny. After all, there is no word as plotisation, or themisation. But essentially, characterisation has to do with how the character is revealed, as opposed to how the writer thinks about the character. Easy enough to explain, but itīs a long way from actually doing, isnīt it? So letīs break it down. Characterisation hinges on two basic techniques: the example and the voice.
Letīs say youīve created a character called Beverly. Youīve given her the following characteristics: sheīs a foul-mouth obese woman in her 40s (to contrast nicely with another character whoīs proper, thin and 22 years old). She has an interesting backstory, a goal and a good motivation, and most importantly, she has a function in the story. All in all, Beverly is a well-rounded character. But to make her a well-written character as well, you need to look at her from another angle. You need to look for Beverlyīs pattern. Her pattern is based on a string of examples. Like this: Start by thinking of as many examples of how a foul-mouth person behaves. Obviously, there should be lots of swear words and insults on that list, but there should also be things such a person wouldnīt say (niceties, subtleties, and greetings) and do (kiss up to people, compliment others, and keep quiet). Then go on to her other characteristics (obesity and middleagedness) and continue making up her pattern. Beverly may get very tired because of her over-weight, or promise never to over-eat again. Or she may remember something that the 22-year-old havenīt heard of. This is pretty easy, isnīt it? Of course, you donīt have to pick the first examples that you can think of. In fact, you probably shouldnīt. Start a list with things such a character can do, have happen to it, or situations that would be fun, painful or interesting to put it in. Then pick those that fit the story, put them in where appropriate, and voilā! The character is consistent throughout the story. Also, you automatically have fodder for the introduction scene...
This may sound complicated, but itīs really not. If you discover that one example of Beverlyīs foul-mouthedness (like one particular insult) doesnīt work, you find another insult. You donīt have to find another type of behaviour, only different words. If, on the other hand, the entire characteristic doesnīt work, you find another characteristic. Think of it in levels, like this:
Characteristics - foul-mouthedness (etc) Examples - "you festering ball of dog snot" (etc)
However, the real advantage of being able to exchange building blocks like this does not become apparent until you sit in a room with other writers or with producers - and they utterly trash your story. (If youīve been in that situation, you donīt easily forget it. And Lord, do I know!) Instead of thinking of ways of killing yourself or them, try to listen if the complaints are aimed at the story as a whole or at your examples. If the story is the target, you can go ahead and shoot yourself, but if you suspect that your examples are the targets, just nod and say: "Thatīs just an example of what Iīm after. The important thing here to keep is...", or something like that. Iīve gotten out of more than one scrape that way. You can too. Just start training blaming the examples now.
New examples of old characteristics give new characters. New examples of old MacGuffins give new stories. And so on. But to get that "new" feel, you need plenty of examples. I mean lots and lots and lots of examples. To get as many different examples as you can, you can go back to The Character Circle and make sure that you have at least one characteristic from each slice and then start make up a list of examples about each of them. I am serious about that list. You need plenty of material. Lots and lots of material. Not just for me. For you. It will make writing go so much easier, since...
1. You will use several examples.
2. You need several examples to choose from. Making a list may not seem all that creative or spontaneous. It may even seem too intellectual an approch to work when youīre in the middle of writing a story. If thatīs how you feel, thatīs good too. You can always try this technique later, if you get stuck. But this really isnīt anti-creative. Itīs super-creative. You get to put forward lots of ideas, and can try twisting and turning them inside out. What seems to be the only way to be rude may only be the most obvious solution. A more subtle, or a more aggressive, or a more action-oriented approach may be better. A list lets you work through a large number of ideas in a short time.
(As always, break these rules and you will die a most horrible death...) Hopefully this sounds pretty easy. The beauty of it is that actually is pretty easy. If you have your list of examples of how a rude person behaves, for example, you can go about writing the story, and whenever you donīt know how the story should progress, just look at the list and somethingīll turn up thatīll be in character and get the story going. In fact, itīs even easier than that. You donīt have to have the list by your side. By focusing enough on the vital characteristics of a character to do a list, youīve already gotten to know the character type enough. Soon the character will generate characteristics seemingly automatically. The character starts to live.
Now itīs only matter of putting the examples in the proper, dramatic order, and youīll have the perfect character. Or is it?
Of course, there are lots of advice about writing dialogue out there: write incomplete sentences to get that "real" feeling, avoid clichés, put in subtext. But thatīs not what Iīm talking about here. Iīm talking about how you create unique and recognizable voices for each and every one of your characters. And Iīm not going to make you sit in a cafeteria eavesdropping on other people, or make you cover the character names of your script so you can see if your characters talk different or not. Iīm not even going to make you read the dialogue out loud as you write it (even if that is an excellent idea...). What I will make you do is jump through a series of hoops, so put on your running shoes and get set.
Review the answers. You donīt have to make a list or anything, just look at what youīve already established. Does anything stand out from the rest? If so, revise it, so that it fits in with the pattern. (Also, you may want to cut as much as possible, now that you has the chance...)
Pretty soon the voice you know will change a little, and as you continue to write, the new voice will be a part of you. If you donīt know anybody like your character, or canīt decide between two or more persons, or you donīt hear the voice very well, that doesnīt mean that youīre screwed. Only that you have to work a bit more. Before we go on, let me state once and for all: I do not mean that you should emulate someoneīs way of talking, or that all it takes is to imitate a character on a TV show. This step without the previous steps will make for a very shallow character. Having done the previous steps, you can tie a ready character into the voice of another character or existing person - as long as you only use the voice as a touchstone! Not as a pattern, only to stop yourself from drifting too far off target. Listen to the chosen voice inside your head, and then let the voice start to speak for itself.
Good characters has clear tastes in what they talk about. In every scene, they try to shoehorn their subject into the conversation, and avoid subjects they hate. Powerful people tend to get their way. They decide what the subject is. Less powerful people are stuck in their nightmare conversations. Which type does your character fit into? And what does he or she enjoy talking about? When every character has a taste of his or her own the voice will emerge.
Iīm not talking about the characterīs emotions. Sure, a crying character can certainly bring the audience to tears and a character who reminices can bring nostalgia into the audience, but only if the surrounding environment supports it. If there are clowns tripping on banana peels in the background, the main character will have to work pretty damn hard. What I am talking about is lining up all the characters in a scene to get the desired emotional effect, which can actually mean that you make the major characters laugh so that the audience will cry. Savvy? You may wonder how this ties into this whole voice thing. Iīll tell you. Voice has everything to do with emotions - not with characterīs feelings, which may differ from your own, but with the emotion of the scene. To get an emotional response (ie the audience to cry, for example), you focus on the emotion so that the characters will have to speak for themselves. Trust the characters. Youīve made them, now itīs time to set them free. (If you must know, thereīs a psychological reason for this. Focusing on the emotional content of the scene, leaves too little room in your conscious part of the brain to "figure out" how to write like Beverly. Thatīs left to the more intuitive, voice-proficient unconscious part of the mind.)
(This is of course closely tied into the subject of character functions.)
If sheīs aware that sheīs perceived as too blunt, then she has a choice in every situation to try to behave. When she then is very rude in one situation, it says something about her, rather than if sheīs constantly equally rude. She can decide to be nice to one particular person, and she can decide to try to change. These choices tells us volumes about her, but the results are still only refinements of the original characteristic. And if you donīt know how your characterīs voice sounds, a choice-situation will show you. Make your character decide in a tricky question, and listen to its reason for the alternative it chose. Thereīs the voice youīve been looking for!
Rewrites are good in the long run as well. As you get better, it gets easier to find the charactersī voices. You will still have to work through the steps above, but the process gets faster each time.
And that means giving it someone else. Let a friend read your story and then explain to you what they just read. And to get something out of the discussion, ask yourself these questions:
Of course, itīs quite difficult to listen to someone critiquing what youīve slaved over without feeling hurt (or that you have friends who canīt seem to grasp your greatness). But noone ever died from a little criticism, and neither will you. The important thing is not to trust your immediate emotional response. Treat each comment with the respect it deserves. That is, think about the comments individually - point by point, pro and con, with your storyteller persona, not your inner child. How do you do that? In time. Itīs a required skill, not a given. In case you wonder, that means that youīll have to stick your head in the noose again and again, even if itīs scary. After the feedback, revise the characters marginally. Only change whatīs absolutely necessary, otherwise you might as well start from scratch. Keep the characters as intact as you can, fixing bad examples first, and the skeleton only when the character is in danger of being wheelchair-bound. Remember, youīre fixing a hole in the roof of a leaky house, not tearing down the house and replacing it with another. The second house would undoubtedly have some other problem. If you keep the original building, you will at least know where the problems lie.
Donīt try to hide it. Donīt try to minimize its part. It will show anyway. Donīt settle. Itīll paint you out as a bad writer. Donīt say itīs supposed to be that way. It will paint you out as a writer with a bad judgement. Donīt throw the story away. The problem will recur in everything you write. The only viable course of action is to aim for the jugular of the audience, evoke some serious emotion in them. Go back to the fourth hoop and start thinking about how this character can be brought in line with the emotional effect you want. If the monster wonīt budge, move the other players around it to make the scenes seem perfect anyway. A musical simile may explain it best: If you have a singer in a choir who sings the wrong song and wonīt stop, make the rest of the choir sing his song as well. The original song list may have to be abandoned but harmony will be restored.
But in every project thereīs a moment that makes it all worthwhile. Itīs this: Iīm sitting alone, surrounded by papers and folders, with music blaring to cover my thoughts, deeply concentrated, typing at my laptop what my characters are doing and saying. Some of them are talking about something. Then, suddenly someoneīs talking through the music. Itīs coming from a distance, barely audible, but soon itīs getting stronger and the words are starting to make perfect sense. I write them in the right place on the page, typing faster and faster. Another voice joins the first and I try to keep up as the two voices dictate what they do and say. It doesnīt take long until all characters speak for themselves and all I have to do is listen and type with shivers running down my spine. Itīs like magic. Or perhaps Iīm crazy. But either way, itīs a beautiful thing. By Lennart Guldbrandsson |
Chapters Part I - The example Examples as building blocks New stories Choosing examples
Part II - The Voice
Part III - S.O.S. |