A story needs plot, setting, and especially characters. Characters are what drive the story. Why do we enjoy a series so much? Why do we keep waiting for the next book so eagerly? Why do we wish the stories could go on and on and never end? We get attached to the characters.
What is a character? A person or animal or alien or whimsical spirit. All of these can be characters, but in a story, a character has personality. Of course people have personality, but it isn't until the passersby react to what is happening in the story that they actually become characters.
The car drove down the street. Its pitch black windows matched its onyx paint. The car pulled onto a busy street and slowly made its way through the throng of shoppers. It was the marketplace.
As the car reached an intersection, it rolled to a stop. In the opposite lane, facing the black car, was a behemoth of metal: a tank. The military vehicle turned its barrel toward the car... and fired.
The black car exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel. The flying debris hit several bystanders, who were thrown to the ground.
Here's a short scene involving conflict. Conflict is what good stories are made from. Conflict messes with the dreams of our heroes and causes them to question what they really think and why they are forging onward to the end of the story when it means horrible problems can sprout out of nowhere and catch them completely off guard. Conflict forces the character to do what we all hate to have to do: Change; Stretch; Grow. Growing pains hurt. Is the goal really worth the effort?
This scene has no real characters yet. There are people and there's a mysterious car driving about and another mysterious war machine. Something happens that should shake things up. What if no one reacts to the conflict?
The black car exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel. The flying debris hit several bystanders, who were thrown to the ground.
The tank rolls into the intersection and turns to the right, making its cumbersome way through the throngs of people looking for things in a sea of shops.
Pretty boring, eh? Nobody reacted. They might as well be robots. There were no characters in this scene. Characters aren't simply what they do. Characters are what they react to and how they react. Even the protagonists of popular fiction are only made into real characters when we see them take action in response to some other action.
Now I need to pick some characters for my story this week. I have decided on a couple of brothers. Let me introduce you to them!
Makos is the younger brother. He is funny and likes to make people laugh. He avoids serious matters like healthy vegetables. He has trouble staying focused. Makos feels like he is not appreciated like his older brother. He wants to be praised for being helpful.
Danos is the older brother. He is growing into a young man and tries to help his father tend to the chores. He takes his duties very seriously. He thinks his younger brother is hilarious, but doesn't laugh at his jokes anymore. Danos wants to be respected like his father.
A pretty contrastive pair, don't you think? Each has things they are hopeful for and as a result have fears of not achieving those hopes. These hopes and fears will provide outlets for their personality to shine through as ways they will react to conflict that is doomed to confront them.
Each brother also has traits that don't mesh well with the other brother. These interactive difficulties will open up plenty of more conflict and thus reactions from one and then the other, and likely back and forth again and again. What good is all this expression of character? Why make these brothers fight and argue? Why can't they just get along? If nothing ever challenged a character's opinions and feelings, they would never have a reason to change. If they never change, they never grow. There goes any value in bothering to read the book.
We read stories because we want to experience that change. We want to be sad and disappointed when the characters are sad and disappointed. We want to be angry and envious, or happy and excited when they are experiencing these feelings. But what we want most of all is to run into the walls they run into and cheer them on and urge them to see what they need to do to get past the obstacle so they can finally make their hope come true.
When the character finally sees what needs to be sacrificed, and takes those giant steps to giving up on a weakness in order to become strong, we cry tears of joy and run around telling everyone who doesn't care how awesome it was that the book has magic or treasure or monsters, when what really makes us so happy and moved is the growth our heroes have gone through, and this is what we hope our friends will read so they can experience the same joys.
Now I've named my heroes. Tomorrow, I will present their quest.
Oh yes. I suppose I should fix the scene without characters. Here it is:
The car drove down the street. Its pitch black windows matched
its onyx paint. The car pulled onto a busy street and slowly made its
way through the throng of shoppers. It was the marketplace.
As
the car reached an intersection, it rolled to a stop. In the opposite
lane, facing the black car, was a behemoth of metal: a tank. The
military vehicle turned its barrel toward the car... and fired.
The black car exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel. The flying debris hit several bystanders, who were thrown to the ground.
Screams of pure terror broke out from the crowds and shocked families and loners all stared in horror at the massive war machine with smoke pouring from its muzzle.
Time seems to stop when a clacking sound queued the tank reloading its cannon. The top of the machine turned slowly to the right and stopped, pointing an accusatory metal finger of death at a group of orphans who were unlucky enough to have been out on a tour of the market for the first time that very day. The youngest of the children cried uncontrollably while gripping his little bear.
A deafening boom shook the marketplace. Flames spewed out of the tank's barrel in slow motion, heralding an impending projectile. Through the billowing smoke, a tiny silhouette sprang forward, fist extending, leaping straight toward the tank gun.
A torrent of gusts were drawn from all corners of the intersection as the explosion was forced back in on itself. Even the sound of twisting iron was muffled. When the dust settled, people stood up carefully and looked around them. Eventually, all eyes turned to stare at the mass of metal wrapped up into a giant ball where the tank had been.
The injured shoppers woke up and got to their feet. Wounds were inspected but no trace of damage was found. Families and loners asked after each other. Some said they were sure they saw a hero. Others claimed it was too fast to tell. All hearts quietly thanked whoever it was for protecting them.
The orphans gathered together as their host checked them all for injuries. None were hurt. The youngest one gazed after the giant metal ball once more before an older orphan pulled him aside to wipe soot from his face.
Before they were herded away, the little boy pulled his hand free and rushed out into the street, stooping down to grab a little toy bear that hadn't been singed too badly.
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