Authors: Daniel Middleton
Tags: #Language Arts & Disciplines, #Composition & Creative Writing, #Bisac Code 1: LAN005590, #Bisac Code 1: LAN005540, #Bisac Code 1: PER019000
The 7 Points of Write: An Essential Guide to Mastering the Art of Storytelling, Developing Strong Characters, and Setting Memorable Scenes (6 page)
M
INOR
C
HARACTERS WITH
M
AJOR
S
TORY
F
UNCTIONS
M
INOR
C
HARACTERS WITH
M
AJOR
S
TORY
F
UNCTIONS
W
HILE YOUR FULL CAST WILL
be composed mainly of minor characters, they should in no way be minuscule literary figures to the point that they are forgettable. Each of your minor characters should have an important story function, and no two minor characters should function in the same capacity. If we’re talking about military or police force, things of that nature, then they may have the same rank, but their story function should be unique—one might offer moral support to a main character while the other does the opposite.
That said, you should strike a balance when creating or fleshing out minor characters, as they shouldn’t be allowed to take over your story or steal attention from the main characters. What you want to do is flavor your story broth with interesting characters, which will enrich the story itself and give it range, as well as an eclectic feel. You can introduce characters from far-flung regions or exotic lands, even if the main setting is the backwoods of Ohio. Whatever the case, your potential story range is limitless given the abundance of characters you can create.
One way to make a minor character stick in the minds of your readers is to create an interesting story entrance. Introduce them in a unique way or build up interest by mentioning them in dialogue beforehand. But when they are introduced, they should have a certain level of importance that is derived from their unique story function. In other words, how will they advance your plot? If your main character is accused of murder, don’t just slide a run-of-the-mill defense attorney into the mix. Instead, have him be an antitype rather than an archetype. We remember characters that stand out by not towing the line, and we forget those who resemble every other bull in the herd.
I can recall a classic American Western titled
Shane
(1953) where Jack Palance, an actor who had trouble with horses, made a dramatic entrance as a villain by walking in with a horse rather than riding it. Because he led the horse on foot, this was seen as far more threatening than the planned gallop into town, which was dreadfully routine. Coming up with a unique introduction will not only cause your minor character to stand out but also help to shape and settle them into a unique personality.
M
AKE
Y
OUR
M
INORS
S
TAND
O
UT
Names are extremely important, and in fiction the more unique a name the more it draws attention to the character and helps them stand out in the mind of the reader. But no two names should be so close that they cause confusion or diminish their individual impact. And while you wouldn’t want your major characters to be too quirky or weird—unless that was your original intent (for example, Ignatius J. Reilly in the picaresque novel
A Confederacy of Dunces
)—your minor characters can be both. In fact, you might want them to be quirky, weird, and as unique as possible so long as they stand out and are remembered long after a reader closes the pages of your book.
You have to be careful not to overdo the names, however, as writers can easily get carried away with them. You have to come up with names that sound interesting, and if you can manage it, create names that will evoke a desired impression in the reader. Is your character menacing? Are they a precocious teenage girl? Is one of your minor characters a brainiac or a powerful wizard? Certain names can create instant impressions in the minds of readers, so choose them carefully.
Besides names, it is helpful to think of interesting or unique characteristics that will cause your minors to stand out; characteristics that might play a key role in your story as well. A character might be overweight, for instance, and their size might be used to intimidate an antagonist at some point. But the overweight issue might be played up in an interesting way that causes that characteristic to stand out even more. Perhaps the overweight character denies being overweight and considers him- or herself normal. He or she might never wear clothes that actually fit right. Or they might prefer to sit in chairs that are too small. There are many such scenarios you can come up with on your own that will fit in with your particular story. But whatever you do with your minor characters, make sure it isn’t the norm, and that goes for speech patterns, mannerisms, physical descriptions, and general characteristics that make and define them. The last thing you want are minor characters that get lost in the background and do absolutely nothing for your story. In that case, they are better off not being introduced in the first place. Below you will note the description of a beloved minor character named Fiero, taken from a scene in a book released by 711 Press titled
The Crisis Artifact
:
[Caesar’s] thoughts were interrupted by a heavyset Ecuadorian leaning against a stretch limo that was parked in front of the tenement. With his arms still folded in front of him and a head of long, stringy black hair shaking from side to side, almost in disbelief he spoke to Caesar in Spanish, saying,
“El diablo en la carne!”
“Nice to see you, too, Fiero,” Caesar replied.
Considering his six-foot-tall stature, ferocious eyes, and a well-deserved reputation as one of Galton’s attack dogs, Fiero seemed out of place as a chauffeur in the classy black suit he was wearing. Where his father-in-law found his ruffians remained a mystery to Caesar, though over the years, Fiero had proved himself to be both a faithful employee and effective bodyguard.
You’ll notice that the description of the character was laced within the story narrative itself and was offered with actions that showed us what he looked like rather than told us, which is what you want to do. He “shook” a stringy black head of hair, etc. To describe a character in great detail within two or three paragraphs—paragraphs that do nothing more than offer description—would only bombard the minds of your readers and offer them something to skip over. Instead, you want to lace clever character descriptions within scenes that actually advance the story. In the description above, we got a sense of the character’s history as well as his looks and comportment.
L
OOK
O
UTSIDE
Y
OURSELF FOR
C
HARACTER
T
YPES
As the title of this section suggests, you must look outside yourself for diverse character types. It’s well and fine to pour yourself into the main character, or even one or two minor characters, but to really diversify your cast you must draw on others to create new molds. A good way to do this is to look to people you’ve associated with, particularly those who have made a deep impression in your life. It could be an uncle or a co-worker, a boss or ex flame. But you’re only going to draw out the essence of that person and not recast them as a fictional character to the point of risking libel.
If you’re in good standing with a relative, let’s say, and they would be willing to provide fodder for your story or novel, perhaps you could record an interview that would yield interesting details you can work into your plot and characters. This is invaluable if you’re considering writing on a subject you know very little about. And the person doesn’t have to be close to you, they just have to be willing. A successful interview can lead to memorable, believable, and three-dimensional minor characters that can add an important dramatic function to your story.
Looking outside yourself means just that: you’ll have to observe life as it happens around you. If you’re sitting in a sidewalk restaurant, take notice of the people who pass you by. If you take advantage of public transportation, study your fellow passengers and look for interesting “tags,” which are unique identifying character marks: hair style, eye color, body type, facial features, headgear, etc. By looking outside yourself and observing the people around you, minor characters will start to take shape in your mind, and you’ll bring them to life with greater ease.
A
CTION AND
R
EACTION
A
CTION AND
R
EACTION
D
IALOGUE, IN SHORT, CAN BE
the best conduit for conveying many things, if used correctly. It can impart vital information to your readership via a clueless character that is a stand-in for your readers, who will learn things as the reader does. It can heighten conflict and draw readers into that conflict as it is happening, which is more effective than narrative blocks that tell that same conflict. And it can create forward momentum for your story, keeping it flowing constantly forward, which is what you want to do in most cases. Essentially, dialogue is the only tool for creating fluid interaction and communication between your characters, in effect bringing them to life as only dialogue can.
One thing to understand concerning dialogue in novels is that characters shouldn’t say something to one another just for the sake of saying it. When something is said, it should act as an action that requires a reaction. And action should precede reaction at all times, even in description that accompanies dialogue. If a character walks into a room that is already occupied, this will function as an action, to which people in the room will react, either by looking in his or her direction or reacting to a “Good morning, all.” It is important that you create action/reaction scenarios in your dialogue exchanges and keep the order straight. Note that characters should not react before an action, but after. So you wouldn’t write, “Baxter sat down. He felt tired,” as that would convey a reaction/action to the reader. Rather, “Baxter felt tired, so he sat down,” would be more appropriate, as Baxter is now reacting to the feeling or action of being tired. Dialogue should be treated in much the same way. One character acts, another reacts. And that should occur throughout all of your dialogue.
Say you have a scene where a boss arrives at the office, and his employees are already there, milling around. He can be an overbearing stuffed-shirt, but you don’t have to tell that to your readers through narrative description. Bring your character to life by having him show that via good dialogue. Here you would use action/reaction to create tension, story momentum, and character development, all in one tiny scene that relies mainly on dialogue. For an example of this kind of effective dialogue, see the following scene, taken from a Season One episode of our TV Book
Mafiosi
:
Once we loaded into the van, Tony Gallo explained the night’s business. “We’re pushin’ straight through to Milwaukee, boys. Fourteen hours with our eyes open.” That meant we would pull in around 2:00 a.m.
Paul rode shotgun while I perched on the edge of a wooden crate just behind them. As we drove off I asked Tony Gallo a question. “Why Milwaukee? Pretty long trip for a heist, no?”
(The dialogue here conveys important info to the reader in the form of a question. This is a reaction to the action from the first paragraph, where Tony Gallo explains the night’s business. But Vincenzo’s question, while a reaction to Tony Gallo’s statement, also doubles as an action, to which the character Tony Gallo must now react. This is how dialogue should flow. Note that we also get a sense of where the action is taking place in preceding scene descriptions.)
“I hear ya, kid. We woulda hit their PA warehouse, ’cept the Philly crew out there got dibs on it. Milwaukee’s wide open, though. Virgin territory. Carlo’s got real brains, you know? You two’ll go places ridin’ wid him.”
(Tony Gallo’s reaction here conveys yet more info to the reader, though it is spoken to our main character, Vincenzo, who is new to this world. It would make no sense for Tony Gallo to explain these things to a seasoned veteran, as that character would already know all this. Writers tend to make the mistake of imparting info to the reader through two characters that are already aware of the things being said. This is a mistake.)
“How long you been on his crew?” I asked.
(New action.)
“Now you’re gettin’ personal.”
(New reaction, and a somewhat unpleasant and unexpected one. We need the unexpected in dialogue. Things must be said that readers can’t anticipate. This keeps things fresh. And here, Tony Gallo’s personality is starting to shine through.)
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “What’s your name again?”
“Vincenzo,” I said.
“A piece of advice, Vin—don’t ask too much questions. This ain’t therapy. You’ll get yourself plugged doin’ that.”
(This piece of dialogue not only adds to Tony Gallo’s personality by showing us how he thinks but also colors the world we are navigating through as readers. It is a dangerous one, full of rules that could mean life or death.)
“I try to tell him,” Paul said.
“Try harder,” Tony Gallo said. He didn’t say anything else for the next few hours.
Note also that the dialogue tags are of the standard
said
,
asked
variety. You really don’t need to get fancy where this is concerned. The simpler the better. We don’t want to take attention away from what is being said by adding flourishes like “she admonished” or “he intoned.” Using “said” and “asked” will suit your purpose.
Looking at the preceding dialogue we can see that a great deal was conveyed, and all of it “showed” rather than “told.” We were right in the middle of the action as it unfolded. We know that this action took place inside a van, and it was around noon, judging from the time they would arrive in Milwaukee, where a supposed heist was scheduled. All dialogue must unfold within distinctive settings so readers can properly visualize everything as though they are there, taking part. We also know that these characters are traveling far outside of their territory due to local areas being claimed by others. All of this is told to us through dialogue, and not some long-winded exposition of events that are packaged in lines of narrative. This is how we create fluid momentum in stories and show constant action as the story develops. Long-winded narratives can bog down the telling of the story for the reader, effectively putting the brakes on the story movement. They’ll want to take a break to grab a snack or turn on a TV. Instead, you want your action to be ceaseless, one scene after the next. And interesting, engaging dialogue helps to achieve this. It is important to know the motivations of your characters, however. You have to know what they want, and these motivations should come across in speech via action/reaction exchanges like the one that precedes these paragraphs.
G
ET TO THE
P
OINT
Dialogue in fiction, unlike that of real life conversation, should not be a discombobulated mess. It should be focused and direct, and come to some sort of point. In everyday conversations we tend to ramble and strike off in various directions before we come to an actual point (if ever we do). Dialogue, on the other hand, needs to come to a point, and without the needless baggage of stutters, pauses, and meanderings associated with real conversations. If you take a real conversation, clean it up, pare it down to its bare essentials, give it focus, and have it come to a point of some kind in the end, you’d have a decent scene for a novel. But a real conversation in and of itself won’t do. Listening to how real people speak and interact with one another is important, however. Once you get a feel for how real people speak you can start to apply that to your own characters, giving them words with interesting phraseology that will help to form their individual personalities, as different characters must speak differently.
Dialogue in fiction has to feel authentic, as though real people are saying real things, but it can’t be as haphazard as the real thing. Your goal is something close to the real thing, something believable, but with a cleaner, more focused delivery. And dialogue should never take place between two characters without anything of substance being said. Each time two or more of your characters converse, new information should be imparted and the plot advanced.
R
ISES AND
F
ALLS
Dialogue, much like your overall plot, should come with what I call “rises and falls,” a term lifted from ballroom dancing. Just as one may lower his or her center of gravity with bends and sways, or raise it by pushing up on the balls of their feet, plot and dialogue should rise and fall where tension, drama, action, urgency, and other storytelling devices are concerned.
With plot and dialogue, things must escalate, become more tense or urgent as the story progresses. This is true whether we’re dealing with a pregnancy we learn of at the outset of a story, which evolves to an actual birth by the story’s end, or the threat of war that evolves into war itself. Tension, action, urgency, drama, you name it, will escalate as the story progresses. But you must also have rises and falls within individual scenes that deliver exchanges of dialogue. The dialogue must rise and fall like the tracing lines produced on the graph of an ECG machine. For an example of this we’ll look at another scene from an episode of
Mafiosi
Season One. While celebrating the acquisition of a Brooklyn night spot at a mob-owed Manhattan club, our lead character Vincenzo is told to make nice with seasoned mobster Tony Gallo, who is upset about the way things were handled. We’ll get the gist of the story from the dialogue exchange and study the rises and falls that occur throughout.
Crowded tables surrounded the dance floor and stage, and in the far corner, all the way to the back of the club, is where we found Tony Gallo, sitting by himself. He was nursing a dark drink and surveying the room.
He eyed us warily as we approached. When we stood over him, I asked if he’d mind if we sat down.
(Always establish a clear setting where the dialogue is taking place.)
“Suit yourselves,” he said in his damaged voice. “You two seem to do whatever you want these days.”
(Tension exists at the very start of the conversation, so our ECG tracing line ticks upward.)
We grabbed two chairs from nearby tables and sat with him.
“Come on. What’re you going on about?” I asked.
“Yeah, what’s this about you being sore at us?” Paul added.
(The reaction of the two newcomers is mellow, in effect countering the bitter response from the veteran, wherein the tension exists. Our ECG line goes down a notch then straightens out.)
Tony Gallo set his drink on the table and looked at me. He looked at Paul, and then he turned back to me. “You two know what this is. You came to me about this thing, and I told you how it was gonna work, what it would take to have me sign on. Well, you done that. You done what I said to do, but then you turned your backs on the deal. I don’t care that the terms are a bit different. So you’re not breaking ground on something, you took over another establishment instead. So what? I don’t sweat those kinds of details. What we talked about was me signing on once Carlo did. I said you get him to come in on this thing, I come in, simple as that. But what do you two do? Close the door in my face, that’s what.”
He sat back and scowled.
(Our line traces back up again as the tension mounts.)
I leaned back in my chair and considered his words. I glanced at Paul. He was as surprised as I was. I looked at Tony Gallo, who was still scowling.
“When we came to you, nothing was concrete,” I said. “We were feeling around in the dark trying to get people to throw in. Truth is, you were the first person we came to out of respect. And you’re right, you did carry us with the Milwaukee thing. That’s why we came to you in the first place, but you didn’t want to wet your beak. Those were your words.”
(This calm delivery sends our line back down a touch, but tension is still in the air. Note the information that is being imparted to advance the plot as well. This isn’t just random dialogue. We’re getting story tidbits.)
Tony Gallo narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to throw my words back at me. I remember what I said. But forget all that, ’cause you’re twisting what I said anyways.”
“Nobody’s twisting anything,” Paul said.
(The line traces back up, but another character is increasing the tension.)
“Here are the facts,” Tony Gallo said. “You two just came into this thing of ours, so you’re still wet behind the ears. I don’t care how many lucky heists you roll out on, or how many civilian guineas you whack while they ain’t looking. It’s time put into this thing that earns you stones.” He pointed a finger and waved it back and forth between us. “You ask me, you two got the luck o’ the Irish, what with the bosses deciding to toss you into my ocean. Yeah, you’re swimming with a shark, a made man. What other two wet-behind-the-ears
cugines
can claim that? You point ’em out.”
(Our line is stable at this point.)
He had a point there. Paul and I shared a glance and kept listening.
(Here, it goes down, and the tension decreases.)
“You two have no idea what kind of advantages could fall into your lap swimmin’ with me. You willing to turn your back on that? Here I am, coming to you two with something like this. I coulda just as easily had Carlo order you to give me a cut. But I ain’t tryin’ to muscle in on what you two are working for. I respect it, see? But you can’t keep shoving me aside like I’m an
indegno
, no-brain dago, you hear?”
(A small uptick. Just enough to keep the tension going.)
I rubbed my chin and shared another glance with Paul. Then I fixed Tony Gallo with a serious look. “Here’s the deal. You come in on this, you gotta bring something to the table, besides startup.”
(And down goes the tension line, but our curiosity is piqued.)
His face softened for the first time since we’d approached his table. “Like what?”
(The line traces down yet more.)
“Like protection for the females,” I said.
“Maybe bouncers,” Paul threw in.
Tony Gallo screwed his face up. “I look like I run a security agency to you?”
(One small uptick in our line.)
“We’re just tossing out ideas,” I said.
“
All’inferno
with your ideas. This is what I’m saying here. You two are still new at this. You don’t know how to delegate yet. You gotta learn people’s strengths. For one thing, you come to me about starting up a club when I don’t know the first thing about it, but that’s beside the point. Carlo’s brains are behind this thing now. What I’m sayin’ is, you gotta zero in on an earner’s strengths, then beef those up. So, this new spot, it got a basement?”
(A small dip in our line occurs here.)
“Yeah, it has a basement,” Paul said. “Why?”
Tony Gallo picked up his drink and swirled it. The ice cubes rattled against the glass. “I’ll set up a gambling operation down there. Blackjack tables, card games, I’ll even throw in a few betting machines for the ladies and the old geezers. Top of the line.”
Paul and I were grinning now. I nodded my approval. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”
(The tension is completely gone, and the situation is diffused. Now our focus is on a new dynamic.)
Tony Gallo took a few sips of his drink and then set it down. “That’s what I do. People will eat it up. Plus it gives me another spot to seed.”
“Now this is brilliance,” I said.
Paul reached a hand across the table, and Tony Gallo shook it. “You’re in,” Paul said. “We definitely want you in.”
I stuck out my hand, and Tony Gallo and I shook on the deal. It was official. He was on board with the Brooklyn strip club.