My friend and I, we wrote a story once. It was a CSI clone that we creatively called CSI:Washington after staying up late discussing it. We created five main characters and a huge additional cast. During the following months, we created the characters’ backgrounds, histories and very complicated (yet highly amusing and entertaining) love lives. After we got bored with crime scenes, we decided to take the characters and put them in a completely different setting—basically, creating a whole new universe.
Almost three years later, we still write these characters when we need to relax in between other writing gigs or when we need to go back to something familiar. Almost three years later we have almost 15 different alternate universes, over 5 ‘what if’ scenarios and approximately 80 separate stories. And all that with only five characters.
For me, creating characters is the most important part of writing a story. And while I don’t use any character sheets, I often know much more about my characters than what ends up in the finished product. And this vast knowledge of my characters, sometimes up to the type of lingerie they are wearing (it actually ended up being relevant to the plot, so don’t judge me just yet), allows me to know their reactions, keep them in character and use their issues and fears to their full potential (however cruel that might sound). Not to mention the fact that I let my characters do as they please (within reason… most of the time), and knowing them in and out allows me to have some amount of control over what’s going to happen.
Half of the stories in CSI:Washington happened just because we wanted to see how the characters would react in certain circumstances. And while it’s highly unlikely that we will ever publish anything with those characters, or that we will ever allow somebody else to read the stories themselves, I’m sure we will keep writing them.
You might wonder why. Why do I spend so much time writing characters nobody will read about? Why do we keep coming up with new stories?
First of all, we both love the characters. They are an integral part of our creative lives. I honestly can’t remember the time in my life where I didn’t wonder What Would Sam Do? It’s like rereading your favorite novel over and over again, only to get to the final chapter and realize it’s different that the previous time you’ve read it.
Another reason to stick with those characters is more technical. During those three years I like to think that I’ve mastered characterization of certain types of personalities. I can write sarcasm in the middle of the night, anti-social bosses pose no challenge for me, academic types, playboys with commitment issues and Queen Bees—I can write them all.
And because I changed the settings of my stories so many times but kept the characters, I also got really good at analyzing how certain situation can influence people, what parts of them will change and what will remain the same. I had the great discussion of nature vs nurture so many times that I can argue both sides (often at the same time. People with Multiply Personality Disorder have nothing on me).
Why am I telling you this? Mostly because I believe that characters can make or break a story, that well-written characters can save an otherwise poor story. I can name at least 5 books where I kept reading through the plot holes and lack of continuity just because the characters got my attention early on and I wanted to see what will happen to them. Mastering characterization should be one of your priorities.
I’m not insisting you get yourself into an extreme situation, like writing the same characters for three years (I’ll be the first to admit it’s not entirely healthy). But like they say: “practice makes perfect.” Writing similar characters in different settings can help you get comfortable with different types of personalities.
Take the anti-social boss and the academic type. I knew nothing about writing those sorts of characters. But the team needed those additions to find a certain balance. I won’t deny that our attempts at the very beginning left much to be desired. But as the universe got bigger, I got more practice with writing those characters. I learned what made them tick. And I learned how to build entire plots around one aspect of their personality.
This might seem impossible and surreal to you. And stories where a plot is based on one characteristic might not sound like a stellar work of fiction (and since I don’t usually judge my own work, you actually might be right). But I believe it a great challenge and an amazing exercise when it comes to my writing skills. And because writing characters is my favorite R&R activity, I can even offer to be a sounding board for anyone who wishes to try an exercise like this one. Who knows you might end up with a protagonist of your next big novel. And hell, I’ll be the first one to read it.
Comments & Discussion
Lately I've been consumed with the question of which character in Shades is most like "the real me". Whatever that means.
Anyway, good article.
@ Laurie: I don't think those kinds of surveys are any more interesting for fictional characters than they would be in real life. (Would you really want to fill out a survey about what kinds of socks you wear?) I use a combination of things I learned from some classes.
CHARACTER'S NAME (of course)
ATTITUDE/POINT OF VIEW: Is s/he optimistic? Think the world is out to get hir? Fatalistic? etc.
PUBLIC PERSONA: What does this character do for a living? How does s/he try to present herself to others?
SECRET DESIRE: What does this character want more than anything in the world?
I find the tension between public persona and secret desire really moves the character. For example, Mitch tries to present himself as someone that nothing phases, that is always laid back, but in his heart of hearts he wants to feel that he "belongs" to a family. This framework helps shape his conflicting behavior towards Arthur.
Stephanie
...she's using them to steady her lean, athletic frame on the seat of her black, 700cc, fat-tail, hell hog. Everything she owns is wrapped in a bedroll on the back, pockmarked with bugs and patched with stickers that go bad in the rain. Everyone she could possibly care about waits somewhere on the road ahead. Everyone behind her: a story that's ended badly, yielding little, leaving her with less. She pops a bent piece of Juicy Fruit in her mouth and tucks the paper between the sunburned cleavage that teases out from behind a lace-up, leather halter. Chewing hard, jaw working, she slaps down the visor on her helmet, reflecting the sun away from her sharp, no-nonsense greens.
There's no choice but to keep going until she finds them. And when she does, she'll ask them why she wasn't good enough to keep longer than four fucking years. She can still see their faces, and with each passing mile she ages them so she'll know them when they cross her path. She'll show them the letter, and ask them how long it took to write it––how many tears fell before it was done, how many times they started it just to rip it up and start it again.
"It's better this way, Jane," read the letter, "no matter how much it hurts, we did what we thought was right. Don't come looking for us, baby. Please. Live your life. Love, Mommy and Daddy."
Fuck that.
Jane pops the clutch and leaves a mark, much like the mark on her heart.
Characters can start with one little thing, for me. And then they grow layers as I play, with their story revealed to me slowly. This, in the best of times, of course.

