About All Types of People

Post 1050:

            There’s a saying I’ve run across that varies a little bit every time I hear it, but basically it goes something like this: If you’ve met thirty or forty people, you’ve met everyone. It’s kind of ridiculous and obviously hyperbolic, though it does get me to thinking, especially as a writer. I’ve read stacks of books on characters/characterization/crap, all of which more or less lay out that there’s certain elements common to the various types of characters we run across in fiction.

            It leads me to believe there’s some truth to that silly statement at the top of the page. Hell, have you ever been told that you remind someone of a person they know? Happens to me quite often. It always pisses me off a little because I fancy myself a truly unique creation. Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m a type. Yeah, we all kind of are. Not saying it’s an exact science. Then again, neither is science.

            So how do we create unique characters and avoid the neat little categories that silly writers that write about writing write about?

            A few places to start, and then that shiz is up to you. Give your character something unique to do. This will force unique choices. Actions dictate character and sort of speak for themselves, allowing the reader/watcher to decide how they feel about a character. You can do internal monologue Dostoyevsky-style but the fact is we could hear the dude in Crime and Punishment talk about himself all day. Fact is, he did a bad thing. Action is what makes the book a book and not just some dude whining about his feelings in the snow.  

            Here’s something. Don’t overcook it. I see a lot of people trying to make their characters so darn cute and quirky and idiosyncratic and emo and eccentric and on and on and… somebody shoot me. Unique is good and all—likeable is better. Whether they’re good or bad or secondary to the story, you want your reader to be able to relate. Some call it identification. Call it whatever you want. Here’s an example: I like Marty in Back to the Future, not because he’s so special—I like him because he’s more or less a normal kid. Sure, he’s got his little peccadillos that come out in the story, but more or less he’s a kid like we all were. The crazy circumstances show us his character.

            There’s a few things to chew. I’ve read character studies where I felt like I didn’t understand the protagonist at all and I’ve read basic-balls-books where I really identified with characters. Like I said, this ain’t exact science. Not science at all, if we’re being scientific.

            Or maybe we should just abandon the notion of types. This here’s the type of guy who’s open to anything. I’m special that way.

            Cheers and see you after.