Like many others, I wasn’t born here. I was born, and spent the first part of my childhood, on the other side of the world. Culturally similar, sure; English-speaking, by definition. But unmistakably different.
I’ve spent more of my life here, however, and if you were to meet me for the first time now you’d have no idea I wasn’t a local. Mate.
This means that people, even close friends and those from my “native country”, tend to strip me of my historical identity. “Pfft,” they sneer. “You left years ago. That doesn’t even count.”
I find it breathtakingly hurtful – what “doesn’t count” is part of my make-up, but there’s no malice intended behind their words. Perhaps it’s even a fair point – I have yet to make it back to the country of my origin. No accent. Gone too long. I don’t belong there and if I went back now, I am sure I would feel out of place.
But none of this takes into account that even in this country I was still raised by a family who followed all the customs and culture and language (yes, English, but used in subtle and different ways) of their origin. And there’s much to be said for memory and the formative years. I’ve lost count of the times as an adult I’ve recalled something poignant from childhood that has no relevance here; or similarly, failed to catch the significance of a story or witticism that any true local would only have needed a hint of to nod knowingly.
It’s rare, but every now and then there is a jarring moment of displacement, like a flicker of TV static; a reminder that something doesn’t quite fit – and that something is me.
This by no means a cry for sympathy or empathy. It is merely an acknowledgement that sense of self, of place and identity, can be subtle, yet pervasive. It’s the little things that prompt each of us, every now and then, to ask the question “who am I?”
And as it is in reality, so it is in fiction.
One of the best compliments an author can receive about their writing is when a reader says that they really believed in a character. But characterisation is one of the hardest things to get right and a lack of believable characters can let down even the most powerful story. So how do you go about creating them?
Some of the most successful stories are those that build worlds and characters around those themes of identity and place – either deliberately or subtextually. Even if that is not something you are concentrating on, it can be helpful to keep these things in mind when you’re creating your characters. You don’t have to spell everything out, but when a character is placed in a given situation, it is worth remembering their background even if the specifics don’t make it to the page. Ask yourself who that character is, and why.
Your character’s childhood, their upbringing, their interactions with others and the world around them all link back to the identity that, as author, you have created (or failed to create) for them. How they react to things and how they are placed in the world are equally informed by their background, and can feed into their characterisation and differentiate them from other characters in the narrative.
What do you think? How do you feel about identity? And how do you “create” your characters? Do they spring fully-formed, complete with life-history, into your head? Do you make character notes? Or do you prefer to work with a blank slate?
Tags: characters, editing, fiction, reading, worldbuilding, writing
These are such good points here!
I always think of my character’s childhood and how they grew up (or are growing up) even if it is not ‘part’ of the story. I give them a history, an astrological profile, a sociological and psychological l background with both personal myths and larger cultural ones. If I don’t know where my characters are coming from, the reader probably isn’t going to either. They will talk, and feel, like cardboard cut-outs and that’s not what I’m after. Authenticity! That’s the name of the game. I want my characters so real you can taste them!
I did have one character assert herself without my knowledge, and she hasfeatured in almost book since. Kreshkali jumped full blown onto the page, fully developed from the moment I opened the portal to her world. It had never happened like that before. One minute I’m following my outline and the next I can’t write fast enough to tell this person’s story.
Now on book #6 I am finally letting readers know about her childhood and her curious connection to someone in another world. It’s all in my notes since we first ‘met’ but if it hadn’t been, this would be a much more challenging task. It underscores the most important point: writers don’t have to share a characters’ background with the reader, but they do have to know it themselves. Even if you never say, ‘she was born into a family with high expectations . . .’ if you know it, the feeling will filter through the writing and that’s what will make it authentic. Whatever it takes, get a handle on your people and readers will respond to them as if the were real.
Which is the whole point! Write real characters so readers can fall head over heels into the story!
Thanks so much BW for another great post!
Wow, Kim, I love that you flesh your characters out right to the point of astrological charts and personal myths. I agree with you that it’s all about authenticity and that things will (or should) bleed through onto the page, into the story, if the character is fully realised in your head.
Of course, having said that, I know that some people just don’t write that way. It is fascinating to hear/read different approaches and I know at least one author who famously says she starts each book/day with no notes and sometimes no idea of the story or characters and just writes. Yet her stories, worlds and characters are all vivid, with strong voices and personalities.
A lot of the points in the blog above, I think, could hold true for non-fiction writing – memoir etc, as well – you need to bring reality to life on the page. But I hear a lot of authors say that, no matter what their usual approach to writing fictional characters, sometimes there’s one in particular who just “arrives” as Kreshkali did for you, with their own story. I find this process fascinating and I am intrigued by the whole concept of the Muse and writers describing themselves at times as merely being the vessel for a story or character. Sometimes, it seems, characters are people, too. How does all THAT affect the writer’s identity?
There are times I feel I have no identity at all when it comes to the story. It’s like the story existed long before I ever stumbled onto it and I type as fast as I can to record what I am ‘seeing’. Sure there is research (like a historian or archeologist) and I do tend to map things out in great deal now (didn’t at first), brainstorming, assigning sun and moon and rising signs and applying cultural conditioning, flaws . . . but I never feel it’s really ‘me’ doing it. I’m uncovering something, finding ways to show it to the world, but it’s already there, hidden in the blank page. Does that sound nuts?
In ancient times bards and storytellers never took credit for their tales. Even Homer, and Hesiod before him, would ‘sing praise to the Muses’ before starting. ‘Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices, who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy . . .’ (Homer) It was like storytellers were a conduit between the power of creation and the listener. Perhaps it’s still that way and we are only blind to the process.
While I don’t write much anymore, when I did it was an idea that was more than a single line – probably more a concept. Straight away I knew the character and had to find a way to get it on paper – to explain adequately what it was that was in my mind’s eye. I guess it is the same as Kim in a way.
I used to write pages on background, history, etc – and I agree it was not for the reader directly – it was for me. It was not so much as working out what history to give the character as much as it was to simply record what I already knew. Doing so though definitely then lead on to the next step, the story that the reader does see and experience.
It was not a chore – in fact it was hardly even a choice. It was what I had to write – to get it out of my head.
@Kim Thanks for coming back; more food for thought, as always. That’s an interesting idea, that maybe the ancients were onto something that we’ve forgotten. When, how did this happen? Do you think this is something people are now tapping into on just a subconscious level?
@Gurfle Thanks for joining the discussion! That does sound very much like what Kim describes – that overpowering need to explain and explore what your mind (your Muse?) has conjured up.
Interesting that both of you describe feeling as though you had no choice – in order to get to the story, you needed to explore the characters and in both cases you say that these characters almost had wills of their own, bursting to be written onto the page. And yet, it is really not unusual for people to complete manuscripts without having developed the characters beyond using them as tools to move the actual story along.
Indeed, there are bestselling books out there that achieve wonderful narrative despite shallow characterisation. But I remain convinced that these books would be even better if those characters felt more “real”, had a sense of identity. I think you can enjoy books without strong characterisation – the action etc can draw you in; but I think it’s the characters that touch your core. You identify with them on an emotional level and I think usually, when someone says they “loved” a book, they mean they fell in love with the characters.