Characterization - The Inner Life

I would never write about someone who is not at the end of his rope.

--Stanley Elkin

Many writers mistake the outer life of a character for the inner life, assume that by offering a physical description and a few surface details, they have created a character. In actuality, the creating is just beginning. In real life it might suffice to know very little about
someone else. Take, for instance, a company. A company can only ask a
potential employee so much—if they probe into his sexual preferences or
religious beliefs, they could get sued. If they probe deeper, into his
superstitions or compulsions, they would be considered crazy. The
public has made it clear that anything beyond a person’s surface
information must be kept private.

But paradoxically, when the public picks up a book, this is
precisely the information they demand to know. Works of fiction can
offer an intimacy that real life cannot, and it is your job to foster
this intimacy, to move beyond a character’s physical traits and deep
into the depths of who he is. A writer, unlike a company, has no
limitations. You have the depths of your character’s psyche before you,
and it is your job to plumb them. Unfortunately, many writers don’t.
Surface characterization, or the use of the characters merely as a
vehicle for telling the story, is relied upon too often; in such cases,
characterization often stops with little more than a basic, physical
description, and the character’s dialogue and actions will generally be
convenient for the scene at hand.

Authentic characters will have such a rich life of their own that
you’ll often find them thwarting your plans; once they are real, living
people, they act like real, living people: whimsically and
unpredictably. This is where you enter the hazy territory of characters
influencing—even defining—the story. If you keep an open mind and stay
true to them, they will take over, scene after scene, and tell you how
the action should be executed. This might mean throwing out much of
your original plotting; it will certainly mean your dropping your
writer’s ego; and none of it will be remotely possible unless you know,
incontrovertibly, every aspect of your character’s inner life.


More important than the superficial details of what this person
does or where he went to school is the ultimate question of who he is,
a question rarely asked in society today. In attempting to discover
this, consider the following:

Heroes. When we are young, we have heroes. But as we age, as
figures loom less large in our consciousness and we become more cynical
about the creation of image, we are less quick to choose and maintain
role models for ourselves. If forced, most of us will conveniently
choose someone who is dead. Choose people who are alive. Who are your
character’s heroes? If hero is too strong a word, think role model; if this is too strong, think someone they look up to.
We are all a mixed bag, and you might choose someone who is admirable
in one area even if he is despicable in another. Do not expect all
things from all people. They could be actors, musicians, humanitarians,
politicians, soldiers, businessmen, mothers. . . . What does his choice
(or refusal to choose) say about him? About what he values in life?
What steps is your character taking to follow in the same path? Why or
why not?

Conversational focus. You can learn a tremendous amount
about a person simply by observing what they choose to talk about. They
might say they are merely rehashing the day’s news when telling you a
story about a local homicide, but the fact remains that they have
chosen to report a morbid topic. More tellingly, if you spend enough
time with a person, you’ll find there is a recurring pattern to their
conversational choices: they will often harp on the same themes,
whether it is money, real estate, deaths, marriages or child care. The
funnies or the obituaries. The latest technology or the 13th century.
Fashion or fly fishing or the stock market. Conversation reflects
what’s on the mind. Indeed, people do our jobs for us—they reveal
themselves, if only we would listen. The problem is, we rarely listen
carefully enough.

Allocation of Time. Go through a weekday with him. A
weekend. How does he spend his day? How much time is spent on what
activities? How much of it is intellectual? Athletic? Mindless
entertainment? Does he read Dostoyevsky in his free time or play
Nintendo? Does he write poetry, or frequent bars? Or both? Does he
spend time with his kids, or take care of his parents? Does he spend
time with his girlfriend, or spend time with his dog? Does he attend
church twice a day, or frequent sex shows? Or both? If he were to go on
vacation, what would he do? Would he be restless, bored in two hours?
Or would he be content to sit and read and think for days on end?

Timeline. Does your character spend most of his time
reminiscing? Remembering old grudges? Thinking of an ex-partner? A
deceased loved one? Regretting opportunities missed? Or is he always
anticipating? Does he plan his life 10 years in advance? Have a
retirement fund setup at age 20? Quietly bide his time, content to
dream of a future promotion? Or does he live only for today? Refuse to
think back, refuse to plan? You can also play against the grain. Is he
a teenager who is always talking about his memories? An old man who is
always thinking of the future?

Exercises

Evolution. Keep in mind that, even if you know your
character, you only know who he is at this moment. People
change—indeed, the very point of most works is to show such a change.
So you will have to check in with your character at different points in
your work (especially if there a passage of time) and ask if all of
this still applies. For instance, your character’s goals will be
different at 16 then at 28. Has he outgrown his ambition? Has he
changed hobbies? Has he become charitable? Consider these three
exercises:

Check in with his past. Who was he 20 years ago? 10 years
ago? 5 years? 1 year? 6 months? Last week? Was he a completely
different person back then? Or has he remained exactly the same? (Both
are telling.) How has he changed? Has he changed for the better or for
the worse? For the better in some areas, for the worse in others? How
does all of this affect who he is right now?

The Catalysts. Often it is specific events—not just the
passage of time—that spark fundamental changes in a character. The
death of a parent. The birth of a son. Marriage. Divorce. Jail. The new
job. Reflect on who your character used to be and who he is now. When
you think of how he is different, also think of what events may have
happened along the way to make him so. All of these catalysts hold
tremendous potential for plot points. You can use them in flashback
sequences, or extract them from his past and place them in the present.
In either case, they are crucial to know, even if you don’t use them,
and can be used as rough steppingstones along the path of a character’s
past.

Check in with his future. What are his plans for next week?
Next month? Next year? Where does he see himself in 10 years? 20? Even
if he is not a planner, he still must have some vague vision of where
he’s heading. Is he a bachelor who’d like to marry and have kids? A
prisoner who wants to go straight? A suburban man who wants more
excitement? Is his focus only on material gain? Change of circumstance?
Or is his focus on evolving as a person? Educating himself? Becoming
more spiritual? Why does he want such a change? What does he hope to
gain? How will his life change once he has it? What is he waiting for?
What obstacles stand in his way? You now have a good handle not only on
who he is, but who he wants to become. This, inherently, will help
create tension, since there is now a mission, a path. Even if he
doesn’t get what he wants, this, too, will be interesting, since we get
to watch the difference between his imagined life and his real one,
between anticipation and reality.

Identity. If you ask your character “What do you do?” how
would he respond? If you ask your character “Who are you?” how would he
respond? How do the two responses differ (if at all)? How much of his
identity is wrapped up in his career? How much of an identity has he
carved out for himself as a human being? How self-aware is he?

All of these issues will put you on the path to harvesting the
secret life that lies within your character—and might indeed teach you
a few things about him you didn’t already know. And as the life of the
character becomes increasingly rich, you will find yourself getting
hints about the direction the plot might take, ideas for scenes which
might fit this character and prolong the suspense, the conflict, areas
in which this character might want to journey. A richer character
ultimately makes for a richer plot, and often, for true satisfaction,
we need look no further than the character himself.