When planning a novel, I create detailed profiles for each of the main characters before I begin the writing process. Though most of the details never see print, these profiles allow me to get to know my characters on a ‘personal’ level: how they look, how their background shapes the way they act, what their opinions might be on any given subject, and so on. I even do this in a less- comprehensive way for characters I assume will play minor roles in the story (doormen, cab drivers, distant relatives, etc.). But occasionally one of these peripheral characters will jump up and say, ‘Wait a minute, you can’t relegate me to a minor role, I’m more important than that!’ I may disagree and try to push ahead with the story as I first envisioned it, but sometimes that character quickly becomes so intriguing, I have no choice but to write him/her into the deeper narrative.
A good example of this occurred in the first chapter of the novel I am currently writing, when a character named Kate, who was supposed to be a relatively unimportant assistant to the protagonist, suddenly asserted herself without my permission. I almost always base my characters on people I’ve seen or known, and I had based Kate’s profile on a young lady I’d met during my morning walks who had some interesting physical attributes. But rather than explain further, I will quote below some excerpts from that chapter that might help you better understand how her character evolved.
I was scheduled to meet the notorious expatriate’s assistant at the Key West Visitors Center on Big Pine Key, about 35 miles shy of the famous ‘Conch Republic’ itself. During our last phone conversation, Kate Wallinski had assured me that I would have no trouble recognizing her. “Just look for someone who resembles one of those stick figures we used to draw in kindergarten,” she said. And as I pulled into the parking lot, there she was, dressed in loose-fitting, canary yellow shorts and a colorful Jimmy Buffet-style shirt that hung on her toothpick frame like a wilted bandanna on a wire hanger. Anorexic would be a less than adequate way to describe her appearance, which, given my penchant for pithy journalistic commentary, I might have compared to a skeleton dipped in flesh-colored latex.
I parked next to the Mercedes G550 she was leaning on and took a moment to gather my thoughts before stepping out into the sweltering, late-summer heat. Silently admonishing myself not to look shocked, I nonetheless felt my eyes widen and my jaw drop as I approached her and accepted the bony hand she held out to me. A broad smile spread across her face—a quite pretty face, actually—indicating that she was used to such reactions.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said with a chuckle that betrayed not a hint of embarrassment or rebuke. “Happens all the time. I’m Kate. And you must be Mike, the famous journalist.”
“I … uh, don’t know about the famous part,” I stammered. “But yes … yes. Mike Early. Pleased to meet you.”
Back on the Overseas Highway, with the air running full blast, Kate glanced over and caught me staring again.
“So,” she said, directing her attention back to the road ahead, “you have a bunch of questions you’re too embarrassed to ask, eh? That’s not a problem, but if it’s okay with you, I’m going to go ahead and answer them instead of waiting around for you to work up the nerve.”
“Sorry,” I said, forcing myself to look away. “I didn’t mean—”
“I told you not to worry. Believe me, I’m used to it. Anyway, I’m gonna have to get a little technical here, but first I should tell you that I’m not anorexic or bulimic. In fact, if I have an eating disorder, its only symptom is that I eat like a starved horse most of the time. Second, I don’t have AIDs, or any other communicable disease. What I do have is a rare gene duplication in a part of chromosome 16 that causes chronic underweight. Half the kids with this genetic curse suffer from what the scientific types call a ‘failure to thrive,’ which means they‘re a lot smaller or shorter than they should be and often don’t go through the usual changes of puberty. In case you’re wondering, I’m a tad different when it comes to this particular genetic quirk. You were wondering, weren’t you?”
“I, uh, well, yeah,” I said. “But I didn’t want to pry.”
“Pry all you want.” She downshifted and swerved to avoid a large gopher tortoise crossing the road. “I’ll be glad to answer any questions you have if it puts an end to your uneasy silence. Anyway, I lucked out, because I grew up to be a pretty healthy five-foot-seven, with an average–sized brain and no physical problems other than looking like a human stick bug. I quit being embarrassed about my body a long time ago, and I’ve learned not to let people’s curiosity bother me. So please just try to relax. Okay?”
“Fascinating,” I said. Then, feeling somewhat emboldened by her candid explanation, I decided to probe a little further. “So, there aren’t any adverse health effects or serious physical impairments?”
“Not that the docs have been able to find. There‘s some minor physical stuff, like not being very muscular, so I could never be any good at weight lifting or other sports that take a lot of strength. I’m pretty agile, though, and I have good hand-eye coordination. I actually play a fair game of tennis and I’m not a bad swimmer.”
“You don’t sound like a Floridian,” I said, noting her Midwestern accent.
“Folks were from upstate Minnesota. Little town called Thief River Falls. Dad moved the family down back in the nineties to take a job at the Louisville Slugger factory. He’s a lathe operator. My brothers got into horse breeding and talked Dad into buying a small farm out east of the city. That’s where I spent most of my childhood.”
“How many brothers?” I asked.
“Gettin’ kinda nosey, aren’t we?”
“Curiosity is an important attribute in my profession. But if it’s too personal …”
“Nah. I was just pullin’ your chain. Two brothers, both older. And, no, they don’t have what I have. It’s genetic, but it skipped a generation, and it only shows up in the females of the family. Grandma had it, but not my mom, and I don’t have any sisters. In case you’re interested, Grandma lived into her nineties and had eight kids.”
“And you?”
“Ah, now we’re getting down to it, eh?” she said, turning to look at me. In the soft glow of fading sunlight, I once again noticed the subtle beauty of her face. It was a beauty that should have seemed totally out of place atop such a bizarre, almost clownishly skeletal body, and it surprised me to find this was not the case at all. In fact, that face, with its radiant smile and Goldie-Hawn-like sparkle, cast an aura that seemed to blot out everything else about her.
By then, I had pretty much fallen in love with Kate Wallinski, and she went on to become one of the novel’s three main characters. Again, this was not planned; I actually had to go back and flesh out her character profile, which was originally quite thin (no pun intended).
My point here is that if you choose your characters carefully, base them at least partially on real people, then get to know them, they may, at some point, try to wrestle control of the story from you. Not only that but, as happened in this particular case, they can sometimes change the entire direction of the narrative for the better.
By the way, the novel will be called FAKER, and I’m aiming for a publication date near the end of spring, 2020.
No comments:
Post a Comment