Storytellersunplugged

The only thing I really care about is characters.

I know. Isn’t that an odd thing for a science fiction writer to say? But it’s true: good characters will carry me through almost anything.

A really good character actually contains the other elements of a narrative–arc, plot, theme. The problem is, good characters are not thick on the ground. And I think, through observation, that it’s because most writers–and possibly even most fans–have no idea what makes a compelling character.

And it’s not a lot of the things that many writers aim for.

A lot of writers tend to create very generic protagonists. I suspect this is a Hollywood influence, actually–these protagonists often remind me of TV characters. Characters who may be one step above stereotype–caricatures, delineated in broad strokes. Often, they not only don’t have much personality: they never really do anything morally questionable or personally ambiguous (or if they do, the narrative seems not to acknowledge it). If they ever do step over a line, it’s portrayed and perceived as something gritty. And the lines are very bright.

Their motives must be clear, and their causes must be just. They also mustn’t betray too much compassion for the bad guys, who must be clearly identifiable, because that might make the reader uncomfortable, or lead him to question his own catharsis in seeing the villains brought low. Their conflicts are easily defined and easily resolved: everybody who’s seen a standard Hollywood movie knows that the character flaw established in the first reel will be overcome in the last.

In other words, they’re awfully boring.

Which is not to say that really effective characters are more like real people. Because real people are sort of a muddle. We’re lacking in narrative. We sort of muddle through, doing what we do for motives we may not understand until years later–if we ever figure it out.

That might not work so well in terms of art, either. That stuff needs to be pruned out, so the structures can be seen clearly.

But what does work is a kind of hyper-reality, an enhanced cross-section of character. A good character, a memorable character, not only has conflict and history and issues and an agenda. She makes mistakes, and (potentially) experiences triumphs (if it’s that kind of a book). She had quirks and passions and consistency.

And inconsistency. Because often, fictional characters seem two-dimensional because they are utterly predictable, and that’s no good at all. Ideally, the character will react in ways that surprise the reader, and yet seem inevitable in retrospect.

I know. Easier said than done. But there are ways to do it.

And the most important of these is to get to know people. To understand them, and observe them.

Most of us don’t do this. We may project, by which I mean that we assume that other people are just like we are, or we may judge, and assign actions to “good” or “bad” without contemplating what they look like from the inside. We may symbolize and romanticize, by which I mean, we imagine people are like the symbols we construct, that they will behave as the two-dimensional characters do, that they will behave the way Hollywood characters are supposed to. That they are easily comprehensible, that they can be compassed. That they’re easy.

It’s comforting to think so, but it’s just not true.

So that’s the writer’s homework for the year. Watching people. Really watching them. Stepping outside out own heads and trying to appreciate what it looks like from inside theirs. And then trying to compass their contradictions, with compassion and with an artist’s eye.

To see what is there, rather than what we are trained to expect to see.

Because everything about art is seeing what is actually there, rather than what you expect to see, and then pruning away the distractions so other people can see it too.

It’s not the sort of thing you learn in a week.