How Does a Writer Learn About Main Characters?

How does a writer learn about main characters? That’s another way of asking how does a writer ensure that these characters are round, meaning interesting and complex and, therefore, completely believable as human beings? I would guess that all writers have different strategies for achieving this effect. One way that works for me is to allow (maybe “force” is a better word) the characters to enter into dialogs with each other or with peripheral people who are not characters (or even with me, their author) and thus not intended to be included in the narrative, although some of them may ultimately be.

Consider, e.g., Nicky Covo, one of the main protagonists in the Covo Family Saga. Nicky can be envisioned as having multiple relationships with non-characters, relationships that nonetheless help the writer understand the depth of Nicky’s thoughts and intentions. So such non-characters might be: the person who works as Nicky’s assistant in his psychiatric practice; the barber he visits every three weeks; the vendor in Central Park whom Nicky buys a pretzel from every time he takes a long walk there, and so on. If I, as a writer, want to learn more about Nicky, I can have him chat with any of these people and listen closely to their dialog. When I learn more about Nicky, I can decide what additional aspects of his character, desires, and emotions I will place in my narrative.

Let’s try this. Imagine Nicky and his barber (we’ll call him Hal) talking as he gets his haircut:

Hal:        So, what’s going on with you these days, Dr. Covo?

Nicky:    Hmmph. The legal system in our country drives me nuts.

Hal:        Oh yeah? You got sued, you told me. Damn shame.

Nicky:    Well, just like that, I got out of it, but I’m still unhappy.

Hal:        Getting out is good, man. But I bet this knocked you down in the meantime.

Nicky:    The thing is … I think my son, Max, pulled some strings he shouldn’t have. And he’s in trouble now. He could be disbarred. All because me. Or all because some fucking plaintiff’s lawyer decided to accuse me of something I never did.

Hal:        That is bad.

Nicky:    And now … I wish I could figure out a way to get him out of trouble. Without getting myself into more.

Hal:        Can’t help you there with ideas. I’ve never even been on a jury. When I get called, I always give them the excuse that I can’t be away from my job. I can’t afford to lose the money I make here.

Nicky:    Maybe I should have been barber instead of a psychiatrist.

Hal:        Nah. You got the brains. You need to use them. Me, I’m just a working slob.

Nicky:    If I’d been a barber, Max wouldn’t be in trouble now.

Hal:        (holding up a mirror behind Nicky’s head) Good?

Nicky:    Looks nice.

Hal:        Well, if you’d been a barber, he probably wouldn’t have gone to law school. Maybe not even college.

Nicky:    (getting off from barber chair) Here’s an extra five, Hal. I think I’m going to go kill the judge.

Hal:        What?

Nicky:    Just joking. Have a great day.

Okay. Experiment concluded. What have we learned? First, that Nicky feels so much guilt for what’s happening to Max, his son, that he cannot help but discuss the situation with his barber. Second, that Nicky feels angry enough at the legal system – particularly with that plaintiff’s lawyer – to entertain, even as a joke, killing some symbol of that system.

Will I use any of this in the new novel I’ve begun? Well, having thought this through, it solidifies aspects of Nicky’s character in my mind and, specifically, his anger. He might not attempt to kill anyone. Indeed, there’s no one person yet who I think would be logical target, if he were guided solely by logic. But could he be guided, not by logic, and solely by emotion? Clearly, he could, and that would be consistent with aspect of his character.

But Nicky’s anger could also be directed at Max, who “pulled some strings he shouldn’t have.” Th9is aspect of Nicky’s anger would focus on Max’s having put his own livelihood in jeopardy, which in turn puts in jeopardy the wellbeing of his daughter, Kayla, and his grandson, Jackie.

The more I think about this, the more I want to make Nicky’s anger a focal point in the new novel.

I feel that I did learn something about Nicky in this exercise, something that I hadn’t fully considered prior thereto.

Among the hundreds of pieces that must come together to create a novel worth reading, I have found one small but important piece and quietly moved it into place. And part of the novel-writing process will be having that one piece mesh well with the other pieces.

 

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