This continues our series How to Write a Story 101. See the earlier post about Conflict.
You are going to write a story. Yes, today is the day you are going to write a fiction story about someone. Your character and their development through the story is the heart of fiction.
Make your characters real, and your readers will care what happens to them because they can identify and sympathize with the character in a situation.
Now let's work on your character. In this post, we’re going to look at how to write a story by focusing on one of the most important elements of any story: character.
Who are they? And what do they want out of life? Do they want to have a cat sit on top of their head?
Pro and Anti Characters
Let's review what we talked about in our last post, How To Write a Story 101: Conflict.
The main character, or protagonist, wants something. The protagonist is the person struggling for something, and the antagonist is struggling against something.
Hint: If you can remember the meaning of the prefix it might help you remember what the two words mean: Pro means in favor of. Anti means against.
The Most Convincing Characters Are…
1. Plausible
The most convincing characters are those that exhibit behavior we have observed ourselves in people. If your Uncle Harry rubs his forehead every time he gets stressed out, you will recognize the behavior in a fictional character. It is plausible that someone shows anxiety by rubbing their forehead.
It is not plausible that the person's eyes literally fall out of their head when they are stressed out. (Unless you have created a different world with odd eyeballs.)
2. Consistent
The character is selfish though all of the story, not most of the story with a break from pages 129 to 133. Unless the character is evolving into an unselfish person through the development of their character.
By that I mean, your character must be consistent unless you give us a compelling reason that the character is not consistent. You don't want to confuse your reader.
3. Motivated
Why does your character do the things she does? Why does she want what she wants?
4. Complete
Know what your character looks like, where they went to school, their world view. Think of them as three-dimensional. Their name may explain much about their background (e.g. James Rollins the Third or Billy Bob Hopper).
What Is the Function of the Character?
Here are three questions to help you figure out how your character functions within your story:
- What happens to the character? Why?
- Does conflict change the character?
- What are the personality traits, motivations, problems of the character?
How to Introduce a Character
Avoid backstory in the beginning of the story. Instead, incorporate clues about your characters' history throughout the story and slowly introduce details.
Starting a story with backstory can be boring, and your reader may leave before they find out how cool the rest is.
Here's an example of a story with a lot of backstory:
James lived with his mother in a small cardboard box. He had brown hair and big ears. When he was six years old he glued his ears back with crazy glue. He collected rocks and liked to eat bugs.
Or you could say:
James combed his hair over the back of his ears to hide the scar. He had trouble opening the door to his room because his rock collection fell and blocked his way.
And later on in your story you can write about him using crazy glue to fix his mother's broken tea-cup and he has a flashback about his ears.
Show, Don't Tell; Imply, Don't State
Show your character being nervous, rather than telling us. Let the reader discover your character. “She is nervous.” How do you think a person who is nervous behaves?
Implying gives the reader a chance to make up their own mind about the person you are introducing.
You could say, “Mary was nervous.” Or you could say, “Mary gently tapped her head against the back of her seat on the bus until the person sitting behind her asked her to stop.”
Please, please, please don't say, “She was fat.” What does fat look like? Show me fat.
“The buttons on the front of her sweater struggled to keep the fabric together. She sat on two chairs pushed together and she balanced her plate on her stomach.”
Four Types of Fictional Characters
1. Typical. Character represents a group by age, occupation, or ancestry. Such as a typical teacher, or a typical lawyer. The teacher has an apple on her desk and the lawyer plays golf and has a gold front tooth. No, wait, that is a typical rap singer.
2. Unique. The character is unique rather than representative of a certain group. Perhaps the teacher has a pineapple on her desk, and maybe the lawyer likes to play snakes and ladders instead of golf. And maybe the rap singer has a Hello Kitty front tooth.
3. Universal. Share certain characteristics, values and instincts.
4. Allegorical. The main character, or protagonist, is not a person, but a symbol of abstract human traits. Perhaps the protagonist is a tree.
Four Causes of Ineffective Characterization
1. The character is flat, like a pancake
There is not enough personal detail to develop the character. We may know he likes to eat raw eggs, but do we know what he character wants out life? What are his desires? Show me sadness, anger, pain. Let me feel his pain, and I will faithfully follow your story to the end because I care what happens to the person you have created.
2. Telling and not showing keeps me away from your character
When I see your character cry, I am a participant. When you say, “she was sad,” it is as though you, the writer, are in the room watching your character cry, and you are telling me what you see. When you describe your character's tears and the color of her face, when you describe the sound of her sobbing, and the smell of the rain outside of her window. I am there. I am right in the room with your character.
Don't get in the room with me. Show me so I can feel her pain.
3. The writer editorializes to tell us how we should feel
“You should feel sad for her. Her dog just died and she left her phone in the bathroom at The Party Supply Store.”
Please let me decide what I think of your character. Don't tell me what to think or feel.
4. Overwrite
When the writer overwrites, the story feels phony. “She said, gasping for air, ‘Give me all of your bacon, or I will scream.'”
If your dialogue doesn't feel plausible, your reader may not believe your story.
The Best Characters Are Believable
To create a genuine emotional effect the reader must understand, identify, and sympathize with the character in a situation.
Make your characters real, and your readers will care what happens to them.
To be real, the character will smell, hear, touch, see and sense the world around them. Make me care for the woman who has a cat on her head.
Now, show me.
What advice do you have about writing characters? Let us know in the comments section!
PRACTICE
Spend a few minutes thinking about your character. What does your character look like? What are they feeling? After you decide, write for fifteen minutes showing me an aspect of your character.
Please, no telling words—like skinny, fat, sad, happy, angry. Show me angry. Show me sad. Show me skinny. How will you describe your character?
Oh, and then we can comment about what we see in your character. This will be fun. What details can we pick up by your subtle clues!
When you are finished, please post your practice in the comments section. I look forward to meeting the people you create. And please read and comment on another story.
xo
Pamela
Will’s Cooking Skills
Will set the bubbling pot of stew on the table beside the biscuits he’d just taken out of the oven. Then he tossed another chunk of wood into the stove. With the storm howling outside like it was — and whistling in through whatever cracks it could find — he wanted the fire to stay good and hot.
He sat down at the table and bowed his head for a short grace — a prayer that the food would be edible as much as blessed. “Well, now let’s see what you’ve come up with, Will, my boy. Maybe this time…”
He ladled soup into his bowl, then stretched his long legs out under the table and reached for a biscuit. “Still nice and warm. Can’t be that bad.” He took a brave bite. The thing crunched, something like the cracking of a stick of kindling, but his teeth didn’t make much of an impression.
He dropped the biscuit onto his plate. It landed with an unhappy thunk. “I just gotta learn to bake!” He blew out a long stream of air. “While I still have teeth to eat with.”
His thoughts bounced across the fields to the next section, where his brother Jim would be sitting down to a delicious supper, surrounded by his family. Grace was an excellent cook; Jim would be well fed tonight.
“Thou shalt not covet thy brother’s wife, nor thy brother’s wife’s cooking. But I’d sure like to have one of my own. She doesn’t have to be pretty or so talented, Lord, just an old-fashioned girl that can cook like Ma and Grace.”
Now the snow was slapping against his window pane. The whole cabin seemed to shudder. “And even if she isn’t the best cook… If she’d just be here with me tonight when the wind’s howling so wild…” Will blinked and tried to swallow the lump of loneliness in his throat.
“Smarten up, Will, old boy. No point being moody. Things are what they are.” He picked up the biscuit again, broke it into his stew, and poked it around with his spoon. “Now that’ll soften it up some.”
He took a spoonful of stew, frowning at the flatness of it. Maybe Grace could show him what to put in stew to give it some flavour. Then he shook his head. “Hey, it’s food and you’re hungry. Just eat the scrummy stuff and stop thinking about what it lacks.”
The cry of the lonely bachelor. Been there done that. A character to whom I could relate.
Glad Will garnered your sympathy. (Or empathy?) I hope your cooking skills are better. 🙂
(But now you have a microwave, restaurants, and TV dinners. so that part’s not as insufferable.)
Hello Christine,
Your character development of Jim is very clear. I felt like I was in the room with him as he ate his meal alone.
There were a few times when you told me rather than showed me. Brave bite. What would a brave bite look like?
Great job showing the biscuit was hard as a rock.
“The thing crunched, something like the cracking of a stick of kindling, but his teeth didn’t make much of an impression.”
And in this section,
delicious supper, and excellent cook
“His thoughts bounced across the fields to the next section, where his brother Jim would be sitting down to a delicious supper, surrounded by his family. Grace was an excellent cook; Jim would be well fed tonight.”
How could you show delicious supper or excellent cook? A list of the food on the table? prizes she won at the State fair?
The more you contrast what Will is eating with what Jim is eating, the conflict will be stronger.
I want to eat at Jim’s house too.
xo
Pamela
Thanks for the comments. I find it a real challenge to see through a person’s eyes close up. If I continue this tale, I need to flesh Will out more, give him an age and size.
Actually, this story is intended to make you feel so much sympathy for Will that you’ll offer to take him under your wing and cook for him. 🙂
Well,
I was going to bring him an apple pie.
xo
Pamela
The storm was passing, each flash of lightning further away, each boom of thunder taking longer to echo down the streets. Chill rain cascaded from awnings, rooftops, and gushed from the downspouts of gutters. The air smelt fresh, clean, renewed, like the air smells after a thunder storm.
He was a big man in a black leather jacket, heavy weight denim pants, and black boots. He moved with grace, with confidence, and with purpose. He slipped from shadow to shadow, his destination the lighted kiosk near the corner light post.
A crowd passed, young revelers from a local frat’ house. He stepped into a recessed doorway to let them pass, and remained, just a few steps from his destination.
Another, a younger man, approached the same kiosk, desperation fairly radiating from his aura, a sliver of plastic held in his hand. “Please, please let there be enough,” came the pleading tone. The young man fumbled with the plastic chip, tried it backwards, fumbled, and inserted the chip. A look of hope flashed across the young man’s features, “It’s taking time … maybe … oh no.” A final gasp, the departure of all hope, as the kiosk flashed “Insufficient funds”. Not even retrieving the returned chip, the young man turned and stumbled into the dark, into the big man that had stepped from the recess.
“You ok?” came a gentle question.
“I … I … no … I’m fine.”
“Family alright?”
“Huh? How would you know …”
“Wedding ring, raggedy Andy doll peaking out of your pocket there, and you dropped this,” the big man held out a white prescription card.
Sobbing, the young man reached for the ‘script, and then saw the big man holding his credit chip.
“That’s mine,” he said.
“I know, wait one,” the big man said, and held it against the I/O spot of his tablet. “Samuel James, twenty-nine, family of three, little girl, Sheila, age four currently suffering a bad case of off-world flu and needing the meds on the script. Engineer certified in crypto and operating systems. Yessir, you will do.”
“Hey, that’s none of your business,” James began to protest.
“Will three kilo-creds get you to your next payday?”
“Huh? Yes, but how … where? I have no job, there is no ‘next payday’,” confused, James just looked at the big man, returning the personal data chip in a right hand. James took it and saw the hand still offered in a hand shake.
“I’m old fashioned, I like to look a man in the eye, take him at his word, and shake on things before any documents are signed. The name is Carl Henderson, my company is Henderson Limited, and I’m looking for an engineer with your qualifications. And yes I’m offering you a job, via a handshake, in the middle of the night.”
James took the hand offered, and returned a firm, meaningful shake.
“Good. Now get to an auto-doc dispenser, and take care of Sheila. Open your chip on your home terminal, and come to my office tomorrow at 15:00, at the address you will find. You can sign the documents then.”
“But … but … if I don’t show …”
“Then those creds are yours, use them wisely and find a job. You’ll never hear from me or my company again, nor will another offer ever be made. If you have an emergency, call the number or message. Things happen. Now get to the doc, get some groceries, and get home.”
Samuel James, hurried away, no longer stumbling, no longer unsure, but walking with a purpose. He looked at the credit readout on his chip. 3,452 credits. The doc, then the store, some fresh veggies and a bit of fresh soy protein, not government provided pablum. Amanda won’t believe it.
Abe, Carl’s personal AI, whispered in his right ear, You’re an old softie.
And you’re a collection of smart-ass nano-circuitry in my corpus cavernosum.
You mean corpus collosum.
Whatever.
There was a pause in this personal conversation with his AI, as Carl turned back the way he had come.
You just called me a dick, Abe replied.
Yup, and a slight smile curved Carl’s lips. Sometimes he won.
Rain started to fall, Carl adjusted his cap, and walked to the personal hover-limo sitting on the grass in the middle of the park. Nodding to the driver holding the door open he said, “Take us home Tom.”
“Yes sir,” Tom said, shutting the door and taking his seat at the controls. With a slight hum, the limo lifted from it’s running skids, drifted slightly with the breeze, turned to the northeast, it’s nose lifting, and moved so fast it left turbulent curls of wind and rain circling in the air.
Hello Gary G. Little,
Your characters are very real. And an interesting world you have created. I would love to see what happens to your characters.
“He moved with grace, with confidence, and with purpose.” What does that look like? Can you show me?
I found a few times where you told me rather than showed me.
“He was a big man in a black leather jacket, heavy weight denim pants, and black boots.”
What does a big man look like? How do you describe big? Tall? Wide? Did his head almost touch the lamp post?
And in this section you told me and then showed me. Your showing is so strong about the young man’s desperation.
It is like you told me what you were going to show me.
“Another, a younger man, approached the same kiosk, desperation fairly radiating from his aura, a sliver of plastic held in his hand.”
What does desperation look like?
And you told me the other man was younger. What does younger look like? Was he shaving yet? no wrinkles.
The big man noticed details about the younger man, “”Wedding ring, raggedy Andy doll peaking out of your pocket there, ”
I felt like I as a reader wanted to see what the big man saw too. So I could figure it out. Rather than be told.
I hope this is helpful.
xo
Pamela
Thanks Pamela. It’s all helpful, I just have to figure out how to do it. 🙂
Hello Gary,
Sometimes I draw pictures to help me see what I want my person to look like. Or I sit in coffee shops and try and describe what the person is like by their behavior.
Is he fat big, or muscle big?
You described the young man so clearly, I know you can do it.
xo
Pamela
I made some changes. I won’t repost the entire thing, I’ll save that and the rest of the story on my Friday, “Once Weekly” post.
The storm was passing, each flash of lightning further away, each boom of thunder taking longer to echo down the streets. Chill rain cascaded from awnings, rooftops, and gushed from the downspouts of gutters. The air smelt fresh, clean, renewed, like the air smells after a thunder storm.
He was a barrel-chested man, less than two meters tall, wearing a black leather jacket, heavy weight denim pants, and black boots. He wore his baseball cap old-style, the bill forward protecting his spectacles from the light rain. Gold wire rimmed frames passed over silvery sideburns and hooked behind his ears. He walked in the shadows, his destination the lighted kiosk near the corner light post.
A crowd passed, young revelers from a local frat’ house. He stepped into a recessed doorway to let them pass, and remained, just a few steps from his destination.
Another, a younger man, approached the same kiosk, his head darted from side to side, his brow furrowed in concentration. The young man spotted the kiosk under the light and hurried to it. He held a white plastic card in his left, thumbed the gold band on his left hand, and muttered to himself, “Please, please let there be enough.” Without knowing, he dropped the white plastic ‘scipt, dug his right hand into his right coat pocket, searching for his personal credit chip. He found Sheila’s raggedy Andy doll, found the chip and dropped the doll as he pulled the chip out of the pocket. Frustration growing, he stuffed the doll back in the pocket, fumbled the credit chip, tried it backwards, fumbled again, and inserted the chip.
A look of hope flashed across the young man’s features, “It’s taking time … maybe … oh no.” His face in the dim light of the kiosk collapsed in despair as the kiosk flashed “Insufficient funds”. Not retrieving the returned chip, the young man turned and stumbled into the dark, into the man that had stepped from the recess.
Gary, Your big man really has personality now. I can imagine his character. And the young man does too.
Thank you for letting me see the doll in his pocket.
xo
Pamela
Alyssa bored her eyes into the white
tile ceiling, and tried in vain to calm the racing heartbeats that
pounded through her head. She gasped, out of breath, though she
hadn’t moved since she had first opened her eyes a few minutes
before. The door clicked shut as the doctor left her room. His face
hadn’t shown any expression, and his voice had held the same even
tone the entire time he had been speaking. Not that it mattered. No
sympathy could change this.
She could see the room only as far as
her peripheral vision could stretch, which wasn’t much. She lay flat
on her back, her arms limp at her sides. Although her mind was
racing, her body would not respond. She was sure she must be a
pitiful sight, lying flat in a hospital bed, just barely having
escaped with her life. She painfully lifted her hand and touched the
bandage on the right side of her face, and winced. Had it only been a
few hours since she had been lying in her own bed, in her own home?
Now here she was. Every time she moved any part of her body, the pain
reminded her just how real this was. But no matter how much of her
hurt, what had made her heart pound and her tired mind race was the
part of her that didn’t hurt. Paralyzed. The word ran through her
head so fast it was dizzying. Her gaze darted in every direction, and
though she remained motionless, she felt as if she was running, and
trying to grasp onto something. “God,” her voice was grainy, and
echoed in the silent room, “I don’t have anything left but you,”
her voice broke, and for the first time, tears actually flooded her
eyes, “And I need you now more than ever”
Hello Regan,
You showed me her anxiety and her pain. You didn’t tell me how she felt, you showed me. You also left me wanting more.
How did she hurt her head? Why is she crying?
xo
Pamela
Thanks, Pamela. I could’ve written forever, but it was only 15 minutes! This is part of my novel. She’s the protagonist, and was just injured in a fire in her home. The doctor just told her she was paralyzed, and she’s trying to deal with it.
Showing vs. Telling is a big thing I’ve been working on, so I’m so glad I finally got it. Great post!
Oh, am I ever slow. Her arms were limp at her side.
Of course.
But then, this didn’t make sense.
“Every time she moved any part of her body, the painreminded her just how real this was.”
I thought the limp arms were because she was depressed not because she was paralyzed. Because she was moving parts of her body.
hmmm
tricky,
xo
Pamela
I am glad you liked the post
Paraplegia. She’s paralyzed from the waist down. That’s why I wrote, ” what had made her heart pound and her tired mind race was the part of her that didn’t hurt”
I should probably have been more detailed with that part. I’m glad you found it intriguing!
I’m always trying to show more than tell, and it’s always a challenge to rise up to. I like to think about revealing character by trying to focus on writing what can be filmed. This works well with emotions because you can show emotions. When it comes to thoughts that are vital to the story, those are the times you resort to telling. But everything else can be shown, and it creates a more immersive experience for the reader. Here’s my practice:
Bryant stepped into the back office of the restaurant, expecting the man behind the large oak desk to turn around. In the silence of the room, Bryant could almost hear his heart pounding. He had to stop his hands from trembling.
“Sir?” he said. “It’s Bryant Summers.”
“Bryant,” the man said, still facing the wall. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Bryant hesitated, wondering why the man wouldn’t face him.
“Go ahead,” the man said. “You came a long way for this, am I right?”
“Yes, sir.” Bryant pulled a chair back from the desk and sat down.
The man didn’t move, and Bryant wondered if he’d made a mistake in coming here. Then Skylar’s face appeared in his mind. First the image of the beautiful girl he’d asked to marry him, then the pale thin shell of the woman who had said yes. Bryant gripped the arm of the chair and felt his nails digging in.
“Why did Bill Evans call you the night he died?” The words came out of his mouth dripping with accusation.
The man’s head lifted as if he were looking at the ceiling. Bryant noticed a picture of what he assumed was the man and his wife and daughter. The man was tall with a smile on his face as his arm pulled the woman and the teenage girl close to him.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” the main said. “Listen, kid. I’m not sure where you got the idea that I could give you any answers, but Bill and I hadn’t been close in years. I already told the police why Bill called me. If it’s that important to you, read the police report. But you’ll be sadly disappointed, I’m afraid.”
“Skylar wrote in her journey that she talked to you just days before…” Bryant stopped. He couldn’t finish the sentence. Wouldn’t finish it.
The man turned around. The first thing Bryant noticed were the bags beneath the man’s eyes and the deep frown lines. He looked like the man in the picture, but a more weathered version.
“Skylar wanted answers,” the man said. “Just like you. Unfortunately, I didn’t have them.” The man sighed. “I wish I would have.”
Hello Tom,
You showed he was nervous, “Bryant could almost hear his heart pounding. He had to stop his hands from trembling.” Trembling hands shows anxiety.
And now I want to know more. 🙂
Which is a story is always good. You create interest and suspense.
I hadn’t thought about how to show what someone is thinking. Perhaps if someone is lying they won’t look you in the eye. Maybe the man behind the desk is lying?
Is he?
xo
Pamela
Thanks, Pamela.
To be honest, I’m not sure if he’s lying yet. We’ll see 🙂
Thanks for the tips!
He’d never seen an interrogation room before. Tan drywall, tan metal desk, blank window. Bland really, and yet something about the ambience squeezed his stomach into rope burn.
But he sank into the hard wooden chair and acted business-like, as if he were at a normal Monday morning meeting.
While Agent Santori leaned against the rear wall, Agent Whitaker paced back and forth in front of the table. He stopped, his brown eyes penetrating Hamilton’s alibi—whatever it
was going to be. “In all the crack joints in all the towns in Florida, you walk into that one?”
“Crack joint?” He sat up and leaned forward. “It had a barber pole outside.”
“Because their neon sign that says ‘Buy your coke here,’ had a short circuit.”
“No, seriously guys, I really was trying to get a haircut.” He winced at his own flimsy excuse. This was the DEA, and they weren’t buying it. Last week he was the
interrogator, flying to the Miami Office to investigate DEA’s new off-sight operation in the Bahamas. Now the shoes were on the other side of the table and he was the interrogee. He attempted to calm himself with a deep breath, but his tight lungs refused to expand.
Gripping! Makes me want to read more!
Favorite part: “He attempted to calm himself with a deep breath, but his tight lungs refused to expand.”
Hi all! I usually don’t like when people self-promote, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do! My name is Julia Nesbitt and I’m a fiction short story writer. I would love it if you checked out my blog http://nesbittwrites.weebly.co… and could leave a comment or just simply read it. Thank you!
I always want to know what a few of the physical characteristics are. I need to be able to see that person in my mind. I don’t want it elaborate though. Let my imagination do some if it.
Hello Glynis,
Yes, me too. Let me know a few physical characteristics, but let me use my imagination as well.
All my best,
xo
Pamela
She hated the costume.
It had been the department’s idea, what with the costumed “villains” running around committing crimes. They needed an icon, a bastion of justice and righteousness. And, of course, who got stuck with the job? A rookie, straight out of boot camp.
At least they had given her some input into the process. Their first suggestions had basically been catsuits, layered over skin-tight body armour, with heels, and a cape. She quickly vetoed those suggestions. Besides, they had been in the general colours and layout as the standard police uniform. If she had to wear a costume, she wanted to stand out, and not just because of a catsuit.
The new “uniform” was much better. It was still form-fitting (it had to be, if she was actually going to make it useful for chasing down criminals), but now it was form-fitting over an actual kevlar vest. She had put on twenty pounds of muscle in boot camp, on top of her dancer’s physique, and with the body armour, she now looked legitimately intimidating. The rest of the suit was meant to accentuate that: the limbs that had been “lithe” a year ago were now thicker and more muscular, but not freakishly so.
As she looked in the mirror, what came to mind was a more streamlined, feminine version of RoboCop – the new one, in black instead of silver. The cape was gone, and the heels had been replaced with black combat boots. She had successfully convinced them to ditch the domino mask – what good was it, she had argued, when she was wearing a badge with her name and ID number for all the world to see? Still, despite the costume being about as good as she could make it, she didn’t like it.
She was being set apart from the rest of the force. Her objection wasn’t with the costume, so much, as the fact that she wanted to wear a uniform. She wanted to be out there, beside brothers and sisters in the Force, but now she was this mascot, an experiment, a PR stunt.
Looking at her reflection, her sleek brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, her grey eyes flashing with irritation, she vowed to herself then that she would not just be a PR stunt. They were laughing at her, at the costume that they had inflicted on her, at the idea of a patrol officer all in matte black combing the night for costumed evildoers. She would make them choke down that laughter, would make them eat their words.
She would round up every single one of those costumed freaks, and, once they were gone, she would demand to be put – not into the blues of the force, but into a detective’s suit. She would earn it, and there wasn’t a damned thing that any of them: the force, the criminals, anyone could do to stop her.
Once more, she looked into the reflection, this time scowling in the best grimace that years of theatre had taught her. This wouldn’t be the first costume she’d worn, but she’d make sure it was the last.
Wow! This is packed with feeling and vivid descriptions in just the right ratio. Excellent work!
This is the beginning of the first chapter in my book!
“Caydy! Caydy what are you doing up there you’re going to be late to school.” yelled Jade while full of frustration.
“Coming mum, just packing up my bag.” replied Caydy in a relaxed tone opposite to her mother’s.
Around two minutes later, Caydy hurried quickly down-stairs and put on her dull black school shoes. Jade came into the room and started lecturing Caydy about when people should pack their school bags.
“I’m telling you this for the hundredth time Caydy: pack up your bag before going to bed. Two minutes of your reading time won’t kill you but going out two minutes late to school in the morning can.” declared Jade, “And take the bike with you today: so that you may have a chance of getting there before 8:30 am.”
Caydy stood up, got her bag and took the bike carefully out of the garage, slid onto the seat and cycled to school.
The road to school was very short. It would take around 7 minutes walking and 4 minutes by bike. Caydy would normally walk to Tessa’s house – which is on the way to school – then finish her journey to school along with Tessa. Although today, Caydy was cycling alone as Tessa would be at school by now.
Suddenly, Caydy saw her phone ring. Luckily, she was wearing her earplugs which were already connected to her phone. She looked at the name; it was Abi. She pressed answer.
“Hi Abi, what’s up?” asked Caydy.
“What do you mean ‘ what’s up ‘? Where are you? We’re worried about you, especially Tessa.” said Abi. You could notice that the fear in her tone is the same as someone who has just been told that their mum and dad have perished away in a fire.
“I left the house late because: I forgot to pack my bag before going to bed yesterday night. Again. But don’t worry I’m on the way.” replied Caydy calmly.
“Caydy, its 8:26. We’re the last people outside now. You must hurry.”
“Ok, I’ll be a minute.”replied Caydy” You guys go inside, I’ll …”
Suddenly, while not noticing, Caydy’s bike tripped over an unusual rock laying in the middle of the footpath. The bike flipped forwards and threw Caydy off it where she landed next to a tall old tree. Caydy lay on the floor with blood soaking through her tights staining the cement which lay between the bricks. If anyone would be in Caydy’s state by now they would either be screaming or feeling the pain while trying to hide it and get over it. But Caydy was in neither of these states.
“Abi, Abi help! Quick!”shrieked Caydy.
Caydy to get herself up, but when she did she collapsed instantly smacking her head on the concrete pavement. Her phone sat facing upwards on the rough floor a couple of centimetres away, still on call with Abi.
“Caydy, Caydy what happened? Where are you?” asked Abi.
No one answered. Caydy still lay on the floor, breathing rapidly but with no sign of her consciousness. Tessa snatched the phone out of Abi hands and put it on speaker.
“Caydy, what happened?” said Tessa in a panicking tone.” Are you okay?”
But still with no hope, no one answered. All they heard where the sound of quick breaths going in and out rapidly.
“She’s not going to answer. Something happened, you go inside. I’m going to go back in the route Caydy usually takes and check what happened to her.” instructed Tessa.
“No! If Caydy isn’t here by registration: we tell Mrs.Levings.We can’t risk you going out too.” said Kyla.
But it was too late. Tessa ran out of the school gates to check on her cousin.
” What if something really has happened to her” thought Tessa.”I hope she’s okay.”
Tessa kept running at her fastest speed. She was sweating madly as if someone was pouring a bottle of hot boiling water on her head. Her legs started to get tied up as they couldn’t keep hold of her. As Tessa turned the corner; her eyed where pulled towards a figure of a 16 year old girl thrown on the floor with a river of blood rushing out onto the footpath and then sprinting till they reached the sewage hole on the road.
“Oh my God!”whispered Tessa.
She was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t move as all the fear and
thoughts of all the bad things that could’ve happened to Caydy came to her mind. Tessa suddenly remembered what they have learnt about in their last history lesson: The beginning of heat strokes- Douglas J.Casa. As it was quoted by the video they watched, it mentioned:”Heat strokes are 100% survivable although if action isn’t taken quickly then the victim might not have a full chance of survival. You should always call for help immediately in this matter as cell damage can begin 30 minutes after the victim is affected by the heat stroke.”Tessa started breathing rapidly and quickly ran to Caydy. She kneeled down next to her and put her hand on Caydy’s jumper above her chest. She was still breathing. Tessa quickly took out her phone from her backpack to call the ambulance. Just as she was opening her phone, she collapsed.
“Caydy! Caydy what are you doing up there you’re going to be late to school.” yelled Jade while full of frustration.
“Coming mum, just packing up my bag.” replied Caydy in a relaxed tone opposite to her mother’s.
Around two minutes later, Caydy hurried quickly down-stairs and put on her dull black school shoes. Jade came into the room and started lecturing Caydy about when people should pack their school bags.
“I’m telling you this for the hundredth time Caydy: pack up your bag before going to bed. Two minutes of your reading time won’t kill you but going out two minutes late to school in the morning can.” declared Jade, “And take the bike with you today: so that you may have a chance of getting there before 8:30 am.”
Caydy stood up, got her bag and took the bike carefully out of the garage, slid onto the seat and cycled to school.
The road to school was very short. It would take around 7 minutes walking and 4 minutes by bike. Caydy would normally walk to Tessa’s house – which is on the way to school – then finish her journey to school along with Tessa. Although today, Caydy was cycling alone as Tessa would be at school by now.
Suddenly, Caydy saw her phone ring. Luckily, she was wearing her earplugs which were already connected to her phone. She looked at the name; it was Abi. She pressed answer.
“Hi Abi, what’s up?” asked Caydy.
“What do you mean ‘ what’s up ‘? Where are you? We’re worried about you, especially Tessa.” said Abi. You could notice that the fear in her tone is the same as someone who has just been told that their mum and dad have perished away in a fire.
“I left the house late because: I forgot to pack my bag before going to bed yesterday night. Again. But don’t worry I’m on the way.” replied Caydy calmly.
“Caydy, its 8:26. We’re the last people outside now. You must hurry.”
“Ok, I’ll be a minute.”replied Caydy” You guys go inside, I’ll …”
Suddenly, while not noticing, Caydy’s bike tripped over an unusual rock laying in the middle of the footpath. The bike flipped forwards and threw Caydy off it where she landed next to a tall old tree. Caydy lay on the floor with blood soaking through her tights staining the cement which lay between the bricks. If anyone would be in Caydy’s state by now they would either be screaming or feeling the pain while trying to hide it and get over it. But Caydy was in neither of these states.
“Abi, Abi help! Quick!”shrieked Caydy.
Caydy to get herself up, but when she did she collapsed instantly smacking her head on the concrete pavement. Her phone sat facing upwards on the rough floor a couple of centimetres away, still on call with Abi.
“Caydy, Caydy what happened? Where are you?” asked Abi.
No one answered. Caydy still lay on the floor, breathing rapidly but with no sign of her consciousness. Tessa snatched the phone out of Abi hands and put it on speaker.
“Caydy, what happened?” said Tessa in a panicking tone.” Are you okay?”
But still with no hope, no one answered. All they heard where the sound of quick breaths going in and out rapidly.
“She’s not going to answer. Something happened, you go inside. I’m going to go back in the route Caydy usually takes and check what happened to her.” instructed Tessa.
“No! If Caydy isn’t here by registration: we tell Mrs.Levings.We can’t risk you going out too.” said Kyla.
But it was too late. Tessa ran out of the school gates to check on her cousin.
“What if something really has happened to her” thought Tessa.”I hope she’s okay.”
Tessa kept running at her fastest speed. She was sweating madly as if someone was pouring a bottle of hot boiling water on her head. Her legs started to get tied up as they couldn’t keep hold of her. As Tessa turned the corner; her eyed where pulled towards a figure of a 16 year old girl thrown on the floor with a river of blood rushing out onto the footpath and then sprinting till they reached the sewage hole on the road.
“Oh my God!”whispered Tessa.
She was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t move as all the fear and
thoughts of all the bad things that could’ve happened to Caydy came to her mind. Tessa suddenly remembered what they have learnt about in their last history lesson: The beginning of heat strokes- Douglas J.Casa. As it was quoted by the video they watched, it mentioned:”Heat strokes are 100% survivable although if action isn’t taken quickly then the victim might not have a full chance of survival. You should always call for help immediately in this matter as cell damage can begin 30 minutes after the victim is affected by the heat stroke.”Tessa started breathing rapidly and quickly ran to Caydy. She kneeled down next to her and put her hand on Caydy’s jumper above her chest. She was still breathing. Tessa quickly took out her phone from her backpack to call the ambulance. Just as she was opening her phone, she collapsed.
This is the beginning of my first chapter of the book I started writing. Enjoy!
Please comment on how to improve.
Thanks!
Excellent points. I will start using them in the future.
Great James!
I am glad the article is helpful.
I still think characters are the most important part of a story. It doesn’t matter how realistic and creative your setting is, or how well paced your plot is. If the characters are flat, phony, or one-dimensional, it will kill the story.
Thanks for the great tips in this post.
Thank you Jason,
You are very welcome.
p.s.
I broke my finger, so The Write Practice, republished my story on character. It is hard to type. 🙂
“I’m not going, and that’s final,” I said, throwing down the leaflet.
“You’ll enjoy it, Keith – it’ll be loads of fun,” said Mum.
“No, I won’t. I’ll be stuck there all week with a load of fat kids.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mum.
“Why don’t you go, then, if you think it’ll be so much fun? I’ll stay here and look after Max.”
“It’ll be good for you. You make some new friends,” said Mum.
“I don’t need any new friends, thank you very much. Why do you have to keep trying to organise my life?”
“And it won’t just be a load of fat kids, Keith. It’s not that sort of camp.”
“Well, what sort of camp is it then? As if I’m interested.”
“Taylor Browne is going, and he’s not fat.”
“Yeah, but he’s weird,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be friends with a nerd like him!”
“Jonathan Hewitt has his name down, too. His mum told me.”
“That finishes it!” I said. “He hates me.”
“His mum is a very nice person,” said Mum. “She’s in the tennis club with me.”
“She might be nice, but he’s a bigheaded snob.”
“I’ve put your name down anyway and your dad has paid.”
“Mum! What did you telł Dad for?” I cried. “You know that he’ll make me go. That’s not fair!” I stomped out of the room and slammed the kitchen door as hard as I could.
Maybe if I rang Dad and explained the situation to him, he would understand. I could pay him the money back from my pocket money.
Or maybe not…
I switched on my computer. Ralph was already on – as usual.
‘Bad news, Mate’, I typed.
‘????’ typed Ralph.
‘I’m off next week. To some stupid camp.’
‘What about our new game?’
‘Sorry- no computers allowed.’
‘Just don’t go. They can’t make you.’
‘Dad can. You don’t know him.’
‘That’s stupid,’ said Ralph.
‘I know,’ I typed. ‘Believe me, I know.’
“What’s that?” I said at breakfast, watching Mum smile as she opened an interesting-looking envelope.
“Nothing,” she said, quickly sliding the envelope into her pocket. “Shh!” she said, putting her finger to her lips and nodding towards Max. “I’ll tell you later,” she mouthed.
I rolled my eyes. I’d forgotten that I wasn’t really speaking to Mum after the ‘camp’ thing.
We both watched Max as he finished his last spoonful of cereal and slid off his chair.
“Give your face a rub when you’re doing your teeth, Max,” said Mum. “You’ve got chocolate spread all round your mouth.”
“Tell me now,” I said, when Max had closed the door.
“It’s only tickets for a spa break,” said Mum. “You know how upset Max gets when he hears I’m going away.”
“So that’s why you want rid of me to this camp thingy – so you can go on a blooming spa weekend!”
“Don’t be like that, Keith. I’ve been planning this for ages. I did a lot of research on your camp. The reviews for it are all great.”
“Yeah- well, it stinks. And who are you off to this spa break with anyway? I suppose the lovely Gary,” I said, making sucky- kissy noises.
“As a matter of fact, I’m going with your Auntie Beth and Daphne.”
Mum tucked the tickets away carefully, humming tunelessly to herself.
“It’s alright for you,” I said. “I have to go to some yucky camp, and leave poor Ralph, just when we were getting started on designing the best game ever.”
“It’ll do you good to get away from that blooming computer for a day or two,” said Mum. “You’re up there for hours on end, every day!”
“That’s what I like doing, Mum!”
“Well, a bit of fresh air and exercise will do you a power of good,” said Mum.
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No, but, you’re not getting enough exercise – it’s not healthy to be stuck up in your room every day.”
“That’s my business,” I said, gathering my school stuff together and chucking it into my bag.
Mum reached for her handbag and the car keys.
“Max! Hurry up – we’ll be late!” called Mum. “Keith! Your teeth!”
But I had already slammed to back door.
“What’s wrong, Keef,” said Max, looking up at me with concern as I clicked his seatbelt into place.
“Nothing!” I snapped. “Just mind your own business!”
“Now, now, Keith. That’s not fair! Don’t be nasty to your little brother,” said Mum.
I glared out of the window.
It began to rain.
In a casual pace, Walk through burning streets, buildings that were turn to rubble, and vehicles that became scrap. The heat didn’t bothered her as it matched the burning rage within her broken heart. Her cold yellow eye scoured with destroyed city. “These self entitled people had it coming. Looking down on us.” she said as she flicked wolf tail and ears. Others in her race would sometimes hide these features, but she showed them with pride. Much like her solder uniform. A bit revealing in some places, but she wears it for her fallen siblings in arms. She not afraid to who these humans who or what she is. She pulls out a necklace from her pocket, and moved some of her pink coloured bangs out of her eyes. To get a good look at it “I promised you, revenge!”
Eli fields:33 year old Marketer at Web design firm in Atlanta,Ga who happens to be African American clean shave and short black hair Wear business casual live with wife and one son.
have good communication skill , hard working, strategist and kind.
Hello Kai,
Thank you for introducing us to Eli. I can tell something about his life by him being clean shaven and that he has short hair. Perhaps he is conservative.
How would you show me that he is hard working or kind? What would he do to be kind?
I am curious to know more about Eli.
xo
Pamela
What a great article. Exactly what I needed. Thank you, Pamela. You are such a blessing to us.
I’m gonna share it.
Hello Gabriela Diaconu Martin,
Thank you for your kind words. You have made my day brighter. When you get a chance please share some of your writing here. I would love to meet one of the characters you create.
xo
Pamela
Mark was fit to be tied, he was seeing red. In a moment he was about to blow a fuse. He was so peeved off he was shaking like a leaf. People always told him he had a bad temper. Right now he didn’t care he was so hot under the collar, you could see steam coming out his shirt. 10 years with this company and they decided to lay him off. All the business he had brought them. Mark was livid, there was no talking him down. He was going through the roof. He was cussing and fussing. Ranting and raving. They would pay for laying him off.