Images of the world are of little use without images of characters.  Even an essay about hiking alone in the wilderness has a human character:  the narrator.  Writers try to engage readers, and what could be more interesting than another human being?  Characters reveal themselves in three ways:  through what they do, through what they say, and through what they think.  The writer can provide the reader with additional information, things which a character may not know about himself, by using memorable features and inconsistency.

Nonverbal communication involves more than the commonly used term "body language".  Well-rounded characters exhibit mannerisms of voice and body which express emotional overtones; we humans understand such signals without really thinking about them.  Anthropologist Martin Peterson often serves as a court consultant to lawyers.  Based on interpretations of speech and behavior, he decides whether or not a particular witness is telling the truth.

Writers who understand this unconscious language can create vivid pictures in the minds of readers and shape attitudes toward characters.  The example below uses stereotypes because they are easy to understand.

Myra sauntered into Jack's office.  Her red dress clung to her hourglass shape.  The floppy brim of her red hat hung down, nearly covering her eyes.  The smooth soles of her red high heels slid a little on the polished wooden floor.

Jack stood up.  "Have a seat, ma'am."  He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk.  "What can I do for you?"
After settling herself comfortably in the wooden chair, Myra turned her bloodshot eyes up to Jack.  The tears spilled over.  "I'm afraid someone's going to kill me," she blubbered.

"Now hold on there a minute," Jack said as he fumbled in the desk drawer for a box of tissues.  "Here, ma'am, take one of these."  He held out the box, careful not to get too close.  Next thing he knew, she'd be grabbing him and getting the front of his shirt all wet.

Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.  Jack stepped around the desk and knelt beside Myra.

"Myra and Jack" illustrates a number of easily-understood stereotyped behaviors common to detective fiction, including the sexually available woman (red dress, hourglass figure), in trouble (tears), the tough guy (not wanting to get his shirt wet), and the man's feelings of sexual attraction (Jack making himself available by stepping around the desk).  These qualities are stated implicitly rather than explicitly.  Instead of telling the reader all these facts, the writer shows personality characteristics.  To better illustrate this point, below is a version of Example 4.1 which has been stripped of details.

Myra walked in.  She looked sexy.
"Have a seat, ma'am," Jack said.
She cried.  "Someone's trying to kill me."
Jack didn't want to mess with a crying woman, but she sure looked good.  Maybe he'd try to help her.

The skillful writer studies people, recording data for later use.  An essential tool in this process is the writer's log or journal.  Use your journal to keep track of observations.  Watch people and write down what they do with their faces, eyes, hands.  Record connections between posture and facial expression:  think of a person who feels depressed, and the cluster of words and gestures which indicates this state of mind.

Gary sighed and shrugged.  "I don't want to go."  He shook his head.  "Seems like an awful lot of trouble.  I'd have to shower and dress just for a movie."  Greasy bangs swung across his forehead as he shook his head from side to side.

Nonverbal communication seen in mating behavior is especially interesting.  In 1983, I studied interactions between men and women at the Zoo Bar, a blues bar in Lincoln, Nebraska.  The Zoo is a safe place for single women; bartenders come to the rescue of anyone who requests help, and people who cause a fuss in the bar are no longer welcome.  The 25,000 student University of Nebraska-Lincoln campus is two blocks away, and the bar draws local people, too, so the patrons are of mixed ages and backgrounds.

The Zoo Bar's atmosphere is perfect for both music and mating.  Ceiling and walls, including ductwork and pipes, are painted black and the floor is a dark tile, so all attention focuses on the stage, which is lighted in reds and blues.  From a position at the corner of the bar near the main door, I looked down the length of the room and watched people.  In addition, I walked up and down the length of the room, studying how people arranged themselves.  As a final check, I stood in different places to observe the reactions of those around me.

Different types of people distributed themselves in clearly defined areas with a few overlaps, and analysis revealed the hidden purposes behind such groupings.  The diagram on the next page shows the floorplan of the Zoo Bar.  Try to match up the following types of people with the places they chose to be.

Some of the divisions, particularly singles in groups, seemed quite fluid.  A woman sitting with female friends might become a single who wants to dance for a while, and then return to her original group.

Did your predictions agree with my observations?  Each group has an unspoken reason for taking up a particular location.  For instance, the round tables close to the dance floor are somewhat isolated from the back-and-forth movement to the restrooms, so couples sit there because they are focused on each other, not on finding a dance partner.  Musicians stand behind the stage and at the far end of the room because the acoustics of the long, narrow space make those the two places where the sound is best.

Single women in groups sit at long tables against the wall so they can check out men going to the rest room; in the same way, single men look over everyone who comes in the door from their places at the side of the bar.  Single women interested in a pickup are at the side of the bar, too.  The open space is a sort of dance partner mating ground.  People who want to dance but don't have a partner hang around there.  Merely by locating their bodies in space, Zoo Bar customers reveal a great deal about their interests.

A closer look at mating behavior reveals a phenomenon that anthropologists call mirroring, shown in Figure 4.6.  When a couple engages in mating behavior, their movements become synchronized; they seem to copy each other's motions unconsciously, signaling their mutual interest.  This phenomenon also occurs between friends who are deep in conversation, but becomes most obvious with sexually attracted couples.  Turning away from a person who is attempting to mirror you is a clear sign of lack of interest.  Most people are not conscious of the power of such messages, yet they constantly send and receive nonverbal communications on an intuitive level.  Writers can signal readers about characters' personalities by using nonverbals.

          Succotash
Grandma boiled everything in a pot.
She made succotash from lima beans
hamburger and a boiled potato.
Tasting with a wooden spoon
she said, Good, eat it all up
and we'll have ice cream for dessert.
The cat dishes were empty under the sink
begonias scrabbled on the windowsill
for the last light of the day.
Grandma unrolled the pint of vanilla
with fingers knotted by arthritis
cut two slices to set on blue saucers.
The kitchen chair was too big for me.
Swinging my feet, I ate with a silver spoon.

Another important aspect of character is costume.  Humans use clothing to signal social class, wealth, affiliation with a group, and special interests.  Read Example 4.9, taken from "Bad Weather," a short story written by Mark Ames.  What does costume tell you about Shannon?  What does the narrator's reaction to her clothing and body reveal about him?

Shannon lives on the third floor of my apartment building.  She's a Phys-Ed. major, a track star at the university.  She was dressed in a gray and white tank top, black running shorts, and white running shoes.  Her blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail.  She was beautiful.  I love her muscular legs.  One day, she came home from practice wearing black spandex pants.  I nearly lost my mind.

Hair also tells a great deal about characters.  Like clothing, red hair or curls or baldness all give clues which writers use to tell readers how the character fits or doesn't fit into society.  Conformity and defiance, easily signaled with hair, tell readers what to expect of the character, and the fulfillment or disappointment of expectations interests and involves readers.  Unlike clothing and hair, scars and other body irregularities are not usually under the character's control.  However, such factors shape the reactions of other characters and of readers.

Scene:
Writers' group.  People are just arriving, chatting in twosomes.

TED
How'd you get that scar?

KATE
What scar?

TED
That scar on your forehead.

 KATE
(puts hand on face)  Oh, that scar.  I fell when I was a baby.  It's always been there, so I don't notice it unless someone else does.

Writers sometimes confuse two similar terms:  dialogue and dialect.  Both words begin with the Greek root dia, which means through or throughout.  However, dialogue is conversation between two or more people, and dialect refers to regional variations of a language, including local differences in pronunciation, vocabulary, and grammar.  Skill in the use of dialogue and dialect is important for writers.

When studying nonverbal communication, the writer becomes a watcher, and in similar fashion dialogue requires the writer to polish listening skills.  Take your journal to a restaurant and sit in a booth where you can hear the people behind you.  Listen for fragments of conversation and write them down.  Record use of regional sayings like "what goes around comes around" and "you bet".  Does one person talk for a long time, then the other for a long time?  Or does the conversation bounce quickly back and forth between participants?

Form is quite important in dialogue because readers expect traditional signals such as indentation and punctuation to indicate a change in speaker.  The writer who learns the standard dialogue form can then try variations when the writing requires a particular style.  Remember, a new speaker or doer or thinker requires a new paragraph, which signals the reader that somethng has changed.  Most often, a segment of dialogue in fiction is enclosed in quotation marks, followed by tags (he said).  Tags quickly become annoying and repetitive, but many writers substitute descriptions of nonverbal communication for tags to keep the reader in touch with who is speaking when.

Bart slammed the door.  "Doggone it, Rosie, I don't want you to go."
"But, honey," Rosie turned from the closet where she'd been picking out clothes for the trip.  "You knew that this job would mean lots of travel."
"You've been gone twelve days already this month, and it's only the sixteenth," Bart said.

Bart slammed the door.  Doggone it, Rosie, I don't want you to go.  But, honey, Rosie turned from the closet where she'd been picking out clothes for the trip.  You knew that this job would mean lots of travel.  You've been gone twelve days already this month, and it's only the sixteenth, Bart said.

Dialogue in poetry is sometimes enclosed in quotation marks, but not indented, again depending on subject and form.  A standard and easy-to-read format for dialogue in drama is shown in Example 4.10.  The most important consideration in a writer's decision to use a particular dialogue form is readability.  The audience should always know who is speaking.  Nonverbals added to dialogue give clues to help readers interpret the emotional states of the speakers.

Writers sometimes get into trouble because they believe that dialect must be misspelled to look and sound real, but such notions are false.  The essence of dialect lies in the speaker's diction, the choice and use of words.  Misspelling leads to two sources of confusion for the reader.  First, the writer may not understand how readers will reproduce the sounds of the misspelled words.  Second, writers must be absolutely consistent in the use of misspellings.  Both problems are illustrated in Example 4.13.

"Hain't raht, Aint Lucy.  Hanet right fur ya tuh say thet."
"Wha Freddie, yu know ah gotta tayull you thuh trufe."
"But mah pappy and mammy wuz gude tuh everbody.  They wuddn't steyull frum nobuddy."

"It ain't right, Aunt Lucy.  It ain't right for you to say that."
"Why Freddie, you know I got to tell you the truth."
"But my pappy and mammy was good to everybody.  They wouldn't steal from nobody."

Diction, choice and use of words, tells a great deal about characters.  Example 4.15 contains bits of speech from four different characters.  What does each do for a living?

1.   "Call upstairs and tell them we need an OR stat.  Type and crossmatch for a transfusion, and check for HIV.  See those needle tracks?  Probably an IV drug user."
2. "Ladies, I'd like to call this meeting to order. Today's agenda is the annual tour of gardens.  Do I hear any suggestions for gardens to feature on the tour?
3. "Yeah, well, I been having some trouble, see?  My brother's been in jail, and I got to go to Idaho Falls to get him out.  But my car's broke and the unemployment check don't come until Thursday."
4. "Susie, get off that chair.  Now come over here and play with Bradley.  See?  He's coloring in the coloring book.  Jennifer, what's wrong, honey?  Oh, someone hurt your dolly."

Poetry, fiction, and nonfiction prose utilize a narrator to tell the story, and plays also use a narrator.  For instance, Thornton Wilder's play Our Town utilizes the character of the Stage Manager as a narrator.  The persona of the narrator filters and refines experience for the reader, resulting in a particular point of view.  Types of point of view can be arranged on a continuum, beginning with stream of consciousness, a reader position close to a character, moving gradually farther away to the most distant type of point of view, third person external.  Example 4.16 explains the various types of point of view, arranged on a continuum from close and personal to distant and impersonal.

Another important aspect of narration is tense, usually limited to past and present.  Note that all of the examples in Figure 4.16 are in past tense.  Past tense sets up a temporal distance between the reader and the events described because the events described happened some time ago.  Present tense, seen below in Example 4.16, can be useful when the writer wants to create a sense of immediacy.

The old lady grabs his sleeve.  "Just help me out with a dollar if you got one," she says.
He digs in his pocket and pulls out a crumpled bill.  "This do?" he asks.

The old lady grabbed his sleeve.  "Just help me out with a dollar if you got one," she says.
He digs in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill.  "This do?" he asked.

Naming a character is like naming a child.  Write your own name at the top of a new page in your journal, then list the different versions of that name, diminutives and other spellings which you have used.  Write about how your name has affected your life.  In the same way that your name subtly but definitely shapes your sense of self, characters' names reveal aspects of their personalities.  In some cases this may be due to stereotyping.  For instance, a person named Tex probably has a connection with Texas, and a woman named Dixie most likely comes from a southern family.  What would you name a woman in her forties, ex-hippie, ex-wealthy suburban housewife, into crystals, pyramids, and past life experiences, living in Jackson, Wyoming?  A writer might call such a character Mountain Spring Meadow or Appaloosa Grand Teton.

Choose the names of your characters carefully, considering whether you want to cast with or against type.  For instance, a character named Katherine may recall Shakespeare's comedy The Taming of the Shrew for some readers.  You can use this reader prejudgment to excite audience expectations.  If your Katherine is a shrew tamed by the love of a good man, then you fulfill the reader's association to Shakespeare.  Another way to involve the audience is to play Katherine against type, that is to make her a wisp, the female version of a wimp, who learns to assert herself.  When you learn to use reader associations, your characters will come to life.

Perfection.  We all want it, we'll never get it.  We're too short or too tall, too fat or thin, with noses too big or too pointy.  We're clumsy, forgetful, too-serious.  We wear glasses, grow warts, have cellulite and pot bellies, drive old cars, live in shappy apartment buildings.  Lifelike characters possess all these problems and more.  Giving characters memorable features, something unusual or too-ordinary, makes the reader more likely to remember them.

Readers want to live vicariously through your characters, but your audience is well aware of their own imperfections.  Reading requires a willing suspension of disbelief, which means that the audience agrees to give up reality, to believe for a little while in the world of the play or the story or the poem.  For this to work, each audience member must identify with a character, in a sense becoming that character for a time.  But no one can feel close to a perfect character; when you make your characters individual by giving them a mixture of positive and negative qualities, you make it easier for readers to like them.

Liz looked into the mirror.  Her hair hung down, blond and beautiful and smooth, to below her hips, with a few short lighter hairs curling around her perfect face.  Big blue eyes, cute button nose, lush lips.  She twirled in her ball gown.  The aqua silk brought out the healthy pinkness of her skin.  She saw her perfect ankles above the tiny jeweled shoes.

She turned to see her husband standing in the door.  He so looked so handsome in his tuxedo.  "I'm ready for the party, darling," she trilled.

 2. Imperfect

Liz looked into the mirror.  Her hair hung down in scraggly tufts, matted with trail dust.  Her eyes were red with hayfever itchiness, and her nose was blotchy and peeling from sunburn.  Her lower lip had a suspicious swelling.  She looked down at the stubble on her legs, the smears of dirt around her ankles.

She turned to see her sweaty husband staggering into the room with his backpack.  "I'm getting a cold sore," she said.

Sometimes characters lie.  We'd like them, as we like ourselves and our children, to be honest, but sometimes they just don't tell the truth.  If a character lies and the reader knows but the other characters don't, the reader shares a secret and feels included in the story.

Once when I was very young, perhaps four, my mother caught me in my first lie.  I'd just seem one of my playmates successfully lie to her mother and wanted to try out this new thing.

"Don't you ever lie to me," my mother said.  "I can tell when you are lying to me."  She shook her finger in my face.

To this day I have a very vivid memory of my mother's disappointed face and that long, long finger.

How did this mother know that her child was lying?  Discrepancy is the most important clue.  When a discrepancy appears between the facts as known and the facts as the liar presents them, the audience begins to participate in the story.  A subtler clue is a discrepancy between nonverbal and verbal communication.  Particular clusters of gestures signify dishonesty.  Liars look away or down, shift back and forth from one foot to the other, speak too emphatically or look too bold.  Think about lies you have told and heard and what happened with the bodies of the liars.  Then use this knowledge in your writing to help readers trust and mistrust certain characters.

Well-drawn characters will strengthen and enrich your writing.  Know a great deal about the people you create, what they do and don't like, how they spend their days, their secret joys and fears.  Your audience will see only a fragment of what you know about your characters, but the depth of your knowledge will show in the realistic world you create.
 

1.  List the three ways in which characters reveal themselves.

2.  Define nonverbal communication.

3.  What is mirroring and what does this form of behavior mean?

4. Describe the ways in which we use physical characteristics (hair, clothing, scars, etc.) to judge others.  Why is such knowledge important to writers?

5.  Compare and contrast the terms dialogue and dialect.

6.  How does proper dialogue form help the reader?

7.  Sketch the point of view continuum, then write a brief example of each type of point of view.

8.  What do writers mean when they talk about tense?

9.   How do names affect the reader's attitudes about characters?

10.  Why should writers avoid perfect characters?

11.  Describe the types of nonverbal behavior shown by those who are lying.  How could you use these facial expressions or gestures in your writing?
 
 

Once again, get comfortable and concentrate on breathing deeply and slowly.  When you feel relaxed begin to visualize a character in your mind.

See this person first from a distance and remember your general impression.

Then move closer and look for specific details of behavior and appearance.  See the character moving and speaking to others.

Observe closely, and remember your thoughts and feelings as you watch and listen to this character.

Now visualize this character as a newborn baby, then as a young child.  Age the character gradually, watching as appearance and behavior change.  Finally, see the character in old age.

When you have seen the character at many ages and in many situations, take a deep breath and return to the present. Pick up your journal and answer the following questions.

Write down the first thing which comes to mind after you read each question, whether or not it seems right or appropriate.  Let your unconscious mind work for you without censorship.

1.  How old was this character when first visualized?  How does he or she feel about being this age?

2.  Who is the character named after and why?

3.  What does this character hate to do?  How does he or she get out of doing it?

4.  Who is this character's secret love?  Is the secret love in the past or going on right now?

5.  What does your character do when he or she drops and breaks someone else's favorite crystal vase?

6.  How does your character feel about exercise?

7.  What time does your character get up in the morning?  Does the character usually sleep well or poorly?  What is the most recent dream the character remembers?

8.  What is the greatest disappointment or loss of this person's life?

9.  What is this character's favorite food?  Favorite time and place to eat it?

10. How does this character express his or her individuality?

Notice that these questions do not focus on job or family or what high school the person went to.  Most people went to school, work, and have a family.  To put a believable outside on a character, you must first visualize the inside, the mind and heart of that person.

Now invent and answer your own series of questions about your character.  Use both sets of answers as the starting point for a piece of writing, a poem, story, play, or personal essay.
 
 

One way to understand a character is to write a dramatic monologue spoken in the voice of that character.  After you finish the journal entry above, write a dramatic monologue, one or two pages long, in which the speaker is your invented character.  Become your character, get up on a stage, and speak to the audience.  What do you want to say?