WRITE YOUR NOVEL: Tips from a NYT Bestseller

Lesson 8: 3-D Characters

Lesson Eight: Building 3-D Characters


"Oh he's such a character…" How many times have you heard someone say that? What they really mean is: he's such a character-type or a stereotype.

For a novelist, that's the kiss of death.

It's easy to write characters–what's hard is to breathe life into them until they're living, breathing, leaping off the page. This is a 3-D character.

My 3-D's are: Dimension, Depth, and Diversity.


Dimension:
One-dimensional characters are like the "extras" in a film. Nameless, faceless, and readily forgettable. This isn't a bad thing–you need these fillers to populate your novel, to show your main characters don't live in a vacuum, that they're part of a larger whole.

Example: David steered his car past the homeless man in the gutter and wondered what Molly was making for dinner.

We don't need the homeless man's name or backstory. But we do need him there to give us insight into David's character.


Two-dimensional characters are those with a "bit part." They may have a name and a few lines, may even be quirky enough to stand out in a reader's mind, but they don't greatly impact the plot.

If your 2-D characters are acting out, beware. They may be overwhelming your main characters OR your main characters may need more work.

Example from my novel, NERVES OF STEEL:

"Hey DJ," Andy Greally called out a greeting from his position behind the bar. "Where've ya been? Heard you finally nailed Lester Young. Permanently."
Drake strode to the long walnut bar, its surface polished to a mirror finish. With his cherubic face and ruddy complexion, Andy Greally would have been at home anywhere the Irish infiltrated the genepool. But a glance at his sharp eyes that roamed constantly, missing nothing, confirmed that this man hadn't spent his life hoisting pints. Cop eyes, Drake had called that look when he was young. The same all-absorbing gaze his father had had. Andy had been Drake Sr.'s partner in those days; both men young, trim versions of modern day knights in shining badges. 

The reader may remember Andy the bartender, but his real purpose is to serve as a mirror to Drake. He reflects Drake's vision of what a cop should be, what Drake's father would be if his father was alive. He allows us to see more of Drake rather than stealing the scene for himself.


Three-dimensional characters are fully fleshed out. When they come on stage you're instantly drawn to them. Not only wondering what they'll do next, but also caring about what happens to them.

This is why so many secondary characters often end up heroes in their own stories. The writer has made them so real that readers want to see more of them. This is also how series characters remain popular.

One difference between a multi-character series, such as Suzanne Brockman's Navy SEAL series or my own Angels of Mercy medical suspense series, and a continuity series such as Robert Parker's Spenser or Lee Child's Jack Reacher, is in the multi-character books, the writer concentrates on establishing a world where many heroes exist.  Then she gives one character the starring role for a story that successfully follows that character's entire hero's journey–creating a stand-alone book.


A continuity series will focus on only one or two characters and chart the progression of their lives and relationships through many books. The main characters can't undergo any dramatic changes (ie. finish their character arc) unless new avenues of exploration are opened up, otherwise their story is done.

The challenge  is to create characters who do undergo a transformation but one that is slow and that reveals new areas of potential growth and development for future novels. Or to create an iconic character who doesn't change, but instead acts as a catalyst, changing the world around them.

Some authors avoid this by simply having their characters not age or change, focusing on a riveting plot instead–James Bond would be a good example of this. Others, such as JD Robb's Dallas and Roarke, focus on the relationship and its development over time, using each plot as a crucible to test and strengthen it.

All these approaches can be wildly successful if your characters are truly three dimensional and worthy of a reader's continued investment. Adding depth and diversity helps this.



Diversity:

Diverse characters have something special that makes them stand out.

It can be a quirk or eccentricity (Nero Wolfe is a great example–eccentricities abound!), a value system so strong, it sets them apart (Hannibal Lecter's refusal to kill Clarice Starling), a unique physical characteristic (Hercule Poirot's mustache), an ethnic background (Tony Hillerman's Navajo lawmen), or the family that created them (Janet Evanovich's Plum family).

Sometimes too much of a good thing leads to caricatures that are annoying and trite rather than appealing. It's a fine line to walk.

One way to avoid this pitfall is to take a look at your world building.

You want to set your character apart from the crowd, but you want to do it in a believable way. Look at the other characters who populate your fictional world.

If you're writing about a nun and your setting is a convent, then you'll have to explore what sets her apart from others.

But if your setting is Iraq, then your nun not only immediately stands apart from the people around her, but she'll be also be in conflict with others simply by being who she is. This "stranger in a strange land" set up is a great way to develop almost instant identification with the audience and to introduce conflict quickly.

As the character deals with this conflict and makes decisions, we learn more about her. Classic Showing, not Telling.


But what if your nun's story does take place in a convent populated by others just like her?

Here's your chance to dig deeper by using small, but meaningful contrasts. What makes this nun stand out despite the uniform appearance and regimented actions she shares with those around her?

This technique allows you to slowly unveil your character's depths by first showing how she fits in with the others (a bunch of women in black robes kneeling and standing in unison), then by allowing her actions or choices to reveal her unique values. Think Maria in Sound of Music.

Sometimes the subtle differences are the most telling. What makes your character stand apart from the crowd? What sets them apart from others who share their profession or values?

Often this difference illustrates their greatest strength or default action, stemming from their motivation and value system learned from childhood. During the course of the story, you'll want to slowly force them to find that this greatest strength can actually be their downfall.


If what makes your character stand out is their sheer stubborn unwillingness to back down from a fight, then set them up so that this stubbornness not only endangers your character, but also something or someone they love dearly.

Now they're faced with a dilemma: to stick with their default action, that "strength" that has always served them so well.

OR they can make a choice (and thus reveal character) to change their ways, to try a new tactic. Maybe even embrace the new value exemplified by your theme.

I used this technique in my debut novel, LIFELINES. The main character, Lydia Fiore, is a maverick ER doctor newly arrived in Pittsburgh. True to many “stranger in a strange land” stories, Lydia immediately stands out as different by flouting the rules and then by losing the wrong patient—the chief of surgery's son.

She's fiercely independent. Her credo: trust no one, assume nothing. Her Default Action: go it alone. At first, this is her greatest strength. This attitude helped her survive her childhood and become a strong woman. But as she investigates her patient's death, she slowly realizes she can't solve the mystery alone, and soon the lives of innocents depend on her sacrificing her default and learning how to trust others.



Depth:

Let's add one more dimension to your character: Depth. This comes from understanding your character so well, that you literally know them inside out.

Let's start with the outside. Close your eyes. Imagine your character. What is he wearing? Now open your eyes. Ask yourself, what drove your character to choose those clothes? Are they his preferences or yours? If you really know your character, those choices will reflect his values and needs, not yours.

Next, look at your character's surroundings. Does he live in a house or an apartment? Spend all his money on gadgets or furniture? What's in his refrigerator? What's in his CD collection? Which DVD is worn out from watching it so often–or does he not have a TV at all? If so, why?

To answer these questions, look at his backstory, the value system ingrained in him since he was a child. This makes sense because all these choices (clothes, furnishings, job, living arrangements, friends) were all made in the PAST–before the story that is about to change his life actually starts.

And where does character motivation come from? The past.

Next step. You start brainstorming your story, thinking about what situations you're torturing your character with. These will be the conflicts, the present that forges your character's change.

A good test if you know your character well enough is to stop briefly during the day and ask yourself: what would my character do in this circumstance? What choice would he make? What action would he take? Why?

How is character best revealed? Through actions and choices. And these are fueled by their motivation as they work towards a goal.


People care about people…

How do we make our readers care about our characters and their world?

How do we build a deep connection with the reader rather than providing a superficial recitation of descriptions/facts/action/setting?

We use the world of our story to add yet another dimension to our characters.

This added depth comes from placing an emphasis on the relationships that matter to our characters. Again, look at the choices, the decisions the characters make.


Relationships inform readers about a character's attitudes. They're an essential part of world-building, adding visceral, evocative, and telling details about the main character.

Is he the kind of guy who knows the paperboy's name? Does the barrista at Starbucks quietly pine for the hero's attention and always has a hot mocha cappuccino heavy on the foam ready and waiting as soon as she spies his distinctive footsteps coming her way?

Some possible relationships that may help bring your main character (and nemesis) to life:
* Neighbors
* Friends
* Romantic interests
* Family members
* Work partners
* Business people they interact with on a frequent basis
* Clubs/organizations they belong to
* Religion

When your main characters interact with your secondary characters, you have an opportunity to reveal aspects of your main character that otherwise wouldn't be revealed.

Not just backstory, but also special skills that may come in handy later. Weaknesses, fears, dreams, etc.

Every encounter reveals character. Every relationship reveals your character's attitude, not just about the other person, but about life in general.


A truly dimensional character will spring to life by making decisions and taking action that propels your plot and sears them into the minds of your readers.

So go! Start breathing life into your characters and watch them leap off the page.



CJ's Bottom Line:

* Character is best revealed through actions and choices.

* Fully formed characters should have all 3-D's: Dimension, Diversity, and Depth

* Series characters or catalyst characters might not change dramatically in the course of a story, but they still need to be fully formed.

* Understanding the character's values comes from understanding their past.

* Every encounter/relationship reveals character


HOMEWORK:
Look at your favorite characters from movies, TV, or books. What is their default action or greatest strength? What in their past caused them to embrace that action or attitude?

Look at their lifestyles. How they dress, where they live, the car they drive, job they do. Why did they make these choices? How do these choices reveal the character?

What relationships does the character have? Who are their loved ones? Friends? Foes? Arch-enemies? Why/how have these relationships evolved—and how are they portrayed on the page through dialogue and action?




TEACHING POINT: Know your characters
 

Quick, what's your favorite book? Now tell us why, what you remember most about it. Usually the answer will be: character. "They just came alive. I fell in love with the hero. I hated the villain."

What brings a character to life from ink and paper? First, they need to live for you—have a life of their own inside your head, before you place pen to paper.

They should haunt your dreams and your waking moments; make you take a second look when you see someone who looks like them, talks like them, walks like them; make you think twice when you're about to do something that "they" wouldn't do that way.

Only after a character is alive for you, can you breathe life into them on the page.

There are many ways to get to know your characters. Some writers spend time writing extensive biographies, interviewing their characters or having their characters write their own stories in first person.

Others find their characters during the writing of the first draft. This voyage of discovery is as exciting for them as it will be for the reader. Often these two styles typify the difference between plotters who do most of their work before writing their first draft and pantsers who use the first draft as their preparation for the "real" story.

How else to bring characters to life? Weave their past into the "here and now" of the current crisis that creates your plot.

Their past is reflected in their values (what they have been taught at an early age to believe in) and core beliefs (what they have learned from their own experiences). This past creates their motivation. Motivation is WHY they make the choices they do. It propels characters to move from their past lives into the current dilemma.

A character's past also often drives their future goals. What they want and why they want it. These should include external goals, something measurable the reader KNOWS, yes or no, whether or not it is achieved.

Also necessary for a truly three dimensional character is an internal goal, reflected in the character's greatest need. Inner goals are often unconscious, revealed to the reader by the character's actions although the character may never become aware of them.

In our example of a blind girl pilot, our girl's Outer Goal is learning to fly. Her unconscious, Inner Goal or secret desire is to assert her independence from her father.

Goals reflect the resolution of the book, represent the future of the character. Just as motivation emerges from their past.

And, just like in real life, if you know WHY a person wants something and WHAT they want, then you can often understand HOW they're going to get into trouble as they try to achieve their goals.

Leading to the ninety percent or more of the book that is in the present, the here and now. This is the character's flesh and bones, their chance to really come to life.

How? By revealing their choices. Their actions. Their decisions. Their sacrifices.

This is the world of conflict. Without conflict there is no story. Conflict means placing characters under pressure and forcing them to take action.

From their actions we learn about them. We begin to identify with them. We even start to care—not only whether they win or lose, but about what happens to them. We want to feel them living beyond the confines of the pages of the book.


Each and every decision—from what your character eats, wears or who they chose to associate with, their living arrangements, the car they drive, the job they do—all of these reveal character.

Your reader comes to know the character through entering their life, forming a connection—as opposed to the author telling us about them. This is the essence of the old adage: Show, don't Tell.

Back to our example about the blind girl learning to fly. If during that family dinner scene, we see our heroine decide to face her father and state her case for flying lessons rather than running off and possibly causing him to be disgraced, then we understand that despite her passion for her cause, she realizes her father's honor is also at stake, and she reveals her respect and love for him.

If we hear her state her case in an articulate manner but peppered with passion and a refusal to back down, then we also know she's intelligent, passionate, and has the willpower to achieve her goals.

If after he turns her down, and she and her mother go hungry, and the mother is weeping about her willful, ungrateful daughter, then we see the girl comfort the mother and ask about her mother's dreams that were doomed by her pre-arranged marriage at an early age, we learn about the values and culture that forged our heroine's world. We feel her compassion for her mother who lost her own fight for independence.

All that from one scene! And none of it requires the author to intrude with narrative.

It can all be shown via action, reaction, and dialogue—your most powerful tools to create both conflict and tension, as well as to evoke a visceral reaction in your readers.

Once a reader becomes that involved, they keep turning pages until the very end.


The unconscious inner goal is that deeper desire reflecting their greatest need and will remain the same throughout the story. This often provides for more conflict as the unconscious goal gets in the way of the conscious goal.

These collisions of inner and outer goals deepen character because they force the character to reassess not only WHAT they want from life, but also WHY they want it.

Often it is not until the climax that they realize that in order to succeed they may have to sacrifice one of their goals.

Look for this in your own writing. The most powerful climax occurs when a character willingly decides to sacrifice what they desire most.


Conflict is the body of the story and how characters move from their past to the point where they understand their goals and either succeed or fail. Conflict is plot.

But it is more than "action" happening, it is characters taking action. Characters making decisions, living their lives, taking chances or avoiding them, winning a few, losing more, interacting with others and the world around them.

Outer conflict is from external events: forces of nature, solving a mystery, making a journey.

Inner conflict is from inner turmoil: doubts, fears, anxieties, fears. Did I mention fear? Knowing your characters' secret, hidden fears and forcing them to face them in different situations will add structure and resonance to your plot.

Another tool to focus your plot, to draw your reader more deeply inside your story. What if we combine this with theme? Talk about a one-two punch.

In our example we chose the theme of women's independence.

What is our heroine's greatest fear? If it's that she'll always be dependent on others, then that will resonate nicely with our theme.

Now we can take every scene and fine tune it so that something threatens her independence or reveals how she is dependent on others (giving us hints to future obstacles she will need to overcome).

Think how much richer, more evocative a scene can be when it has both the overt action and dialogue focused by your theme AND a more subtle sub-text woven through it that reflects the character's inner conflicts.

Your decisions, your choices. They're what drives your story and separate it from all the rest.

Have fun getting to really know your characters!