Characters and Premise

by Stephen P. Byers

Until this point, for lack of a better term, I shall say I have been discussing mechanics. Now, I come to the heart and soul of creative writing—characters. As the author, I must see my story world through the senses and emotions of my characters. To explain my purpose, I will create an imaginary family history in the first person as if discussing my own ancestors. Despite being fictional, it could be representative of any family and serve as the basis for a number of novels. The analysis will lead to a story premise, a term I will define later.

My great-grandfather was a Kentucky blacksmith and a heavy drinker. One of his many children, my grandfather, who could barely read and write, became a blacksmith under his father's tutelage, but he detested his father's drinking. He left home and started a business making spring and axle assemblies for carriages. He married and produced a family of seven children—a girl, five boys, and a girl; the sixth child was my father. The axle business grew rapidly, and Grandfather became a wealthy man; a pillar in the community with an antebellum home on an extensive ranch. Motivated by his own lack of education, and by his fear of the effects of alcoholic indulgence as seen in his childhood through his father's behavior, he sent the children to boarding schools and universities in the East. Except for the oldest boy, and the youngest, a delicate child who remained home and died in her teens, each child became a successful professional. The older girl became a journalist and married a prominent newspaper publisher. One boy became a lawyer, two were doctors, and one an engineer who subsequently became a university professor. All of these children moved to various eastern cities and seldom communicated with one another, or with their father. The oldest boy's inclination was towards the arts. When he discovered theater, he abandoned his education in favor of a song-and- dance career where he was able to conceal his homosexual proclivities. Meanwhile, Grandfather's business drifted along until the coming of automobiles. By that time, he was too old to continue, and his children were gone, with the result he sold for a modest sum. The spring and axle business became a national corporation that made a fortune for the new owners because it was one of the few companies in the country that could convert to produce parts for the automotive industry.

For purposes of this exercise, the family history is complete. Now, I am ready to consider a story. My first step is to state the proposition on which I will base my tale. This proposition is a one-sentence statement called a premise . To do this, I must choose from the plentiful information available within the family history. Let's look at a few possibilities:

•  The homosexuality of the eldest son of a wealthy family is exposed to the chagrin of his relations.

•  A wealthy manufacturer suffers a lonely old age after sending his children to private schools and colleges to follow professional careers.

•  A wealthy manufacturer sacrifices his profitable business because he alienated his children by sending them away from home in their formative years.

I could continue developing more ideas each of which could be the basis for a full-length novel, or for parts of a family history if the background were true. Each of the children provides an avenue for a story:

•  The lawyer becomes a judge who succumbs to political influence.

•  The youngest child dies at home in her father's arms.

•  The rise and fall of the axle business.

A wealth of story material lies buried in the simple 311-word imaginary history.

Now, the question is how did I go about creating the “imaginary” family history? The answer: It is roughly based on my family background. I hasten to add before my relatives sue me, or shoot me, to the best of my knowledge there are no homosexuals in my family. But, that fact should not inhibit my imagination. My grandfather owned a spring and axle business in Gananoque, Ontario, which he sold to an automotive company around 1900. My father was an engineer; two uncles were doctors, one uncle was a judge; one uncle was an opera singer; and I believe, but I'm not sure, my aunt did indeed marry a newspaper publisher.

Having settled on a premise for my story, I must now people it with characters. Mrs. Packard faced the same problem in writing The Reluctant Pioneer . She had a box full of family letters and mementos, researched as many sources as she could find, and wrote the story of her grandparents, neither one of whom she ever knew. And she started at the age of seventy-seven: Please don't give me any excuses. Of course you can do it.

Having defined the premise of her story, Mrs. Packard followed one simple rule: She saw the characters' world though the characters' senses. I must add that Mrs. Packard did a creditable job of preserving the integrity of her characters. Here are some lines from the quotation starting on page 15:

•  Jane sees the icebergs (sight causing fear).

•  Jane remembers the waves crossing the Atlantic (fear as she looks at the lake waves).

•  In the climax of the passage, John cups her wet face and kisses her (love expressed in a simple way).

Mrs. Packard has the human senses and emotions at work. The mystery of writing is now exposed. Show the story through your character's senses (seeing, touching, hearing, tasting, and smelling) and their emotions (anger, desire, fear, love, etc., see Chapter Nineteen for reference book by Ann Hood).

I want to mention my rules for creating characters. You may give them any names and features you like. My general rules are:

•  The first time I introduce a character, I give him or her a name unless a reason exists to disguise the name, as in a mystery.

•  I keep names simple because multi-syllable names sometimes trip readers; Dunbar instead of Dalrymple.

•  I do not have characters with similar names; if I use Jack, I avoid Jacques.

•  When using a nickname, I make sure the reader understands the nickname and proper name refer to the same person; Jackson is sometimes called Jack.

•  When selecting foreign names, I keep them as simple as possible; Gatto is preferable to Giacopetti.

•  I do not overburden the reader with physical description. It is better for the characters to see each other rather than the author describing them. “John looked up at the tall stranger with the droopy mustache” is better than the author telling readers, “the stranger was tall with a droopy mustache.”

Introduction of characters and their appearance is the easy part. The hard part of writing is character behavior. I want my story people to be as real as I can possibly make them. I also need to recognize the problem that motivates them as in the earlier farce about Jack living two lives. Having set a character flaw, whether known to the reader or not, I must always respect the integrity of that character's problem. Think of Humphrey Bogart. He is the tough PI in trench coat, turned-up collar, and fedora shielding his eyes as he faces the crooks. In the love scene, he remains the same tough PI and does not melt into a simpering wimp. If he's tough with the guys, he's tough with the gals, the dogs, the birds, and everything else. His problem: He is egotistical, with a driving competitive personality that forces him, even against his own will, to be in charge of every problem he confronts. I cannot overemphasize the need to recognize that every human being has some flaw. None of us is perfect, and none of my story characters is either.

All characters of importance in my story will have a character flaw, which I, the author, define. That's not always easy. A character may come into my story partway through. I have not met him. I may be unsure of his exact role. As he develops, I keep striving to find what motivates this guy; that is, what's his particular problem or flaw, and how did he get it?

In Bent Coin , I created a lawyer named Hank Schmidt. He threaded his way through the story, but never gave me any satisfaction in the role. The guy got on my nerves. One day the doorbell in my mind rang, and there was Sergio Cellini. He was perfect for the part, but I couldn't identify his problem. About half way through the scene where Suzanne Haldimann visits Sergio for the first time, I realized his difficulty; he's a cripple, in a wheelchair—he has no legs, with the consequent psychological problem. This provided a poignant, dramatic scene at the end that never could have happened had I not identified his problem. Once I knew what it was, the writing flowed as if Cellini dictated the story, and I simply recorded it.

I mentioned earlier, and I repeat, character problems are different from character goals. In terms of goals, I identify what the main character wants, and my story shows how he goes about achieving it despite the hostile forces, or failing to achieve it if the hostile forces are too strong. In terms of problems, every character in my story is human and has a problem that motivates his actions. Consider a guy whose secret wish is to be admired, but he knows in his heart, but never admits, he doesn't have the qualities to achieve his dream; hence his attitude is negative, his behavior bitter and sarcastic. In other words, he has a flaw in his character that dictates his performance. All characters have them, and I must find them. If I don't identify them my characters may waffle. But, if I ordained a guy with a competitive drive, and he suddenly turns into a wimp, I have some chance of correcting if I know he is not behaving in character. I can scold him and put him in his proper place, or if he won't behave, kick him out and hire a new actor. I must be tough on my characters because they will run me ragged, and spoil my story, if I let them.

There is one more point I want to make about casting characters. A common practice for teachers or authors of books on writing is to refer to the force opposing the main character as the antagonist, which is singular. I prefer the plural sense, and use the term antagonistic forces. While there is only one main character in a story, there may be many opposing characters, and therefore I call them a force. In the Jack story earlier in this book, the combined force fighting Jack consists of Mabel and the boys back home. They have different motivations: Mabel because she is jilted; the boys because they resent and envy Jack's escape from his past, and his marrying money, if he succeeds. One of the characters in opposition may be more important in the story, which means having a greater impact on the outcome. Hence, instead of the terms protagonist and antagonist, I find main character, impact character, and antagonistic force better.

Before I leave this chapter, I want to show you the premise for my novels to help you grasp the idea. I like to think of the premise as the outer limit of the corral confining my characters. For what it's worth, here they are.

The Naked Jaybird : A young man becomes a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer despite his natural talent as an artist, and uncovers a plot of international intrigue.

Bent Coin : A woman, bereft of love finds comfort from a crippled, clairvoyant lawyer from the underworld, and learns the heart-breaking horror of his affliction.

Lost River Bridge : An eccentric native of the Ozark Mountains believes a Saint Christopher medallion belonging to his great-grandmother was stolen from her daughter's coffin in 1831, and is hidden somewhere in the community.

My next novel, One Day's Night : A teenage boy under extreme duress must choose between loyalty to his benefactor and revenge for his father's death.

A future book, Alone on a Pumpkin : An elderly man returns to his roots to find nostalgia, bitterness, and love.