Show Me a Character in Less Than a Page (A.K.A Inviting Them to Coffee)

When I start writing, I think of characters in broad strokes: male, young, strong, kind. When I'm writing that character, I move in blocking sequences, like I'm planning a movie: walk here, put that down, turn around, look up, shrug. But how do you write a believable character? One who feels real, like they could pull the chair out next to you and plop down for a cup of tea by the fire?

Show me a character in less than a page. 500 words. Two sentence. One action. Because real people don't just walk, put down objects, turn, look up, shrug. Real people sniffle, not just when they're crying. They pick at bumps on their skin. When they're nervous, they feel like there's not enough room in their lungs to speak, so the stutter and rush over their words. My sister has this intense eye contact when she's really invested in our conversations. I can tell that she's distracted by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her lips relax out of that attentive pout when her attention wanders.

My mother sometimes steals things off my plate when I'm not looking. Most recently, a perfectly ripe, red, fragrant strawberry during lunch. Her eyes focused over my shoulder and she asked if that was a centipede on the wall next to me. I jumped, scanning the stucco, and when I turned back to ask her where she thought it was, and she was giggling, chomping on my strawberry. It took her a few minutes to stop laughing.

You see what I mean about real people? You characters should live and breathe outside of your narrative. They prank each other, tease each other, lose focus on conversations that are long and tedious. They run out of breath when they're nervous, run their fingers over the hardwood table in a certain way, worry at night that they've left the door unlocked.

Characters become most real for me when I loose the willowy grasp of characters from the first draft and flesh them out on the second go. Take the character I described above: male, young, strong, kind. Through writing, he became something more defined: a man, but is not scared of being a caregiver in his family. Young, but terrified of growing older. Strong, but sometimes, at night, when he stares up at his ceiling, he's scared of the empty space out of the corner of his eye, the space between the door and the bed. He's kind, but also a trickster. None of this things are conflicting, they're what make your characters feel like a real person. Or, you know, super-advanced demon-hunter cyborg.

Character creation is throwing the first shirt you can find on a body so there's a place in the story for them. On the second pass, take the time to tailor the shirt so it's a perfect fit. Here's my advice. If your character doesn't quite fit into your story yet, take them out for a cup of coffee. Literally. If you can, go out and buy a cup of coffee. If you're still in quarantine or practicing social distancing, brew a cup of coffee. Make two, set them out on the table, and sit down. Don't worry about feeling embarrassed, this is homework. Take a sip of coffee, two if you're nervous.

How does your character walk into a room? Not everyone needs to strut, some people slink. Some people just walk into the room, but some bump into the door frame.

How does your character greet you? This is your experience: do they know you? Are you meeting for the first time? Is your character a hugger? Awkward handshaker? Crisp high-fiver?

What do you talk about when they've settled into their chair? The weather, maybe, or a funny encounter they had on the way over, something about a duck and a traffic cone. Maybe they're all to business. "Ask your questions," as they take a sip of black coffee.

How do they sit? Do they slouch, throw an arm over the back of the chair? I always fold my left foot under my right thigh if I can't sit crisscrossed on a seat. Are they comfortable, or sitting as lightly as they can on the upholstery?

What questions will they answer? More interesting to me, what questions won't they answer? You know how far they'll go, because you're testing them in your writing, pushing them to the edge of their strength. But what won't they tell you, author of their lives, or stranger they're meeting for coffee?

When you're cup is empty, wash the mugs. If you want to feel like they were there, drink their coffee, too. Or leave it full. Whatever feels right. If this sounds like a ritual, you're on track.

Once you've seen your guest to the door, sit at your computer, your desk, your typewriter, with the taste of coffee on your lips, and write me a page about them. Write about your coffee date. Don't laundry-list me, either. I want to know that you saw yourself in the reflection of their eyes. I want to know the way their breath warmed as they sipped the coffee. I want to hear about the thunderclap guffaws whenever you made an awkward pun. Less than a page. Give them flesh to their bones, bring them to life, a tiny microcosm of everything that makes people people. An intense, brief introduction into the smallest, most important details of making your characters human (or beast, or vampire, or advanced sci-fi race, or 1600's Spanish gentleman...)

And when you're done, and your assignment is below... invite them to dinner.

x Bea