Character
Inventing Fictional People
Characters are central to fiction. Primary. A character
come to life will be complex and forced into conflicts, the
essence of the story. They are born of one's own life, the
lives of others, the traits of many people - they become
living people who wear the masks of drama. There are
techniques in portraying a character, but a good writer
must become adept in using all of these techniques in an
effortless way in order to create memorable fictional
people.
"...be genuinely curious about the people populating
your fiction." - Josip Novakovich
Exercise #3: Describe someone's character
by body language only, avoiding the head or face.
(1 page)
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The chipset which had consumed me for
the past year was killer, and I wasn't about to play by
the rules of the net on this one. Like millions of other
kids, I'd posted and downloaded my share of schematics.
But this wasn't just another tweaked game controller.
I'll be rich and famous, or so I thought.
My first harsh lesson came from the
mind-numbing eight hour bus ride to Dallas, and the
interminable two hours on the Metro. I felt like I had
aged ten years, at least.
A groan of disappointment at the modest
minimall storefront of PASOCON.net sapped another ten
years out of me. But PASOCON was major alt, and my
certainty that it was the only site capable of doing my
chip designs (codenamed "Godzilla") justice had compelled
my determined journey. And so I crossed the intersection
to slowly approach the corner store, my backpack slung
over a shoulder.
From across the parking lot I could
hear the angry argument. Two people stood in front of a
table set up outside next to the entrance of the store.
It was definitely a one-way discussion. A tall well
groomed young guy stood straight with his head bent way
way down, like he was praying or concentrating real hard,
while an old man was right in his face in spastic fury.
The man was short, no taller than me, but fat. In tight
blue jeans, his skinny legs were widely spaced and firmly
planted to the asphalt by a pair of white cowboy boots.
His puntuated yelling was matched by wild, jerky motions
of his upper torso, frequently lunging forward at the
unfortunate young man as if to savagely bite his head.
With his stiffened arms extended out like in a
muscle man pose, I was certain that the old man would
throw a punch. With a bellowing breathless stream of
obscenities, he quickly turned his back, swept back his
wet dirty blond hair, and headed back
into the store. The kid was a frozen statue.
I let out my breath, undecided between
a "wow" or "whoa" at the scene I just saw. Or perhaps
the exhalation was preparation for the possibility that
this angry old man was the owner of PASOCON. Things may
not work out the way I practised for the past ten hours.
That's another lesson I learned.(JH, 10/14/99)
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