Ventriloquy and Belief

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I finished a book the other day.  (Surprise!)  The Daughter of Time was one of those books that crept up on my consciousness for several months before I got around to actually buying it, and from buying it to reading it.  I don't think I had heard about it before this year, but I understand it is a pretty popular and famous work: a landmark book in the mystery genre, in fact. It is, I think, either the last or the second-to-last book in her Inspector Alan Grant series, the most celebrated, and takes place entirely within the walls of a hospital room.  (Which, by the by, gets quite old.)

The main character is a Scotland Yard Inspector, laid up for several weeks after an injury incurred on the job.  To keep him engaged while he's lying on his back staring at the ceiling, a friend brings him a collection of portraits from historical cold cases - everyone from Mary, Queen of Scots to Louis XVII, the boy-king.  Only one of them, however, catches Grant's eye: a painting of Richard III.  Intrigued by the story of how the wicked uncle murdered his innocent nephews, Grant begins to conduct a police investigation from his hospital bed.  An acquaintance assists by conducting all the research, and the story progresses methodically through back-and-forth conversation between the two men.

Unsurprisingly, this also gets old.  It would be bound to get old in any story that takes place within the same four walls with - let me think - one main character and only about five other people who regularly drift through to talk.  But I realized not far into the book that part of the oldness had to do less with those factors and more with the story not actually being a story.  It is a vindication of Richard III, plain and very simple.  Now, I happen to take an interest in Richard and could follow Tey's arguments with relative equanimity; but even agreeing, I was extraordinarily peeved by the authoress' tactic.  Because it becomes apparent as soon as Richard III's portrait shows up that what you, reader, are getting is Tey's opinion en toto, as articulated by Character 1 and Character 2 with occasional prompting from Random Other Peoples.  It isn't a novel, it's just, well, historical preachiness.

The Daughter of Time is an extreme case, and I would go so far as to wager that Tey intended for it to be.  The trouble, however - the trouble of an invasive author, if I could put it that way - is one that crops up and should crop up before every writer.  We've all heard books described as "too preachy."  It's usually applied to Christian fiction, and it is all too easy to stick our noses in the air and determine that people only say that because there is no longer a belief in objective truth.  Which is very probably the case, but does nothing to alleviate the issue as far as good writing is concerned.

We all have, or ought to have, core beliefs.  If we think we don't, it is only that we don't know what those core beliefs are; and at that point we had either better not write, or better keep our writing private, for the world doesn't need anymore hem-hah-ing and prevaricating.  So I'll start with the statement that we all have beliefs, and that on some level, we desire our writing to reflect that.  We hardly want readers thinking we condone abortion, or adultery, or marriage between believers and unbelievers, when we think just the opposite.  And oftentimes we not only don't want readers getting the wrong impression, but we also have an overdeveloped desire for them to get the right one.  As in, I-must-cram-the-Gospel-Jesus-and-the-Bible-in-if-I-want-to-honor-God-SOHELPME.

It is not a wholly unreasonable wish, and I am not here to tell writers exactly what balance to strike.  But if we desire to write a good story (which, I believe, is just as God-honoring and perhaps even more so than working in the Gospel inappropriately), we must be more attune to the characters themselves and not so quick to override their individual personalities.  We must let them be who they are.  Sayers mentioned this several times in regard to her famous character Lord Peter Wimsey, whom her Christian readers badgered her to "save" - and she ignored them, because it was not part of the character.  In a lesser sense, this is also true whenever a character of ours begins talking, especially about anything theological or philosophical.  Obviously we don't want to be seen as wrong ourselves, or propagate wrong-thinking, so we are more likely to switch into the mode of writing exactly what we believe to be truth in as clear a way as possible.  We do a little ventriloquy act through our characters, and an astute reader can tell.

Too often we think that in our writing we've got to try to evangelize not just the characters, but the readers - even though it is biblically clear that God ordained that work to be done through His Word preached, not through fiction.  Our business is to craft a good story, to let the characters think and say what they would think and say "if free-moving and placed within the literary field."  If that means that they think and say something wrong, well, then they shall.  It is my opinion that our core beliefs will show through the story in some manner; it just shouldn't be through ventriloquy.

“A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.”

g. k. chesterton

Flawed at Heart

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Back in December, after I wrote a post on strawmen in literature and followed it up with a list of just a few significantly flawed literary heroes, someone asked if I could do the same for heroines.  Since then it has been on my list of Things to Write About, but I find it is not so easy as I thought it would be. Perhaps it is because I prefer writing and reading from the hero's perspective, and find when I look on my shelves that most books have male protagonists.  It may also be because most of those books are classics, and classics tend to have sweet, charming, innocent heroines.  However, it really wouldn't do to put off this post any longer, so I will make do with what I can dig up.

Thus, Joy, here is the best response I can muster.

anne of green gables

We can hardly start talking about flawed heroines without running headlong into this red-haired girl, who broke a slate over a boy's head for calling her 'carrots.'  Anne Shirley is nothing if not flawed.  Her imagination is her most memorable feature, and while it brings charm and life to those around her, it is most certainly a double-sided blade.  She has a temper to match the color of her hair; which of us does not remember her flying in Mrs. Lynde's face and calling her a sour old gossip?  She could talk both hind legs off the proverbial mule (who is always getting, in my opinion, the short end of the stick).  Less prominent, but perhaps more basic, are her struggles with pride and her propensity to hold grudges for ridiculously long periods of time.

pride & prejudice

We brought up Mr. Darcy's flaws last time, so it would hardly be fair to leave Elizabeth Bennet from the picture this time.  She primarily represents the second half of Jane Austen's memorable title, for she judges upon appearance and is adamant concerning her own hasty opinions.  (This is a trait shared by another well-loved heroine, Margaret Hale of North & South - understandably, perhaps, since Mr. Darcy and Mr. Thornton also share significant flaws.)  Elizabeth has a sharp tongue, as well, a fault many of us - myself included! - can easily relate to.  These flaws, like Anne's, are some of the most fundamental aspects of her overall literary character.

the scarlet pimpernel

Another heroine this list could not do without.  Lady Blakeney, wife of the foppish Sir Percy, appears at first blush to be even more flawed than either Elisabeth Bennet or Anne Shirley.  Though a commoner during the Reign of Terror, she is quite as proud as any aristocrat.  Her revenging herself upon a man who wronged her and her brother leads to the death of the man's entire family by the guillotine.  And, of course, when we meet her she is estranged from her husband, scornful (albeit deservedly) of his ways, and something of a flirt.  When pressed between a moral Scylla and Charybdis, Marguerite is also willing to sacrifice her conscience to save her brother's life.  The tension of The Scarlet Pimpernel pretty much revolves around Marguerite's moral flaws.

the queen's thief

Again, Eugenides, the Thief of Megan Whalen Turner's The Queen's Thief series, meets his match in the character of the Queen of Attolia.  The Queen has attained her position as most monarchs of her kingdom have in years past: through brutality.  She is willing to kill - and more particularly, to murder - to attain the safety and prestige of Attolia.  Rigidly just, but almost never merciful, she will extract her pound of flesh from anyone who crosses her.  Indeed, the Queen has few good traits at all.  Turner only manages to procure the reader's sympathy by revealing the moral struggle that still goes on inside the Queen, and by showing how other, better-loved characters feel about her.

daddy-long-legs

Judy Abbott, the heroine of Jean Webster's Daddy-Long-Legs, is not such an obviously flawed character as the above-mentioned protagonists; but like any good character, the defects are there.  In escaping the rigidity of the orphanage in which she was raised, Judy naturally exercises her newfound freedom and pursues her own way in all things.  She is frequently obstinate, sometimes rude, and quite willing to flout the little authority that "Daddy-Long-Legs" attempts to employ.  Quite feminist and strong-willed, she can actually be rather irritating.

the gammage cup

This character, Muggles, is even less clearly flawed.  In general, she is quite the stand-up gal, quiet, patient, the sort of character who minds her own business and lets others mind theirs.  However, this personality lends itself to other kinds of flaws.  Muggles can be too meek, too submissive, and more willing to be walked on than to risk defending herself - aspects of her personality that only serve to make her more uniquely amazing as a heroine.  There are no fireworks about Muggles, as there are with Elizabeth Bennet or Marguerite Blakeny.  She is a simple, normal person with simple, normal flaws.  She aptly illustrates the truth that a character need not have prominent flaws in order for the reader to see his or her growth; the struggles may be much smaller than a hot temper or murderous grudges.  The flaw need only be real, and the author need only bring it to light.

Flawed to the Bone

pinterest: wordcrafter

In a comment on my last post, on sappy and sentimental straw men, Writer4Christ asked if I could pull together a list of books with characters who have "good flaws."  That turn of phrase makes me laugh a little, but at any rate, I thought this would be an enjoyable exercise.

A caveat (of which I have many) before I begin: this is a list of books I've read where the protagonists have excellently glaring flaws.  However, those flaws go hand in hand with the characters themselves; they cannot be divorced from one another.  And just as we ought not try to put asunder what the author has joined together, as authors we should not try joining together what should stay asunder!  We can't throw darts at a dartboard of character flaws in order to choose which ones our protagonist should have.  These grow out of the person himself, and develop with him; they must be intrinsically a part of him.

There's my caveat.  Now we can move on to fun stuff.

north and south

In talking of flawed characters, my mind flew immediately to Mr. Thornton of Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South.  Not surprising, since he is one of my favorite characters ever.  But anyhow, those of you who have either seen the film or read the novel will understand immediately how he represents my point.  His flaws are obvious: pride, a sharp tongue and quick temper, and perhaps overmuch ambition.  They reveal themselves in ways that hurt a number of people, especially the workers in his cotton mill, for they make him nigh oblivious to their suffering.  He is no saint, and his flaws are no mere trifles; they have keen effects on those around him.

With flaws like those, he could easily become odious to the reader.  Gaskell pulled it off, however, by balancing these elements of his personality with other, equally critical ones.  He is a hard worker, glad to break his back in support of his family; he loves ardently; and he is not lacking in compassion, though he shows it harshly.  He is certainly a conflicted personality, but it all comes together to create someone who is very real and very much a hero in his own way.

sherlock holmes

Another obvious choice!  Who doesn't think of Holmes when flaws are mentioned?  There are few elements of his personality that don't constitute flaws.  He is arrogant, rude, selfish, oblivious, manipulative, verbally abusive (sometimes), and a drug-addict.  He's not exactly the spitting image of a hero.  And again, these things are not whitewashed - they're out in the open for all readers to see.  We really ought to hate him.  But most of us don't, and for some crazy reason he so endeared himself to readers that there were riots and protests when Conan Doyle attempted to kill him off.  For he is also brilliant, witty, at times kindhearted, and even occasionally just plain wrong.

the chronicles of narnia

Of the Pevensie children, Edmund and Lucy are by far the most thoroughly developed and the best-loved.  Edmund is a very flawed personality: he went and betrayed his siblings, after all, and was just an all-around brat who needed a good swat on the rear end.  But we love his redemption, and even the natural roughness of his personality toward a character like Eustace Clarence Scrubb is attractive.  (Because Eustace "almost deserved it.")  Lucy is not as obviously flawed, but she still has her weaknesses - her jealousy of Susan, for instance, which pops up in The Voyage of the 'Dawn Treader.'  

a tale of two cities

Um, Sydney Carton.  Need I really say any more?  Even more than Thornton, even more than Holmes, Carton represents an anti-hero.  He's a drunkard and a ne'er-do-well, just the sort of Dickens character you are meant to loathe.  But instead you pity him for being, it would appear, incapable of change - for being chained to his vices - for his unrequited love.  And then you're blown away by the ending, sob over him, and love him for his nobility.  End of story.

the count of monte cristo

Here you have a main character bent on revenge, obsessed with the idea of being sent by God to bring evildoers to justice, ruining people's lives left and right.  He has so many flaws, there are very few bits of gem left in the whole lump.  If you dig around a bit, though, you find that he is capable of some form of compassion toward those he considers innocent (does that even count?), and of immense generosity - no stinginess there!  I am actually hard-pressed to think of anything else.  Please call back at a later date.

the thief

The first flaw in the hero of Megan Whalen Turner's series is self-evident: he's a bit light-fingered.  He also lies and swears, so you could call him light-tongued as well.  He is horrendously proud, often sullen, frequently bitter toward both the gods and the people around him.  Actually, he's very flawed indeed and makes the reader want to hit him upside the head.  He's also in love, and it's unrequited - both things that tend to make the reader soft-hearted.  In addition, he is incredibly loyal and at once brave and oddly fearful.  He is a well-blended mishmash of traits, and one of my favorite things about The Thief and The Queen of Attolia. 

howl's moving castle

I almost forgot this gem, and that would be a heinous crime.  How can you leave Wizard Howl out of a mix like this?   He is talented, but on the other hand, he's a coward and what another character calls a "slitherer-outer": he won't face any danger if he can help it.  He's also quite heartless and has a habit of making girls fall in love with him, then leaving them in tears.  But that's not his fault, now is it?  And his wit (ever a popular trait), his humor, and his character development make him loveable despite these things.

For amusement's sake, I'll do a run-through of the most glaring flaws in all these characters.  Pride; excessive ambition; arrogance; rudeness; selfishness; drug-addiction (!); manipulation; betrayal; jealousy; drunkenness; idleness; hypocrisy; hatred; thievery; lying; bitterness; swearing; cowardice; and heartlessness.  Not the marks of heroes, we would think, and yet borne by heroes.  They are the marks, or some of the marks, of fallen men and women - and that includes those who are saved and being saved, but who are not yet "confirmed in righteousness."  There are still flaws that go down to the bone.

The Stereotyped Female

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"So God created man in His own image; in the image of God 
He created him; male and female 
He created them."

- genesis 1:27 

The other day when I was over at Jenny's house, I idly picked up a novel about Mary, Queen of Scots that neither of us had read and started in on it.  The writing was so-so; but the subject was the murder of Lord Darnley, and historic "cold cases" are, to me, fascinating things to study.  I was enjoying myself, until the author introduced the main female character (not Mary) and, I suppose, the love interest.  And then I started to groan.

The woman was the archetypical kick-rear-end character, constantly overawing the men with her fearsome wit and amazing skills.  She was, apparently, around to protect the main male character from his own naivete, but when I tried to look beyond her "coquettish smile," she seemed quite brainless.  ...And we'll not even go into how historically inaccurate such a character is for the 16th Century.

The character started me chugging on a long train of thought regarding the sexes in modern literature and the amount of stereotypes that crop up.  Judging more from reviews than from contemporary novels themselves, since I read few of them, it would appear that there are two ways to write a female character: either make her irritatingly "awesome" and capable of wiping out the entire male population with her pinky finger; or make her inept, the sort who sulks 80% of the novel and cries the other 20% and whom the hero must rescue at every turn.  I've seen a host of reviews that say of the heroine, "She started out kind of wimpy, but about seventy pages in she got her act together and kicked the villain's rear."  So apparently a lot of authors manage to cram both stereotypes into a single book - even into a single character!

The author of the novel on Mary, Queen of Scots is a man, and as I thought, it occurred to me that a man writing a female character is in a much tougher situation than a woman writing a male character.  Feminism has taken such a tight hold on our society: frankly, even if we're not "feminists," I think we must admit that we're more influenced by the movement than we would like to believe.  Women can be very jealous of their self-image, and there's the underlying belief that a woman can do anything, be anything, just as well as a man.  For men, this has to present a difficulty when they try to write a woman - because if they err toward the stereotype of a woman being helpless, they'll be labelled misogynistic, whereas if they err toward the stereotype of a woman in steel-toed boots, they'll be more leniently called "ignorant."  Women get off with being called "ignorant" no matter how they abuse a man's image, it seems.

And yet women are by no means innocent when it comes to stereotypes, female (painfully ironic) as well as male.  For in order to make men and women the same - which is really what feminism is attempting to do, and goes much beyond equality of the sexes - authors must either make women out of their men, or men out of their women.  Why is it that so many authors can't seem to avoid turning their characters into such caricatures?  Might it actually be because a great many of the underlying beliefs in our day and age are patently false?  That women and men are not the same, emotionally, mentally, or physically, and that maybe maybe women can't do everything just as well men can?

Saying such a thing tends to break a great many toes, but I think it's reasonable to look around and realize that most of the women we meet are neither spineless sponges nor steel-booted superheroes.  (We'll leave Black Widow out of the picture for now.)  They're somewhere in between, perhaps nearer one end of the spectrum than the other.  And it doesn't denigrate who a woman fundamentally is to be there.  The only reason we think it does is that we've got our notions of equality and capability and worth all mixed up and snarled.

I'm not saying there is no place for strong female characters, nor even that there is no place for Black Widow heroines.  But these characters have to be real, and not caricatures.  They've got to have foibles and weaknesses, and times when they just can't handle all the lemons life is throwing at them.  It is unrealistic that a character should be able to take care of herself a hundred percent of the time, or that she is never a failure at anything, or that she never has need of a man's help.   It's worse than unrealistic; it isn't real.  And no matter how many awesome fight scenes there are in which the heroine kills forty men at a time, and no matter how many times she tells the hero, "You can't save me; I've got to save myself," readers can spot the flatness of her character.  For even with all the effects of feminism, we still have some sense of what is real - and this isn't it.

what traits do you appreciate in a female character?

The Art and Craft of Villainy

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Once upon a time, my family watched Midsomer Murders.  Looking back on it, I can hardly figure out why, but for some reason we liked the series - until Troy left and they brought in a new right-hand-man.  After that, we stopped watching and the series has, for the most part, faded from my thoughts.

Not entirely, though.  Villains seem to be the characters of the day - or month - and when Georgie and Sky released their Villain edition of Beautiful people in May, my mind soon went to a line from one of the Midsomer episodes.  I can no longer remember the exact quote, and I've no intention of trawling through fifteen seasons' worth of episodes to find it; but in the main, the detective was asking another character if he knew about the trinity of murder.  That is,

motive

opportunity

means

Three things that seem to me fitting questions to ask any villain, murderer or not.  After all, there is an art to creating a memorable villain, as much as there is an art to creating a (hopefully still more memorable) hero; greatly as a billowing black cape may enhance the awfulness of any antagonist, it is, alas, not the deciding factor of villainy.  So what about this trinity?

motive

Much is written about backstory - the primary factor in forming any character's motive, including that of the villain.  He must have some reason for doing what he does, or he will only come across as arbitrary and irritating.  Writers are forced to take into account that, depraved though human nature is, it is still considered unnatural to commit certain crimes, including murder; one usually doesn't simply wake up one morning and decide to take a jaunt before breakfast to kill a handful of people.  An impetus is needed.  What is that happened, or is happening, in the villain's life that set him on this particular path?

That said, I'll add that it isn't necessary for the villain's backstory to overwhelm the story, or even to be worth sympathizing with.  I never sympathized with Wickham, or Magua, and I've only ever remotely sympathized with one of my own villains.  Some people are just plain wicked, and it takes a great deal of effort to summon up any charitable feelings toward them - especially if they're on a page.  But you know, even psychopaths use a form of reasoning, and it ought to be lightly threaded into the story.

Another thing to consider in the search for motive is that the external impetus is not enough.  Two people will react to an event in two different ways.  One character may suffer poverty and come out on the other side with more charity and compassion; another may become Ebeneezer Scrooge.  The mental configuration of the villain is even more important than the outside events one may lob at him, for abuse and rejection and poverty and starvation and the whole shebang will only warp a character as much as he allows himself to be warped.

opportunity

The villain has to spend most of the story with opportunity, and greater opportunity than the protagonist.  The story will always be a give-and-take between the two characters, a battle in which sometimes one side and sometimes the other will come out the victor.  But for the most part it should be the villain who keeps the upper hand, for otherwise he isn't much of a villain at all.  The greater the villain's success, the greater the tension.  Thus, he must be in a suitable position for whatever it is he is attempting to do - or he must have good connections. Good connections are always to be coveted.  (Although one must take into account that if one wants a thing done properly, one has to do it oneself.  Never trust matters to the hired help.  Important advice for those who are considering ruling the world.)

means

Here there is a great deal of room in which to play.  The usual fallback means for villains to get what they want tends to be murder, but as mentioned above, that is hardly what one would call a "natural" thing to do.  The character has to be pushed very far, and have a certain makeup, to resort to that.  So before pinning the murder on him, the writer has to stop and consider whether he is in fact the sort of person to bring about his own ends by taking another person's life.  

If not, there are other means, just as wicked, some more insidious, that don't require any physical blood being spilled.  Manipulation is a good example and can take any number of forms, including blackmail; bullying also works, especially for characters who are rather childish.  For stories set in fantastical worlds, sorcery presents a whole array of possibilities.  And in any genre, there will be those villains who prefer to work entirely behind the scenes, pulling the strings so that others do the work for them.  In this instance, however, it is important to know why the puppets agreed to being on the strings in the first place...

...and then you go full circle and are back to "motive" again.

A Different Point of View

Here I am, returning at last to the questions on You Haven't Got an Appointment! The next one I was going to answer is Yaasha Moriah's first:

As a female, how do you craft your male characters in a way that is true to the male perspective? How do you know if you have their viewpoints right and are not carrying feminine elements into their characters?

Yet another question that I am very excited to answer - you gals have done a grand job coming up with applications for the Circumlocution Office. Yaasha's is particularly applicable, as the protagonists of my last novel and my current one have been men; and in The White Sail's Shaking I have to write from Tip's perspective in some scenes and Marta's perspective in others. And it can be awfully hard.

So, how do I write from a male perspective. First off, I have to say that I find it easier than writing from a female perspective. That may seem odd, and frankly I haven't quite figured it out myself. The best way I can explain it is that men are much more concrete, logical, A-B-C thinkers and so their point-of-view is easier to demonstrate, whereas women tend to be more visceral and (let's face it) illogical. Balancing a woman's emotions with her thought processes is a much more delicate business than threading a man's feelings through his actions, at least for me. Because I do less in the way of character sketches and character "crafting" than some writers, I have difficulty explaining the ins and outs of how I manage a man's perspective, but here is what I have to offer.

Observe. As a female writer, observe the men in your life - brothers, fathers, husbands - and how they interact with the world. Also, observe the male characters in good, solid literature. An excellent example, albeit somewhat hackneyed, is Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice fame: he is a strong, silent type, but he is also shy and uncertain when it comes to his relationship with Elizabeth Bennet. Men do have emotions. In some ways, the very fact that those emotions tend to be steadier than a woman's make them more powerful; if you've ever seen a grown man cry, you know what I mean. Characteristics of men and women are not cut and dry; both are made in the Image of God, and they share elements.

Just write. Write your character as he is, and then sit back and analyze it. Critiquing him before you even write two scenes with him in them will probably not help; writing a character, I find, is the best way to work out their kinks and quirks. Also, the more male characters you write the better you are likely to become at discovering how to do it without either making their point of views too feminine or making them stereotypically masculine. Practice makes almost-but-not-really perfect, after all.

Get others to help. My dad is my best critic. Some people won't show others their novel until they are finished; I like to give my dad chapters as I write. He'll tell you (or maybe he wouldn't, but he tells me) that I tend to make my male characters too pacifistic in the first draft*, and he helps me iron that out in the second. Having him read my stories is extremely helpful and fun, and gives me, well, a different perspective. So if at all possible, I advise getting a father or brother or husband to critique your writing for you. It's extremely embarrassing at first, I will grant, but it pays off in the end and becomes enjoyable as you get used to it.

I don't know how well that answers your question, Yaasha, but I hope it does! I had fun scribbling up some semblance of a reply, and I hope to answer your other one soon.

*but just wait until you get to the duel, Dad.

art by Chris Rawlins, deviantART

I Think He Knows Which End to Hold

"So killing things mends a broken heart?"
"No, but it's good fun."

When I began to write "Take One Lump or Two?" I was simply going to do a basic getting-to-know-your-character post, but instead it turned into a more specific post on the subject of tea or coffee. There are many good posts out there about interviewing your character, so instead of doing that (since it doesn't work for me anyway), I wanted to do something more in depth and out of the ordinary. Something in the line of Jenny's recent clothing post. The other day I used the personalities of tea-drinkers versus coffee-drinkers; today the subject is

weaponry

A fun subject for those of us who enjoy a bit of violence in our stories. Indeed, there are very few stories that can get away with not having any violence in them at all; the world is hardly a peaceful place, after all. In many cases your main character will have to fight at some point or another (because a novel without bloodshed is incomplete), and when they do it is likely that they will have a weapon. Rather like clothing, weaponry is one of those things that authors tend to hand their characters on the spur of the moment, not giving much thought to it or seeing much need to do so. But, like clothing again, the kind of weapon that suits your character can say a great deal about him. Is he a bull-in-the-china-shop kind of person? Then it is doubtful that he will be comfortable with a rapier. Is she a well-bred city girl who grows queasy at the sight of blood? Then she will probably not rush into battle with a hatchet.

Before starting on the barroom brawl or the climactic battle, stop to consider what weapon your character would use if given the choice. Naturally he or she will not always be able to pick and may end up with a weapon with which they are uncomfortable, but knowing what their ideal choice would be will help you as a writer know how they fight with what they have.

bare hand clobbering

Tip Brighton is a bare-hand-clobbering type of character: hot-headed, plain, and with the ability to pack a punch. In general this would be the more savage kind of person, the sort who enjoys a good fight and gets into them frequently. On the other hand, even a generally laid-back individual, if bred in the backwoods of a nation or the outskirts of an empire, is likely to prefer the use of either his fists or some heavy weapon to something light like a bow. It also implies that, when it comes to appearance, the character is at least moderately well built; a very slight person is unlikely to make a good boxer. A character who loses his temper frequently will probably be passable in the use of his fists, unless of course he always travels with a knife or a dueling pistol.

two inches in the right place

What is the weapon of the stereotypical villain? The dagger, hidden in the boot and withdrawn at the most inconvenient moments. There is something sly and underhanded about a dagger, making it a good weapon for conniving females and deceptive men. If your character is a plotter, the kind who can spend hours sitting and thinking, the kind who rarely loses their temper but hates with a cold hatred, a knife would be a suitable weapon. This is also a good weapon of necessity, as it can be carried and hidden easily. For a dash of pizzazz, throwing knives are always good.

I don't want a knife, I want a bow and arrow!

The longbow is a graceful weapon, which is probably why Elves always seem to use them in fantasy novels. This is a good weapon for a woman who must take part in a fight but does not wish to get in the thick of things; it takes a cool mind, however, since the character's hands have to be steady for him or her to hit anything. A man who isn't heavily built enough to wield a broadsword or wear full armor might also use a bow and arrows. Though the bow seems to take no effort at all, however, keep in mind that it takes a strong arm to draw the string. The longbow isn't a weakling's or a child's weapon.

ready...aim...fire

The gun is a little like a modern-day bow, only a lot bloodier and less of a woman's weapon. All right, so the only similarity is that it allows the character to keep the opponent at arm's length at least, allowing them to stay fairly clean. A pistol is a good weapon for someone too slight for anything heavier, but still clear-headed and of a cool disposition. This would be Charlie Bent's choice; he does not have the build to fight with only his hands, and the pistol is a gentleman's weapon: sophisticated, pretentious, but deadly as well.

This list is not exhaustive, but it covers some of the more common weapons that characters might use. Again, keep in mind that they will not necessarily be able to get their preferred weapon and that this can be used to illustrate their characters; going back to Tip and Charlie again, Tip is forced at one point to fight a duel - something that is totally opposed to his nature - and Charlie gets into several brawls. Determine what the character would like to use, then decide whether or not to give them what they want.

Take One Lump or Two?

Day five of Lerowen's challenge was on the least favorite of your own characters, and I gave the award to Marta because of how difficult I find her to write. However, since she is a necessary part of the plot, I am forced to overcome that and make myself acquainted with her lest she become flat and annoying. Every character who is mildly important to the plot must be just that - a character, an individual person with a life that readers can tell stretches before and beyond the scope of the novel itself. Sometimes this develops of its own accord. Sometimes (to twist Jack London's quote) we must go after it with a stick.

tea or coffee?

Difficult characters plague just about every writer, and there are a dozen ways to beat or coax them into submission; they do not, however, all work universally, so this is trial-and-error. The very first thing to do if you wish to get to know the character is to ask them an important question as soon as they drop by to visit: "Tea or coffee?" My tongue is not wholly in my cheek; it's amazing what such a small and seemingly inconsequential choice can say about a character. Tea and coffee illustrate two ends of a personality spectrum as surely as do the terms "introvert" and "extrovert," and they turn up more often in real life. I frequently hear people lovingly discussing the merits of particular coffee grounds and crying out in horror at the idea of drinking decaffeinated coffee, while others shrug and say, "Coffee's all very well, but tea is such a homey thing. I must have my tea." An illustration that comes very easily to me would be the two main characters of Wordcrafter, who are opposites on this point as on so many others.

Justin: Justin is the embodiment of tea, really. He is withdrawn, shy, and generally sedate, finding comfort within himself rather than from the people around him. He's the sort of steady chap who will gladly sit by you through a rainy day and need nothing for himself, the sort who can comfort and encourage in any situation.

Ethan: Ethan's coffee. He tried this whole "tea" thing and thought it a very strange, watery concoction, but the smooth, bitter strength of coffee had him from the first. Ethan is more brilliant and assertive than Justin, confident and easy and perhaps a little proud. He is more striking, or, for lack of a better term, more flavorful. When you want someone to wake you up and dazzle you, you head for Ethan.

These are extremes, but they serve to make the point of the powerful indicator a choice between tea and coffee can be. So invite your character in, put him or her at the kitchen table, and ask the first question: "Tea or coffee?"

take one lump or two?

The kettle's whistling or the coffee is percolating, and you've brought out the sugar cubes and the cream. But there are half-a-dozen ways a person can take their tea or coffee, and depending on taste buds and personality, a character could take theirs black or with cream, with one lump of sugar or two (or three!), with honey mixed in or with a sprig of mint on top. Jenny's character Rhodri, for instance, takes his tea black and could not be induced to take it any other way. If forced to take tea my character Tip would likely also have it black, but he would prefer straight, strong, black-as-a-bat's-wing coffee. That's the way he is: plain and blunt, lacking any frills or tact. Charlie Bent would have tea with two sugar lumps...and, maybe, if you turned your back long enough (but watched him in the side of a tea pot), he would take another and eat it plain. And that's the way he is: smooth and easy, the perfect gentleman while you watch him, but with his own quirks that he can't quite resist when your back is to him.

How a person drinks his coffee or tea is as significant as which he drinks. It makes a world of difference whether he asks for tea or whether he chooses coffee, and then the cream and sugar provide some details for his personality. To say that Ethan is a coffee-person is not quite enough; does he take it black? No, he takes it with cream to make it go down easier. Justin likes his tea without milk so that it stays clear and amber, but he puts in just a little sugar after it has cooled so that he can watch the beads in the bottom of the cup. These are the little things, not necessarily important if you take them by themselves, but offering further glimpses into the personality of the character if you look hard enough.

Careful observation, my dear Watson, is everything.