Mastering Introductions of Story Characters

If you’ve got a James Bond story, feel free to use James Bond as he is. The same goes for Ferris Bueller, who doesn’t change, doesn’t face serious stakes, and doesn’t make us fret about his well-being. With the right action, humor, or mystery, flat characters (usually satisfying wish fulfillment or intellectual curiosity) are just fine.

However, generally people are carried along in a story because they care about the characters. (This is especially true for a TV series.) We want to worry about characters, particularly viewpoint characters. I’d argue that we even take more delight in villains we can care about.

The easiest way to do this is to make characters likable. We identify with protagonists who have special talents, are wronged, or are funny (according to Damon Knight). We want them to win. Even more, we get emotionally involved when they lose.

It’s best if readers/audiences actually see what they are supposed to appreciate. From the first story, Holmes shows how he uses keen observation to identify facts and figure out what other people miss. Harry Potter left as an unwelcome orphan who sleeps in a closet under the stairs. Chaplin’s Little Tramp debuts with dressed strangely, with a funny mustache, twirling a cane and shuffling along with an awkward gait.

While likable characters create empathy, they don’t need to be likable for us to care about them. If their cause is great and one we believe in, we may root for them even if we would never want to meet them. I have a hard time liking Patton, but I want the Nazis defeated. Or they can be relatively good. Michael Corleone may be inhuman at times, but he’s better than the other mobsters in The Godfather.

Mastery of Story Characters 1 - Know how to create empathy for characters.

Practice: In most cases, humor comes from clowns. They are nonthreatening, and, often, readers and audiences see them in an inferior position. Usually, they have an obsession. The first appearance of the Little Tramp has him driven to get attention. Journalists are filming a soap box derby, and he keeps photo-bombing them. (That’s pretty much the whole story, but it created a career.) He’s a little guy who keeps trying, despite being driven away by larger men and facing the hazard of zooming derby cars. So create a character who is believable and faces risks repeatedly for a disproportionately small reward.

Talent is easy: A beauty. An athlete. A great artist. 

Try these to make your character stand out. Put the character in motion (and show the great achievement isn’t easy, if you want an internal trait). Add a quirk, like Rocky Balboa being a lefty. See if you can describe the character using a metaphor (which says more than mentioning physical features).

As for being wronged, begin with one of your own experiences of betrayal or abuse or being left out. Write that out. Then put it in terms that fit you story and the protagonist.

Above, I mentioned how the Little Tramp was introduced. He stood out. He looked on. He took a lot of camera time. There was no question about his being part of the race in any way.

The first line spoken can be powerful, too. James Bond literally introduces himself the first time the camera shows him, but it need not be so explicit. Much more revealing were Patton’s first words. "Be seated. Now, I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." (Even before he speaks, the visuals tell you who he was and why you should pay attention to him.)

The first they they do or we see done to them matters. In Once Upon a Time in the West, Charles Bronson's character, Harmonica, plays a tune, drops his bag, and shoots three gunslingers before they get off a single shot. In Sunset Boulevard, our first view of Joe Gillis is him floating dead in a pool.
Of course, Hitchcock’s Vertigo uses setting, action, reaction, and horror to present the protagonist's titular weakness. Talk about a master.

The main thing to accomplish is to get the readers or audience to really notice a character (and this goes for more than the protagonists).

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is an essay on introducing a character (Sundance). None of the lessons should be lost, but one choice William Goldman included had to do was all about introducing Paul Newman’s unknown co-star. Just putting him first and letting the camera linger on him (less obvious than the talk and action) was critical.

And other characters? Ocean’s Eleven introduced the bulk of the heist’s participants in just a few minutes. They are physically distinctive, tied to actions and mannerisms, and capable in different ways.

Mastery of Story Characters 2 - Introduce characters with pizzaz.

Practice: Looking through stories you’ve written, see if you can create great first lines for them. Or actions they take when they first appear that tell a lot about them or the story. Or begin with an unfair situation that sets things up. (Branded didn’t make it as a TV show, but it does this well.)

This skill is critical. People go on a  journey with the protagonist, which is dedicated time. They can’t be allowed to confuse other characters. So the job becomes more than avoiding cliches. Having lots of options. Reworking and revising after the whole piece is finished. And getting the slightest pieces right. These matter.

Sergio Leone is so good at this the very beginning  of Once Upon a Time in the West is profligate in its introductions. He shows us three compelling characters and, with two, even creates silent movies about them that are revealing and intriguing. But none of these characters makes it to minute ten of the film.

When you get people to pay attention and not forget, the characters are memorable. This can be done in big ways, where you create a classic protagonist like Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Or in small ways, where a character gets attention in act one, is forgotten in act two, and plays a critical role (assassin, savior) in act three. Whole TV series have come from one bravado performance in a film or as a guest in an episode. And, with all the star talent of Glengarry Glen Ross, Alec Baldwin steals the show with his (highly) profane and memorable speech about closing sales.

The classic way to get something (or someone) stuck in someone’s mind is repetition, and this works in stories, not just ads. Often authors achieve this through tics, tags, and attributes, including catch phrases. A more sophisticated and engaging form of repetition is an action or statement (often a brag) that escalates. This can really work well in humor.

Mastery of Story Characters 3 - Make your characters memorable.

Practice: Take two characters and make them as different at possible. Chances are, unless they become stock characters (like the whore with the heart of gold), they’ll become more distinctive. A more subtle exercise is to differentiate people who are all of the same class, age, and ethnicity. For these, flaws and idiosyncrasies that reveal the inner person are worth trying. If you have a story like this, try giving each character one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Think of a brag one your your characters might make that could not go unnoticed. Once you have that, come up with elaborations that go to absurdity. Then see if you can do something like that for an action that could be repeated. (In The Honeymooners, Art Carney, as Norton, could make making a list into an elaborate production.)

Once characters are on stage, people need to know more about them and fit them into the story. That’s what the next post will be about.

(Even More) Mastering Story Concept Development

I can appreciate stillness. I can appreciate quiet. In a world of distractions and disruptions, the unchanging and peaceful is refreshing. Stories may draw from the deep wells of meditation and calm, but they depend upon the dynamic for expression. Difficult choices. Conflict. Action.

Very often, stories are prompted by that which is intriguing, but inanimate. Imagining an oversized pearl may be interesting just because we are startled by the unusually large and the usually small. But it’s not enough. In "The Pearl," John Steinbeck chose to put such a pearl into the hands of a poor man beset by greedy people to create his classic tale.

An unchanging person may also inspire a story. Dickens heard about and extremely stingy and avaricious man (John Elwes) who never reformed, but it was his genius that created Scrooge, a man who learned to be generous.

Too many writers are mesmerized by what essentially are story prompts. I have nothing against having a focus for meditation or a subject for a still life painting, but stories are different. Exploring change (the bigger the better) is a good starting point for moving from prompt to story. Setting two well-matched characters against each other or having a character face an impossible dilemma or creating a society in turmoil with unpredictable power shifts can grow the seed of an idea into an epic.

Analyses, a slice of life fiction, and poems that create moods have value. But readers of stories bring expectations. They want to journey, not just a setting. They are looking for characters to change things or be changed. So, as fascinating as an idea might be, stories require action.

Master of Story Concept Development 6 - Formulate true dilemmas for characters and put characters in competition and power struggles. Don’t make the playing field level.

Practice:  If you don’t already have an idea, start with a prompt. You can find one online. (I’ll take the bell that my family used to call the children in from play.) Take the prompt and find two horrible choices to explore.

It’s dinner time. A parent holds the bell, but doesn’t ring it right away. His daughter is facing off with a girl who bullies her. Standing up to her. But is she out of control? Or in danger? A ring of the bell can end the situation, but may destroy the one chance to end the bullying with a life lesson learned. Or it may allow violence and real injury.

Find a point of competition for the prompt.

Two siblings, now grown, are cleaning out the house after mom has moved into assisted living. They both treasure the days of hearing that bell. One wants to have it to ring her own children home. The other has no children and sees the bell as her only touch point to that phase of life. Those reasons seem vital to them, and make them deserve the bell. Each believes she were promised the bell by their dad. Checking with mom could create distress, even a family rift. Flip a coin? Just grab the bell and make off with it? Destroy the bell so the sibling can’t have it? Create a challenge, and may the best daughter win?

Invent a larger power struggle.

When Mrs. Ackers rang the bell all the kids on the block went home for the evening. It became the symbol of respect and power in the community. A whole generation responded to her, the bell ringer, as the mom of moms. She was consulted for decades regarding everything: meals, dating, parties, and even the settling of disagreements. A generation grew up, and Mrs Ackers became the grandma of grandmas. The bell did not lose its power. The kids of the kids on the block responded to it. Now it has gone silent. Mrs. Ackers has passed and the bell has been left for the local minister, who didn’t grow up in the neighborhood, to dispose of. Every neighbor wants that bell. The hierarchy of the block and, in many ways, its future, depend on who gets the bell.

Any of these conflicts could (and should) be pushed further. Learning to play with prompts to discover action can open up fresh stories and move past the obvious. (It can also be a lot of fun.)

Often, a goal, especially a worthy goal (one that demands sacrifice), suggests obstacles, and its loss alone creates a tragic ending. For a love story, not getting the object of affection is so wrong, it’s essentially forbidden in the genre. But why is the goal vital? Often, in an ambitious love story, more than a fantasy man or woman is at stake. Something within the protagonist is revealed to be important. A need to throw off pride and be vulnerable to another person. A need to go risk expulsion by going against society norms (like wealth) or culture (like religion) to become the person he or she is destined to be. Or a need to admit a deception and face the truth (which is the basis of romantic comedies). Raising stakes so that more strength, more courage, is required adds to a story.

But sometimes the initial goal sets up for something bigger. With bigger stakes. Luke Skywalker just wants to get off Tatooine and become a pilot at first. He’s not really after the Death Star until further into the story. And that catapults the stakes into new territory. More interesting territory. And it puts everyone he loves in jeopardy.

Master of Story Concept Development 7 - Raise the stakes and make the consequences more dire.

Practice: The starting point is actually writing down what the protagonist has at risk. A great place to start is to look at Maslow’s hierarchy. Where do current stakes fit? In one class, I have students classify which levels reflect story risks. Then I have them explore which other needs (closer to survival) might be put in jeopardy. (In general, the lower the level, the more visceral the need, the more readers worry. Though any risk can be deepened. And risks associated with identity can trump life and death with the right presentation.)

Once stakes are delineated, exaggeration comes in handy. Make them worse to a ridiculous extent. Get operatic. Make the consequences uncomfortable, for your characters and to you. Then see if you can go even further. I like to score stakes on a scale of one to WTF? Some great stuff may be on the other side of the absurd.

Or not.

Comedy often depends on silly goals with minor stakes. We stand in a superior position and marvel at the lengths characters will go to because they are obsessed or have distorted views. (Couldn’t Wile E. Coyote find another meal? Or spend his Acme money at a nice restaurant? Would it have mattered if Pee-wee never got his bicycle back in Pee-wee’s Big Adventure?)

There is also merit in the small and the simple when they are handled with care. A dying woman I knew asked her husband to get her watermelon in the middle of winter. This was in the 1980s, and it was an almost impossible task. But it meant everything to her husband that he fulfill her last wish. Was it a proof of love? Was it her, reaching out, giving him a way to manage his heartbreak? Both, I think. The watermelon was a simple goal. It was not life-saving serum, so the actual consequences of failure, from a physical standpoint, were minimal. Emotion -- and that life moment -- were everything. (He got the watermelon. She thanked him for it. She didn’t eat it.)

(More) Mastering Story Concept Development

I carry a lot around in my head. Anecdotes, images, facts, quotes, tiny clips of people walking and gesticulating, odors, traumas, weird juxtapositions, and much more. Because of this, my research habits are different from most. I never searched for a quote for any of the many speeches I wrote. I’ve rarely stopped writing get grab number or consult a map or find an old photograph. Sometimes I consult a thesaurus, but not often. And, for my second novel, I read a pile of books before I wrote the first sentence.

So it may be surprising to find out that every draft I call finished has been deeply researched. This isn’t just because I don’t want to get anything wrong (especially with nonfiction, where I tend to look for multiple reliable sources). It’s because, once I have something working on paper, research is a delight, creating new possibilities and freshening the revision process.

I research later because the story that pours out of me is more authentic if I’m not squeezing in details that haven’t had time to age and find connections in my brain. I have more questions after a first draft. It’s more fun for me. And I don’t mind having to start all over because I got something “wrong.”

Most people research first, but I think I get the same benefits by holding back. Accuracy and connections. The delight of finding something surprising or intriguing. Reasons to dig deeper, exposing unexpected insights.

Most writers are curious, so research is a delight for them. So much so, that the main complaint from them is that research becomes too distracting. I’ve always felt a little sorry for those who, like Michener, needed to have a staff of researchers to keep the bestsellers coming.  

Master of Story Concept Development 4 - Approach research in ways that clarify and deepen ideas, the characters, and the story world.

Practice: From your story concept, generate a list of full-sentence questions (at least 10). Collect the answers. Try to find at least two answers that don’t fit (because of disagreements among scholars or ways they challenge the prevailing culture or perspective). Then take something suggested by the concept that you “know” and find something new and surprising. (This is especially valuable if you write contemporary mimetic fiction like romances because it means pushing past assumptions.)

I remember pitcher Jim Abbott not because he was the best of his generation (his career record was 87-108), but because he played in the Majors for ten years despite having only one hand. David and Goliath would not work if David had been a big, trained soldier, the best the Israelites had to offer. Usually, the protagonist needs to be the underdog (relative to the story problem). And the further down they are, the better. Many stories fail because the main character has too much power. Specifically, power that can be accessed to solve the problem. I remember a play a friend wrote were a poor person needed money. But he was also the favorite of a rich uncle… so the answer was never far away.

Unlikely heroes create a lot of their stories because their weakness must be overcome. The biggest challenges they face are clear and create questions and expectations. This can expose concepts that lack complexity. If the question for Abbott is “how did he manage to bat?” the answer was he didn’t have to. (He played in the American League, where pitchers rarely bat.) More challenging was, how could he field a hit ball? The answer was he had a glove tucked under his right arm, and he was quick to retrieve it. The most delightful question was how he handled bunts, which left balls close, but not very, to him. The answer, in how he surged forward and shot the ball over to first base was a reason to watch fools try to beat him that way.

David, of course, had a secret weapon, God on his side, and deadly aim. Poor Goliath, like the Death Star in Star Wars, had one vulnerable spot.

Protagonists are invaluable to developing story concepts and even suggesting specific scenes. The other characters in a story (beginning with the antagonist) can flesh the story out further. Their failures may show what won’t work (both in terms of action and in human terms, e.g., values and temperament). If beauty is part of the story, including allies with more and less beauty can illuminate that part. Consider wealth, education, empathy, charm, and whatever might create a range of options relative to the story question and use supporting characters and the antagonist to show what might happen or to deepen the complexity.

Master of Story Concept Development 5 - Select a cast of characters that cover the waterfront of concept possibilities in ways that have potential for conflict, surprise, and insight.

Practice: Start with the protagonist and create potential ones with attributes that reflect the main challenge. Explore enough of them to get surprised. Then consider a character who is opposite in at least one way. This may be the antagonist. Then consider what this developing concept implies and consider a range of characters best for what must happen in the story and what might happen in the story. Make them as different as possible. Consider which one might be toughest to see die… or betray the protagonist.

Okay. This is getting longer than expected. I’ll finish the list of Concept Development Essentials next week.

Mastering Story Concept Development

I love it when ideas smash together. Across my writing, the stories that mean the most to me came from those collisions.

Sometimes things came together with middle-of-the-night moments that led me to grab a pencil and scribble. (I learned to get these miracles on paper in full sentences without turning on a light.) Or I might have been humming a tune while washing dishes when the eureka moment happened. (Over half the time, the lyrics to the tune were related in some way. My subconscious is funny that way.)

Most often, the combination has not come from luck or the action of the muse. Harlan Ellison was the first to tell me to make lists of 20 (animals, cars, minerals, etc.) to escape the obvious. I hang onto these as categories amuse me (cognitive errors, arboreal primates, silent movie stars), and, when the muse does not show up and an idea is still nagging at me, I’ll look at these lists. And connections get made.

Does this result is a rich concept? No. It gives me a nice start to building a concept. Maybe.

Other starts come from dreams (which are vivid and raise questions). Or wondering about why another writer did so little with a concept. Or a lyric that gets stuck in my head and takes on a perverse, unintended meaning. Many times I've had a title pop into my head, written it down, and figured out the concept later on.

Basic concepts take ideas a step further. It may be that a character attaches to an idea. Or an idea feels stupid until the perspective changes. Of my anger at a news story blossoms into solutions.

Danny Simon said writers walk around with modeling clay in their hands. We mash, twist, and massage the lump until we look down and see we have an elephant. An elephant! That’s useful.

So the first step, whether it comes from dreams or collisions, or an emotional experience that won’t go away, is getting that elephant.

You can’t rely on the muse for this. You have to have a toolbox full of ways to generate concepts. For some people, it’s a high concept exercise of putting a known success in a fresh place. Die Hard in a plane (Air Force One). High Noon in space (Outland). Romeo and Juliet in the West Side (West Side Story).

Other people may get concepts by taking an idea further. When Philip K. Dick wrote “We Can Remember It for You Wholesale,” it led to what became Total Recall. But the concept of erasing memories was richer than that, and I strongly suspect that a much better film, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, emerged from a deeper contemplation of how, when memories are erased, so is learning and growth.

Sometimes, an idea is pushed into a different time, which is how Jane Austen’s Emma became Clueless and how The Tempest became Forbidden Planet.

So…
Master of Story Concept Development 1 - Have at least one go-to tool for turning an idea you like into a basic concept. Play with it. Practice it. Use it to create prototypes. (I like to write flash fiction stories based on these, but treatments and other short works count, too.)

Practice: Use your tool for creating basic story concepts for stories you’ll never write. In fact, create ten for every one you even attempt in a shorter form. The point is to be able to get your imagination to take on almost any topic that catches your attention and turn it into something. Get to the point where you could do this as an improv act. Or slam poetry. If you can’t produce a full page after coming up with a basic concept within twenty minutes, you haven’t mastered this. (It does not need to be a good page or one you’d pursue, but it has to be worthy of the concept.)

Once you have a basic concept, and it looks like it could be something bigger (feature script, novel), create a strong logline.

Here’s the form: 

To achieve an important Goal, the Protagonist must Act and overcome Obstacles, or Calamity will occur and she/he will not get what she/he Wants and/or Needs

Make the logline good. Really good. So that the hair stands up on your head. Don’t settle for anything vague or cliche. If you couldn’t get a “wow,” you’re not done.

Note: There have been times when I have run with an idea and created pages, chapters, even complete drafts before writing a competent logline. For some work, that’s just how it turns out. But don’t avoid this step. Even if you have a draft you love. Strong loglines will help in marketing. But, for me, they also is essential to providing focus. In fact, I use them for scene-by-scene analysis (though subplots may not benefit from a story’s logline).

Master of Story Concept Development 2 - Be an expert in creating wonderful loglines.

Practice: A great starting point is writing “wow” loglines for movies and novels you really love. Write a hundred or as many as it takes for their creation to become automatic. Write them for whatever you have done. Analyze the loglines of writing friends. Be able to write a better one for a movie that disappointed you.

Story Concepts are of little use if they don’t suggest possibilities. I call these OMG (Oh My God) moments. Part of Concept Development is having at least five of these. (Someone once told me that a good movie always had three memorable scenes, but push it to five. Not everything works out.)

The most obvious place to find your OMG moments is by knowing your genre standards. For instance, romances usually have a meet cute, a special place, a scene where you see why the characters are made for each other, a first kiss, a declaration of love, a dark moment, a grand gesture, and a happily ever after. (Horror stories, mysteries, thrillers, and other genres have similar standards.) You can twist these and subvert these… and you should surprise and provide more than people expect. But you can’t easily leave them out.

So, looking at your basic concept or your logline, does a first kiss that has never been seen before suggest itself? OMG!

Beyond genre, chances are that the logline will create expectations, scenes people hope to experience. Sharks imply chomping (probably of teens). Poverty implies a scene where hunger must be satisfied. A spy must at least come close to having her identity revealed. A surgeon must face an impossible case or lose a patient.

You must anticipate these expectations. That may mean asking people what they’d be looking for, any you might be surprised.

You must make such scenes OMG. I want to see a first kiss, but not one that merely checks the box. The first kiss must have a fresh situation or stakes that matter. Shock me.

You should have OMG scenes that go beyond tropes. Usually, these are attached to character (which I’ll deal with next week).

Master of Story Concept Development 3 - Develop a skill for creating more OMG scenes than you’ll need.

Practice: Before you watch a movie or read a book, write down the scenes that you expect to experience. If they are not included or they disappoint, consider how you would create them yourself. Also, if a scene disappointed you, how would you make it OMG? (You can also do this just from movie posters or book covers.)

As an advance practice, see if you can make scenes that impressed you better, raising the OMG score.

Note: While OMG scenes may come from prep, many (perhaps most) will sneak up on you as you write your draft. If you let them.

Hmm. Much more to cover here. Next week, I’ll take on research, characters (as related to concept), dilemmas and conflicts, and stakes.