Let me tell you a secret: Universal characters are boring. Everyday characters are dull. Trying to create universal characters doesn’t work.
Rather, the opposite: the more unique you make your characters and their surroundings, the more universal your story becomes. Janet Burroway calls this the universal paradox.
So how do you make your characters more unique and less generic?
We give names to most everything around us: our pets, our kids, our cars, the products we use, the food we eat (it’s not ‘frozen dairy-like substance’, but Frosty), the games we play. And, as writers, we name our characters, too. In fact, next to the physical characteristics we try to describe, the names of our heroes, villains, band leaders, and shopkeepers are about the most important tool we have for identifying and tracking who is doing what. Good names help both writers and readers move through a story smoothly; bad names put us in a stagecoach on a washed out dirt road.
JK Rowling’s journey with Harry Potter began, apparently, when Harry walked, fully formed onto her London bound train. She knew immediately she had been given a brilliant idea for a book. However, it still took her five years to brainstorm and write the rest. Which goes to show that while the hero might be the central character of the book, if you only have him or her, you don’t have much.
Pop quiz: what is one character archetype that appears in almost every Shakespeare play AND Disney movie?
I’ll give you a hint by listing some characters: Bottom, Puck, the Iguana in Tangled, Dori in Finding Nemo, the Clown in All’s Well That Ends Well, the Carpet in Aladdin. Got it yet?
Second hint: it’s not a Disney princess.
Orson Scott Card says action is the strongest form of characterization. We form opinions of people based on what they do. If Fred shoots someone, we’re going to think Fred is violent and may have issues controlling his anger. A character is as a character does.
This made me wonder, if action is the strongest form of characterization, then what’s the weakest?
Last night, I stayed up way too late finishing Ben Marcus’ short story, “What Have You Done,” in the New Yorker. Short stories like this one are studies in brevity. You have a lot to do in just a few pages.
And the first thing that gets cut is usually backstory.
