How to Make Your Characters Believable:

a guest post by Stefan Vucak

 

 

People are quirky, unpredictable, emotional, and often cannot be relied upon. Governed by the environment within which they live, knowledge accumulated over years of learning, whether formal or through personal endeavor, and simply interacting with others, an individual is a complex matrix of what it means to be human. Above all things, people are self-centered, always looking for that angle which will make them come ahead—that quick fix to bypass the necessary hard work in-between. That’s why we gamble.

 

Standing on a busy street corner, waiting for the lights to change so I can cross, I am bemused by the sight of pedestrians hurrying, dawdling, or completely distracted with faces buried in a smart phone crossing the other way. There are tall people, skinny ones, some not so, Caucasian, Asian; all sorts. Some are wearing smiles, while others scowl, and there are those who seem to be stooped like they are bearing the load of the world on their shoulders. The teens skip gaily, chatting to each other and laughing, looking on us oldsters as incomprehensible cubes, wondering what all the fuss is about.

So, what’s with the philosophical sideline? Believe it or not, there is a point. Purse your lips and ask yourself if you have really looked at a stranger lately, and simply from his appearance tried to work out his personality, social status, mannerisms, identifying marks? If you can see them, does he have brown eyes or blue ones or green? Is his face round, square, long, gaunt, plump? Does he walk with confident strides or is he hesitant, his eyes darting suspiciously as he pushes through the crowd? Is he carrying anything? If so, what is it? Does it help you identify him? On an instinctive level, do you like him or do the hairs on the back of your neck tingle at the sight of him?

Are you starting to get the broader picture? Do you observe people or does the mass of humanity simply slide past your consciousness as you hurry across the street, your mind focused on whatever it is you need to do? Finishing that chapter you’ve been struggling with, perhaps? The struggle caused because your main character, and maybe the whole cast, is somewhat two-dimensional, a nobody, and you cannot quite figure out why? Then again, you might be thinking: I don’t need to describe my characters; the story is good enough to carry them. You could be right. You could also be wrong, you know.

Deciding how to portray characters in your writing can be a contributing factor in producing a great book, or something that’s okay for a once off read. Every book has two basic components: action sequences and characters who do the action or have action done unto them. Many books rely on action alone, and some do it with superb craftsmanship. Others get into a character’s mind and never let you leave it. That can be entertaining and enthralling—if done well. But how can you tell whether your characters are genuinely alive and real? Simple, really. Think of a recent book you have read and ask yourself this. Do the characters stand out? If so, why? Or are they cardboard cutouts who cannot utter a coherent sentence? It is an instinctive thing anyone can spot. Unfortunately, many writers can spot it in someone else’s book, but are unable to see it in their own writing.

All right, how do you make your characters believable? Before you even start writing that epic, you need a detailed outline, a story skeleton on which you’ll hang the words. Part of writing that outline will require that you line up your cast and stare at them, then pick those that will star in your book. Think of a casting director for a movie. Your cast will be determined by the type of book you are writing. Is it a love story, a techno thriller, a murder mystery, a convoluted spy thriller, a tearjerker? Are you looking for action men, sleuths, hard-boiled gumshoes, sleazy womanizers, or just mean guys? What does this process do for you? Whether you realize it or not, and you should, you are taking a first step toward making your characters believable. You are thinking of them as individuals with personalities.

To make every member of your cast a living person, you need a police profile that goes something like this:

- Height

- Weight

- Complexion

- What color eyes

- Does he chomp his food, or is he a dainty gentleman

- Does he swear

- What is his normal behavior: tense, relaxed, awkward, sharp…

- Special mannerisms, use of phrases, habits…

I think you are starting to get the idea. Why such a profile you might ask? For one thing, it will crystallize that character in your own mind. Whenever you write about him, the character will always behave consistently, true to himself. Any deviation will not be looked on favorably by your readers. There is nothing more irritating than reading on one page the character is five foot ten, and later, he is six feet two, or something like that. You may never employ all of the character’s profile in the book, so why bother? What this does is makes the character live, which is the important thing. He becomes a close friend, or an enemy. You will like him or you won’t. Either way, you will know this character, and so will your readers. If someone asks you to describe your sister, brother, mother or friend, you can readily spew out the words with hardly a pause. In the same way, you must be able to handle your characters in your writing.

Remember that cardboard cutout? He is a cutout simply because the writer doesn’t know him. He is a complete stranger, and he comes across as such to readers. That’s all there is to it. Well, there is a bit more, of course. That more being the dialogue.

You cannot handle a novel with a character not having to say anything—unless he is a Robinson Crusoe. Since there are no more unoccupied coral islands where someone can get away from it all and clam up, your characters will have to say something sometime. What they say and how they say it will go a long way toward making them real and believable, or two-dimensional cutout dummies. Some writers can handle dialogue with natural skills, while others agonize. How do you master dialogue? Grab one of your favorite books and check the dialogue. Why do you like it, and does your dialogue come anywhere close? If not, what can you do about it? That’s simple, but involves some sweat on your part. You are a writer, right? So, practice writing dialogue until it becomes second nature. Never mind about what, just write. Think of the last conversation you had with someone and write the ensuing dialogue. When you read it, does every aspect of that episode come through? And I am not talking only about what was said, but how it was said, what emotion was displayed, gestures, tone of voice, hidden meanings. If what you have written doesn’t match your memory, you obviously haven’t got it right. Give the piece to the person you had the conversation with and get his feedback.

If you have read this far, you are right to point out that there is much more to making your characters believable, but I hope I got you thinking and looking at your characters in a new light. By the way, get a professional editor to go over your writing. An impartial pair of eyes can do wonders for your novel.

 

Guest Blogger Bio

 

Stefan is an award-winning author of eight techno sci-fi novels, including With Shadow and Thunder which was a 2002 EPPIE finalist. His Shadow Gods Saga books have been highly acclaimed by critics. His political thriller, Cry of Eagles, won the coveted 2011 Readers Favorite silver medal award, and his All the Evils was the 2013 prestigious Eric Hoffer contest finalist.   

Stefan leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia.

Links:

Website:  http://www.stefanvucak.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/StefanVucak

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/stefanvucak 

 

Shadow Gods Saga:  Series Link

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Sarah Baethge.  Hello, Sarah!  Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age!  It’s such a pleasure to have you.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?


My latest book is a space fantasy called Panoptemitry that I began writing when the online store http://www.iwritereadrate.com asked that I write a book for them to sell. It came out last December, and you can get it at Iwritereadrate, Amazon, Barnes&Noble and Smashwords.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you? 

I wrote down a couple of strange ideas that came to me from watching TV Sci-fi and not long after I was asked for a book so I tried to use my half-baked non-sense. Molding what I had come up with into a story was really kind of fun.

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I really do like to write, but this is one of the few stories I've had the guts to publish.

Do you have any favorite authors?

I love Stephen King and Michael Crichton.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I have a desk in the corner of my bedroom, and all times of day or night- just whenever the ideas come to me.

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Write what you like to read; that way even if your book's a flop, it wasn't quite a waste to write!

Here is the blurb for Panoptemitry.

With a goal as high and lofty as the unspecified pursuit of knowledge, there may not be a clear point at which to stop. Acting as one has been taught to can seem to hold just as much purpose as the actual reason for taking those actions. When the growth of technology begins to hold the same powers as religious doctrine has declared divine, does the simple recording of events become blasphemous? Who's to say we even understand that 'so-called' divinity?

On a research mission to provide information for a great galactic computer network (called S.Y.M.A.C.), Emilija Lithuan and her assistants run up against the higher ranks of the Caytalan Church. The punishment that these religious leaders try to stick them with, could possibly have a greater effect than was ever intended.

When their escape saddles them with a famous outlaw, a careful reassessment of what is right and wrong can't be avoided. How much of what is 'common knowledge' is even actually true?

And if it's not, just how much perceived reality is built upon a lie? 

Here's an excerpt from Panoptemitry.

Chapter 1

 

Am I dead? 

The thought in itself echoed as proof of the obvious fact that she couldn’t be. Surely death would leave less of a sensation in her body.

The painful fog that swam untouchably before her face made the researcher pull her hands back over her eyes to try and shield them, yet that action only caused a senseless retreat back into the pounding darkness that refused to give way to sleep inside her head.

Emilija realized that she wasn’t actually tired anyway. The grass on which she found herself was too crisp and damp to have made a comfortable bed in the first place, why was I sleeping there? Pulling herself to hands and knees brought the pain back to her mind.

Both pains... 

The hammering in her head and the ringing in her ears was causing a horribly sickening dizziness, a spinning that had formed itself into a nearly tangible smog in her vision, the pounding of her pulse seemed to quite loudly taunt the misconception that she could possibly have just awoken from some pleasant nap.

Her memories of that one prisoner creep’s left hand clamping upon her right shoulder, while the other inmate viciously tore at her pants as she was feebly unable to fight the two of them off slammed back into her mind. 

The disgust that came as she realized she could still easily feel that they had won the prize the two of them sought hit almost as hard as the rock that the man who had first grabbed her held in his right fist when he had deftly used it to stop her struggles.

As these men now fought each other on the edge of her vision, Emilija knew she couldn’t waste the chance to get away. It wasn’t clear why they now attacked one another, but that such disgusting human beings wouldn’t even trust or get along with so called ‘friends’ didn’t really surprise her.

Unconsciously pulling her torn clothes back together, Emilija wasn’t really sure if she was thankful that her first thoughts of being dead were wrong as she considered the how unlikely it was that she’d ever leave this stupid assignment alive.

From all she had ever read of this world, the prison planet Gilnar, no one could doubt it to be a terrible place. A supposed destination of no return for prisoners judged to deserve death.

Knowing she was probably the only female human among the countless male prisoners abandoned here over the last couple 100 standard years, didn’t exactly fit in with her hopes of not getting raped, again.

Unable to stand up and walk more than a few steps before she stumbled back to the ground, her head pulsing painfully as she tried to hold it still between her hands; she was left trying to neither pass out or throw up.

The only thing that let her keep those hopes of getting away from her attackers alive before they noticed that she was almost up and moving was the sight of another man who was projecting pure outrage towards those two she remembered from earlier. Emilija felt no guilt at the thankfulness that flooded her system as this new third probable inmate time and again picked up the other two forms so he could beat them down.

Although, the ‘good guy’ seemed unwilling to quit despite the fact that his two victims had given up trying to even get away.

Not knowing if this remorseless rescuer would improve or only worsen her present situation, Emilija tried to remain quiet, but couldn’t help herself, and started laughing with the thought that the first two had at least gotten what she was sure they deserved.

Later she decided that the laughter was probably just a form of hysteria as her mind tried to reject the situation, but it did have one effect on her audience- this new prisoner whoseemed to be highly upset with the other two looked over at her with slight confusion for a little bit as he lowered his newest victim’s head to the ground.

A chill of unease quickly silenced her as an eerie grin that didn’t actually touch his eyes, lit up his face.

The primal fear that was radiating from Emilija’s body with the new need to escape was suddenly picked up on by the man across the field. As she tried to stand up again, he started concernedly shaking his head.

Holding his hands up in front of his chest with a motion that clearly meant ‘stop;’ she heard for the first time the garbled nonsense that would spew from his mouth if he tried to speak.

Now the sound wasn’t just some sort of random grunts or a groans; quite clearly it was comprised of words. It’s just that his utterance was something like a high speed chipmunk tape or an audio file listened to at far too high of a rate.

The prisoner’s sentences were so fast, that they nearly overlapped, until it took a moment of thought after his speaking before the shy greeting he had called out to her became clear. And like a recording played at far too fast of a speed, the pitch became unnaturally high until the sound, itself, irritated the ears of the listener.

It was this unusual ugly sour tone of his own speech that seemed to rapidly pull the prisoner’s attention away from Emilija. If even as far away as she was the voice hit her ears like a scratching on glass, the poor man’s ears that were connected to the very throat that had emitted the unnaturally high words couldn’t be able to find them any more pleasant.

Her savior’s eyes squinted with pain; his left hand quickly came up to cover the culprit mouth, as a wince pulled those squinted eyes to the right.

Emilija was certain that she was foolish to suddenly feel concerned for his health, but the man’s actions were clearly not those of a person who found himself to be in perfect condition.

For instance, after the absurdly short amount of time he had distractedly looked away, this prisoner seemed to have forgotten about the simple fact that anyone else was even nearby; and so, he began carefully to walk away, looking irritated and lost.

Not wanting to be left alone and vulnerable for a repeat of what had already happened when she had met the other two, and so caused his attack that she now felt may have saved her life, she decided she should stick with him and at least trust him enough to thank him, because it didn’t seem a risk regaining his attention.

“Hey, wait!” Emilija called to his back as the man appeared to seriously consider simply moving along. “Who are you? I need to thank you, somehow. Why did you save me from them?”

The man she was talking to, turned around with a strange mixture of recognition and surprise on his countenance; “NRITE,” he finally declared, although he looked startled at his own volume as his voice cracked.

Seeming to realize that the expression on her face indicated a general lack of understanding, he tried to elaborate, yet seemed unable to keep from either talking with such speed he would just about end up choking himself or losing his entire train of thought.

After maybe half an hour Emilija was pretty sure the man was trying to explain how he was stuck here on Gilnar too- just like her, and didn’t want to have to live with and accept the actions of those jerks that were so not right; not if he was able to do anything about it.

During that time, Emilija began trying to figure out how she had gotten where she was, and how she could change that fact. For one thing, she assumed the planet must contain some type of guard station. Her protector (not to mention those other two who had come after her) wore strange almost- jewelry consisting of skin-tight bands around the neck, something like dog collars. The purpose of such unstylish, unglamorous equipment, that was made of a very strong synthetic leather band fitted every inch or so with microchip-looking components, must be for keeping tabs on the prisoner whereabouts.

All three wore greenish-yellow camouflage wind-suits, meaning they couldn’t easily be kept under visual watch by the guards at their home station so whatever friendlies she could find, probably didn’t even have any idea of what had happened to her!

Although, the idea of getting to such habitation for help started to unravel almost more quickly than she could think about it. The reason for ‘building’ a prison here was just that; the moist haze that engulfed Gilnar, although may not be very toxic, was highly acidic.

Metallic pieces of any structure would be quickly worn away. Non-metal building materials, although they may withstand the mists a little longer, couldn’t withstand the fierce winds that plagued the endless plains of bitter grass. Taller, almost tree-like yellow bushes swaying in the wind like reeds with no wood to support them were the only breaks on the horizon.

And wildlife? She had heard tales of the endless swarms of biting, buzzing insect-like creatures that would swarm over unbelievably huge areas; some claimed miles in diameter! The creatures were boneless with exoskeleton/shell-skin and wings, like wasps the size of lobsters. 

If the acidic mist or howling wind didn’t conquer any structure quickly enough, these animals (called ‘skrifters’) would easily tear it down.

That difficulty in producing any permanent structure here was arguably why the planet was used as a prison. Those brought here had been sentenced to death, more or less. The only people who would call it a ‘life’ sentence were the council of politicians who ran that bizarre religion when they sometimes needed a way to be done with violent criminals without being forced to dirty their ‘holy’ hands with the stink of death.

The men (it was only men here) who were sentenced to come here (some claimed that the lack of female companionship was simply part of the sentence) were locked within pods that would only open after touchdown. (Emilija wondered if what had happened to her may not be the true reason women weren’t imprisoned here.)

Upon arrival these convicts could join into the tribes of other prisoners who hunted skrifters for food (they were apparently more tasty than the vegetation) or sit back and watch as the small craft they had been dropped in melted with the mist.

Although the man who had thankfully saved her seemed to have difficulty speaking normally; this prisoner reacted as if he understood all that she tried to tell him (as she slowly decoded what he was trying to say she found that this practice seemed to improve his speech). 

Confident that he had consciously tried to save her, Emilija decided that if she was getting out of this hell-hole, there was no way she could leave her new hero behind.

“Look, when my friends get here; you need to come along with us. If you can stay with me and keep me safe, I would be happy to try staging the first successful jailbreak from planet Gilnar.” She held out her hand, “Seriously, even that won’t be thanks enough. I am Emilija Lithuan; now, always, and forever in your debt.”

Looking a little embarrassed; the prisoner blushed, rubbing the left of his face as his right shot out to meet hers with an audible clap. “IMTHDRDWR TSNTHG!” came out of his mouth so fast with his new joy and excitement that she was unsure how he kept from biting his own tongue off.

Her new friend looked alarmed by the quick lack of his own clarity and the revved up pitch of his voice; he pulled back, shame filling his face.

Unsure what he had meant by this outburst, Emilija decided to ignore it rather that possibly offend the man she was truly grateful to.

She figured that it might be easiest just to continue and pretend she hadn’t noticed.

“Ryan Mead and that Max thing will probably have found a diplomatic way out by now and The Church of Caytal will trip over itself as their priests try to avoid the shame surely will be pasted on them for sending one of what they deem ‘the weaker sex’ to an unmerited sentence in this primitive prison.”

Her rescuer, who looked timidly for a moment, took a deep breath and almost questioningly slowed himself down enough to ask, “Caytal?”

Emilija figured things would probably go better if she could just start telling this story from back where it all began; anyway, if this man who might be calling himself ‘THDRDWR’ was a prisoner here, he had had his own unlucky dealings with the Caytalan Church. His statement had probably been more of a friendly lamentation than a question of what Caytal was.

It didn’t really matter. Ryan Mead had been hired to provide her with some safety and transport for this mission; her own actions may have led to their imprisonment, but that robotman, android or whatever, ∞ was, would probably be close enough to get Mead loose to come rescue her.

Emilija could see the doubt in her new companion’s eyes when she spoke of escape. She wasn’t quite sure of how she could ask if he had the brainpower to help her in the escape or if his trouble talking was a sign of serious mental incapacity; if he was simply repeating words she said without understanding, and only reacting through base instinctual impulses. Although his face showed clear irritation as he seemed to recognize her attitude towards him; he reached out with his left hand and pointed at her chest.

“Yoo Emlja,” pulling the hand back to lie flat on his chest, he attempted his introduction once again; “Mh.. Thdr.” Eyes brightening warily with hope, he resisted looking away in shame. 

He almost gave up as she initially pulled back in fear, yet was relieved to watch the slight confusion on her face as she considered his words. The desperate hope that Emilija felt radiate from his eyes, made her wonder how long it had been since he had an encounter with another person that didn’t end in a fight.

“Are you saying your name is Thdr... Theodore..?” Her cautiously understanding expression was mixed with a pity and confusion that he tried to ignore as he nodded.

Looking away, he ran his right hand back across the top of his head. Countless hours had been spent considering himself and his situation, anyway. Emilija was still relatively new to him; not to mention that she had said that she was planning to get him out of here.

In Theodore’s former life, before getting dumped upon this planet (not to mention the whole S.Y.M.A.C.* business), information could be a near-form of currency. Before she got into asking too much of him he might as well get at least the same in return.

And hey, why not use what had happened to his advantage? If he could find out all she knew while she saw him as a fool that could hardly speak, it may come in handy at some time if she was really trusting enough to rescue him. With any luck he could be back at his pad in Vern within a couple weeks.

“S’wy Yoohr?” Theodore tried asking split-seconds after Emilija’s translation of his name. Getting somewhat used to the high-speed talk she really didn’t have to think about what he meant- ‘So,why you here?’  She clearly wanted to ask what was wrong with him, yet if Theodore conveniently didn’t pick up on her unspoken question, he considered it more likely that she’d answer what he had asked. It’s so easy to manipulate those who worry about being seen as rude! Theo nearly chuckled to himself.

Theodore, who wasn’t worried about looking rude, decided he should probably listen enough to whatever she was saying to respond intelligently, so he picked up what she was saying in the middle; “Yes, I realize those annoying Caytalan priests usually don’t consider any action from a woman to be the fault of anything more than bad teaching; normally I would have just been whipped, with the imprisonment/exile reserved for the male who had misled me.

“I was ‘lucky’ enough to avoid that now because they are preparing for some ‘sacred’ ritual. Apparently some prisoner here is to be sacrificed towards the grand prosperity of the universe. Whatever that means, they won’t suffer a woman’s presence during the preparations.

“I don’t get exactly what they are trying to do here- the details are in one of their high-level books that they refused to let us read. Refused, and sent me here for trying!

“They said they’d take me back after the ritual; but truthfully, after what happened to me here today, I’m not sure I want to find out what else they’re willing to let happen to me just to make sure I don’t get in the way.

“Although, I suppose I should be thankful that they wanted to give me the chance to live. I heard them planning to use Ryan as sprite-fodder.

“I’m not sure where Max slipped off to, but I guess it’s no fool. I’d never call it a person (Max is some sort of robot-android-thing) but it has the intelligence to realize that if they feel like they can get away with using Ryan’s body to breed those microscopic insects within, their plans for a non-human couldn’t be expected to be all that considerate.”

Theodore fully understood what she was saying. In fact, the ritual she spoke of was exactly the type of action Mardot was sure they be able to eliminate the need of with the new information, back before Theo was imprisoned here.

That they would still bother with such a ritual made it likely that the attack he had been punished for hadn’t even been completely successful! If that was the case: talk about adding insult to injury. No one had even thought him worth taunting about the failure.

“... because I’m an expert on old books.” Theodore suddenly realized that Emilija had continued speaking while he was thinking. “Because S.Y.M.A.C. command likes my combination of youth and experience I was commissioned to fly around the Galaxy with, Ryan Mead as my pilot, collecting texts for inclusion in the S.Y.M.A.C. system.

“Max (our pet name for our android ∞ or ‘Nitty’) is along for translation of the books we find and the actual job of uploading the data. We are being punished for trying to gain access to some sort of secret, sacred texts.”

Emilija made it clear to Theodore that she was part of some galactic data collating expedition for S.Y.M.A.C. People who were ready to go through the wilds to get hold of unusual artifacts should be able to help the two of them escape this the prison-planet place, especially if at least one of her two supposed co-workers had remained free.

That thought is why when Emilija’s tale ended Theodore simply nodded happily. He had no questions for her. By keeping silent he wouldn’t risk offending her and possibly changing her mind to take him along when she got off the planet.

Purchase Link:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/267204

 

Author Bio
 

Sarah Baethge was born in Texas, was going to UT at Dallas on a full Scholarship for computer science (with the summer job as a high school student as an intern for Lockheed Martin maintaining computers at NASA Houston.) She got in a car wreck driving from Houston to Dallas after Thanksgiving in 2000 and was in a coma for 6 months.

After waking up, she decided there was no point at anything that wasn’t likeable most of the time. Now she writes science fiction and fantasy because it entertains her, and tries to read for and write book reviews when she isn’t too busy storytelling.

The story Panoptemitry was a fun effort at trying to make imaginary nonsense into something almost scientifically sound.

LinkedIn:   http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=137322285&locale=en_US&trk=tyah

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/SarahBaethge?fref=ts

http://www.facebook.com/Panoptemitry

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/22niel

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17160042-panoptemitry

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/4NxxRx

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.