Who are Your Characters?
At the heart of every writer’s endeavor lies a fundamental question, one that demands an answer, even if it’s only a partial one: Who are your characters? After all, memorable narratives emerge from unforgettable characters.
Greetings, Neophyte, and welcome. Today, we delve into a topic of paramount importance—an aspect often overlooked on the writer’s journey. Amidst the considerations of theme, genre, and setting, characters stand head and shoulders above the rest of the elements.
Why, you ask? Because, Neophyte, it is their actions and reactions that construct the narrative. Yet, it goes beyond that. How will they act? How will they react? What kind of relationships do they share with other characters? Far too often, I’ve encountered stories, especially in movies, where events unfold simply because “the plot needed it to happen.” If the audience senses that something occurred solely due to plot requirements, it’s a mark of poor writing—even if the average person can’t articulate why.
Granted, life itself is full of unforeseeable events beyond our control, but remember, Neophyte, this is fiction, not harsh reality. While things can unfold spontaneously, if they seem to come out of nowhere, you risk shattering the reader’s immersion.
What do I mean by that? While it’s essential for the audience to share what your characters know, it becomes your responsibility to enlighten them about the world, introducing elements crucial to the narrative. Skillfully integrating these elements into the story allows them to go unnoticed, preserving the seamless flow of the tale.
Enter foreshadowing—an intricate element we’ll explore in depth in due time. The audience needs a glimpse of what’s to come, even if it remains unclear to them. How you present your characters, the choice of words, the tone of the scene, their design, and the descriptors you employ—all contribute. It’s important to note that nothing is set in stone; a character introduced in a sinister light doesn’t necessarily have to be evil. Let me illustrate with an example.
In Disney’s somewhat overlooked creation, “Atlantis: The Lost Empire,” there’s a subtle detail easily missed, occurring in a fleeting moment (Spoiler alert—I genuinely mean it, as I’m revealing a significant portion of the plot here). During a scene displaying the main crew’s files, tucked away at the back and only revealing half of his face, is a picture of a character who will, well, not be on the side of good (End of spoiler). Though microscopic in the grand scheme, it foretells the character’s role in the story, a detail most people might overlook.
The crux is that the audience had an inkling, perhaps subconsciously, that something dubious was afoot. This can only occur if you intimately know your characters. If a character’s actions seem to come out of left field, it risks breaking immersion. Past actions and conditions shape the present and inform the future. This holds true for what your characters know at any given point. Just because your narrator is third-person omniscient doesn’t mandate omniscience for your characters too. If you know where your characters are coming from then you will know where they are going, even if they don´t know it themsleves.
On a personal note, I find that type of narrator to be the most challenging for someone like me. The boundaries defining what each character knows at any given time can become blurred, but that’s a discussion for another time.
The setting itself is a character—or at least, it should be. The setting shouldn’t merely serve as a backdrop for the action; rather, it should actively contribute to the storytelling. The setting informs our characters: where they come from, where they aspire to go, and where they find themselves now. It also imposes limitations, and within those constraints, the story unfolds.
Consider a scenario where two countries are at war, both possessing access to magic but applying it in distinct ways. One wields raw magic as a weapon, employing beams, energy balls, and the like, while the other employs it to power tools and craft weapons of deadly potency. Perhaps the tale follows a spy aligned with one of the countries who, witnessing the potential for both nations, harbors doubts about the conflict. Maybe the faction wielding raw magic has succumbed to corruption, be it by greed or an external force. The spy, observing this corruption, endeavors to aid those who would otherwise be considered enemies.
In this simple setting, two factions with opposing personalities and worldviews exist, openly hostile to each other. What kind of characters would emerge from this backdrop? How would the war unfold? At the story’s outset, there’s essential freedom to explore the direction and outcomes of the conflict. This freedom is especially crucial because dropping current real-world talking points into your tale and expecting the audience to accept them without resistance is unrealistic. You need, no you must, respect your story and every element in it.
You may have noticed that I mentioned “at first,” Neophyte. The truth is, as you write, you’ll come to know all of your characters, including the setting. This means that midway through, you might realize things aren’t unfolding quite as you initially intended. Embrace the fluidity; it’s a natural part of the creative process.
So, who are your characters? The answer to this question will reveal itself to you as you continue writing, as you invest more time and effort into developing your tale. It’s through discovering this answer that you can construct a compelling story, one that will be etched into memory. A story built upon the shoulders of your characters, mirroring the way we expect our own lives to unfold.
Go ahead and reflect on what we’ve discussed, Neophyte. Until next time.
