Kaikaikat

As the title indicates, this article will attempt to address the way characters interact with their friends and acquaintances—specifically, groups of them.

Note: The number I’m thinking when I say “large group” is anywhere from five to 12 or so people. I’ll be doing a separate article on interactions at parties with much larger groups.

When you get a large group of acquaintances together, the opportunities for subtlety and character development abound. You can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep and how they interact with them. The subtle details that arise in these situations can be very powerful in giving us a deeper look into who the people involved really are and how they feel about those around them. The entire interaction is made up of several different layers, a few of which I will try to address here.

Groups and the people that are in them tend to affect the way people act, for better or worse. This depends largely on your characters and their distinct personalities, but chances are you will have one who shifts his or her behavior slightly. For example, a character that prides himself on his intellectual superiority (and perhaps feels the need to nurture his ego) may become more assertive or even outright aggressive in establishing his scholarly dominance—nothing raises the stakes like an audience. Or, a shy character may close up completely and fall out of the interaction altogether if enough people are present. The fact that the character might be friends with all of these people might not necessarily eliminate this shift, or even mitigate it, depending on who your character is.

Personalities, too, will play off of each other. A more reserved character, for example, might be coaxed out of her shell by the other members of the group and loosen up. Or, two morally upstanding characters that are less than pleased with the bawdy jokes they hear might find courage to reprimand the rest of the group as a team. Again, the degree of behavioral shift depends almost entirely on who your characters are and the people that make up the group, but this sort of detail can provide a much deeper look into the workings of your character’s personality.

Another very insightful aspect of group interactions is the body language used, both by your character and the other members of the group. A complex net of relationships between the people present will always be there, just under the surface. This network has a profound effect on the group interaction as a whole. Some characters like each other more than others, and nothing shows this subtle shift like the body language. Generally, people sit close to the people they want to engage with, lean forward, and react animatedly to the conversation. If another, less welcome person attempts to join in the conversation, the sentiment of the group can be shown powerfully with the way their bodies react. They can turn away, speak without making eye contact, or refuse to acknowledge the unwitting character’s statements. The effect becomes even stronger if it’s simply one or two people that do this, rather than the entire group. Such small details can be very powerful illustrators of the group’s less obvious dynamic and the varying relationships within said group.

Another crucial (and often harrowing) aspect of group interactions is the conversations that take place. With a large group, this can be very, very difficult to write and maintain, and often leads to what I like to call ICS, or Invisible Character Syndrome (not the Institute of Chartered Shipbrokers). This is where less talkative characters get dropped from the scene altogether because two or three chattier characters dominate the conversation. So much work is spent writing their dialogue and reactions that the other characters fade into the background. Fortunately, the solution to this is natural and simple.

Large groups will almost always, at some point or another, break into smaller ones. This can happen due to position (i.e., characters sitting closest to each other will form their own small conversation) or due to whatever personality interactions happen to be at play. Sometimes the small formations will stay the same the entire time, or they’ll shift as other characters break off or enter the conversation. The same basic details apply—body language, personalities playing off of each other, etc.—but it’s far easier to give the characters proper attention and detail when there are less of them. Plus, if there’s a certain dynamic you want to emphasize or a relationship you want to develop between two or three people, you can have the other characters go talk amongst themselves while you focus on your small group. This is much more natural than having five of your eight characters watch in silence as three of them talk (unless, of course, you have characters who simply tend to listen quietly—but even they might be engaged in conversation and drawn in by a different character).

Speaking of conversations, this is another detail that can tell a lot about your characters and the dynamic of the group. I’m not necessarily referring to the exact words that are exchanged between characters—dialogue and its many wonderful uses are hardly strangers. What adds another layer of intricacy on top of the dialogue itself is how it’s affected by the characters present in the group.

The conversations will shift depending, first and foremost, on which characters are present. Your characters’ personalities will dictate what is discussed and how. But, there are other factors that will influence conversation. The number of people participating affects it, for example. Generally, the more people there are, the less personal and intimate the conversation tends to be. It’s far easier to discuss personal matters and more intimate aspects of yourself with one person than with three. With three, the subject is more likely to be more broad and innocuous.

That web of relationships within the group will come into play here as well—when two characters who don’t like each other terribly much are put together in the conversation, it will change drastically compared to when three very close characters are talking. Needless to say, characters will probably not gossip about each other when they’re sitting three feet away from one another, but if they leave the group, the conversations (big or small) might settle on them.

Another detail that can make these interactions more interesting and varied—in big groups of friends, not everyone is friends with everybody else. Sometimes people share a mutual friend and have to tolerate each other’s company, though they may not like each other (or might secretly resent each other, or one person might really hate the other one, or… you get the idea). This will drastically affect the dynamics of the group as a whole.

What will affect the interactions the most, though, are your characters themselves. These are just some broad tips and details to keep in mind when writing interactions like this. Though they might seem small, these details can show with incredible depth the dynamics present in the group and can reveal more about your character(s). They will also serve to make the interactions between your characters more believable and realistic.

I hope at least some of you will find this article helpful, or at least interesting. Feedback and suggestions are always welcome. Happy writing!

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Hello, all. I’ve decided to make another rare appearance, and I bring with me my thoughts on one of my favorite parts of any story: the antagonist.

Most stories revolve around a central conflict between a protagonist and an antagonist. Well, most good stories (this is to say nothing of the stories that pit a protagonist against an environment, a quest, or some other non-sentient foe). There are also quite a few modern stories that involve heroes and villains, which often fail to measure up. The reason is fairly simple. These stories have a tendency to be less interesting and to give the reader less freedom.

One of the greatest marvels and joys of literature is that we can develop an intense attachment to, and affection for, people that are not real. Even an antagonist can be beloved or thoroughly enjoyed. Kay’s Brandon of Ygrath, Martin’s Lannister clan, Follett’s Hamleighs and Bishop Waleran, and Rowling’s Lord Voldemort are just a few well-crafted schemers and antagonists. What is crucial about these characters is that they are not irredeemable or unrelentingly ‘evil’ in the simplistic moral sense. They operate to achieve ends that benefit their own ends or the ends of those close to them, and we can come to appreciate their struggles and motives though we may not agree with them.

Stories become far deeper when they are populated with antagonists rather than villains. An antagonist is a matter of perspective, and a more fluid construct than the rigid absolute of a villain. You need only shift viewpoints for your protagonist to become an antagonist, and a story that operates on a level moral playing field is far more compelling than one that operates on a rigid battlefield between good and evil (I’m going to try to avoid veering off into a digression on Lord of the Rings or the Chronicles of Narnia—that’s a discussion for another article).

A crucial aspect for a compelling antagonist is to allow him to be him own character. You no doubt know your protagonist from the ground up—you’ve met her parents, you know what her childhood was like, where she grew up, what she wants, and why she wants it. Your antagonist should receive the same treatment upon construction. Even if he is a scheming bastard who wants to conquer his neighbor’s land for the extra income—why? Was he spoiled as a child, or denied what he wanted? Is he entitled, or does he think his neighboring lord is undeserving of the plenty? Even if he couldn’t say, you should be able to. Your antagonist can even desire to take over the world if he wants. Just show us a good reason why.

A great way to show more sides to your story is to allow your antagonist some face time—and not to simply monologue about his plans or his tortured childhood. The last-minute antagonist back story is a clumsy technique. A good antagonist demands finesse. Even if you do not slip into his perspective, we should get the sense that there is more depth to this person than your protagonist may realize. Perhaps the cruel general’s draconian methods are actually necessary for an army of the size he leads, and his soldiers respect him for his discipline and unbiased justice. Or the selfish king is simply taking all precautions against the enemies he knows surround him and laboring to keep his kingdom from falling into civil war. Perhaps the seductress has no other weapons available but her femininity, and this is the only way she knows to bring about the changes she wants to see or to get the information she needs.

That is not to say that your antagonist needs to be redeemed entirely. Perhaps they really are entirely self-serving and revel in the chaos that they sow. Even so, he is human, and will feel the burden of power, the sting of defeat. He will struggle in his efforts, just as the protagonist does in hers. Your protagonist may not know this. Your antagonist’s second-in-command or closest confidant may not know his frustrations or his fears that he labors to bury. Shedding a bit of light on him is nothing to be concerned about—we can all still fear a man who bleeds. Even if we never get to know your antagonist as well as we get to know your protagonist, there should at least be a sense that there is depth there, something of heavy substance behind all the invading, murdering, stealing, lying, and general antagonizing. Even if they end up being nothing more than rumors, at least allow the chance for your antagonist to be seen to, perhaps, have something of a point, even if it is only from their own perception of reality.

Antagonists can be deliciously devilish, unbelievably brutal, or simply diametrically opposed to whatever it is your protagonist is up to. Above all, though, your antagonist is a character. He has desires, he has a history, and he has his own reasons for doing things. Let him exist as a whole, solid person, and the conflict in your story will take on new depth.

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Of all the things we consider components of a story—setting, plot, character, prose—one aspect that often escapes notice, unless it was designed to be conspicuous, is the narrator. This character, often invisible, is the author’s right hand when it comes to telling the story. If utilized properly, the narrator can be a powerful means through which to add depth and subtlety to your characterization and storytelling through something called narrative distance.

Narrative distance is an aspect of storytelling that centers on the interplay between POV character and narrator. The easiest way to describe it is how independent your narrator is from your POV character(s). It’s a spectrum, with one end intimate (the extreme being first person), the other removed (the extreme being omniscient).

Because it is a spectrum, narrative distance is also highly mutable and fluid. For a great example of how shifting not only POV but also narrative distance can be put to subtle and thematic use, see Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

The things that determine narrative distance tend to be subtle and would go unnoticed unless specifically looked for—as you generally want the mechanics of your prose. One of the more obvious aspects is narrative voice and how much independence the narrator has. This can be broken down into many examples. Take, for example, purely how the world is described. If your POV character is not a fan of the outdoors and the sun gets described as “blistering,” the grass as “coarse,” and flowers as “odious” by the narrator, it is indicative of a very intimate distance. If the descriptions are more neutral and aren’t tinted by the character’s opinions, then there is more narrative distance at play. Related to this is the language used. If the narrator’s voice is markedly different from the POV character’s, perhaps more formal, flowery, grammatically correct, or involving figurative language that the POV character would not (or even could not) use to describe things, it creates more distance.

What the narrator describes also works to establish distance or closeness. If the narrator takes the shotgun blast approach and does a (hopefully) quick run through of everything in a room, it creates distance. However, if certain objects are lingered on or singled out to be noticed, it provides insight and intimacy with the POV character. Having a character notice the thin film of dust on the mantle but nothing else, or a character note the make and expense of a rug can tell us a great deal about them; the tradeoff is that we get less of the setting.

“Filter words” also contribute to distance. Filter words are words that qualify a thought or opinion as belonging to a character, rather than stating them as objective fact. For example:

“She noticed that the woman wore a cheap dress trying to masquerade as something more glamorous.”

The filter words “she noticed” tell us immediately that the opinion belongs to the character. This indicates more distance between narrator and POV character. However, take them out, and you get:

“The woman wore a cheap dress trying to masquerade as something more glamorous.”

This effectively describes the world through the character’s view of reality, which, as noted above, establishes closer narrative distance.

There is also the more subtle version of filter words that strikes a sort of balance between the two—establishing the opinion as belonging to the character without relegating him or her to the object of a sentence, as with the first example. This involves the use of one or both of two things: evidential adverbs and modal verbs.

Evidential adverbs express either certainty or uncertainty, such as surely, obviously, probably, or hopefully. Modal verbs are a type of auxiliary verb that change slightly the meaning of the verb they are attached to. There are nine of these: can, could, may, might, must, would, should, shall, and will.

Watch how subtly these words can change the motivation in a sentence.

“Naturally, the woman wore a cheap dress trying to masquerade as something more glamorous.”

Or:

“The woman would wear a cheap dress trying to masquerade as something more glamorous.”

Observe how quickly we realize this character is a total harpy. This approach allows for some narrative distance to remain, if the concern is conflating the character’s (in this case nasty) opinions with those of the narrator. Related to filter words is the separation, or lack thereof, between the narrator and the POV character’s internal monologue. Using “he thought” or “she wondered” or using italics to box off a character’s internal musings from the narration creates distance; leaving the two indistinguishable creates intimacy.

The beauty of narrative distance is its fluidity—it need not remain static throughout a story. A narrow distance between character and narrator is wonderful for that old adage “show, don’t tell.” Characterization can be subtle but perfectly clear, and the language used in descriptions can be very useful for communicating more subtle moods that don’t exactly lend themselves to dramatic metaphors, such as drowsiness, contentment, or melancholy. Integrating your POV character with the narrator also enables you to very naturally slip in bits from a character’s past or beliefs as you tell the story.

A greater narrative distance has its advantages as well, of course. There may be certain states, emotional or otherwise, that your POV character could not communicate effectively, or would be at a complete loss to describe. This is where the narrator can step in and provide the words your character wouldn’t have. One example is extreme pain. If your character slammed is finger in a door, his inner monologue would probably consist of one long, drawn out expletive, and not a metaphor or simile that helps the reader imagine the pain. This is where a distant narrator becomes useful.

Narrative distance is a powerful tool with many aspects, all of which can be utilized in telling a better story. It can be molded to fit the character or the scene, and, properly handled, is another arrow in a writer’s quiver.

Comment [13]

Ah, dialogue. It’s so very fun. It’s fun to write and, if written well, fun to read. It’s also a very powerful way to show character. But, if not given the amount of careful attention it requires, your dialogue will ‘sound’ flat, stilted, or, worst of all, completely indistinguishable from every other character’s. That would be bad.

I’ve come up with two areas that I think are very important to dialogue—the way the actual characters speak, and the way the words are presented.

I. The words themselves

Vocabulary

Every person has a distinct vocabulary and speaking style. This is largely influenced by the people they interact with regularly, their education level, and if they read frequently or not. It is very important to keep in mind these influences as you develop your character’s speaking style. A farm boy, for example, is going to have an informal manner of speech and probably a more basic vocabulary. Paolini completely ignores the laws of common sense when he has backwater Roran say (actually, he thinks this, which is all the more egregious) things like this:

“Why did Galbatorix countenance my father’s torture?” (Eldest)

No farm boy speaks like that. He’s not going to have enough education to have a vocabulary like this, and he’s most definitely not going to speak like this. No one else around him would speak like this, either, given he’s in a small village. Nobles (sometimes) talk this way. Farm boys do not. If you give your character a vocabulary or overly formal style of speech that they shouldn’t realistically have, it’s going to be extremely obvious.

Quantity

How often and how much your character speaks hinges mostly on their personality. If they are shy and not very self-confident, for example, they’re more likely to speak when spoken to and not initiate conversation, and they’ll speak in shorter sentences. If your character is extremely confident or effervescent, they’ll probably initiate conversation frequently and do all they can to keep it going. It’s important to tie your character’s personality to the way they speak. It influences how we see the character and how we perceive their personality. You don’t want a shy, demure wallflower to be expounding on herself for a breadth of lines while your suave, self-confident ladies’ man sits tight-lipped.

Quirks

Most people have a quirk or two in the way that they speak. Some people use bunches of odd little sayings or use heavy amounts of slang. Some people drop the g’s off of words or shorten syllables whenever they can (“He’s gonna be payin’ dearly for that,” for example). Some people use very few contractions, others use them constantly. Which contractions they use also varies (e.g. “It’s not your fault,” versus “It isn’t your fault.”). Some people ramble and go on wild and barely-related tangents, while others pick their words carefully and thoughtfully. Some people speak differently when they’re mad or upset, while others remain perfectly composed. Keep in mind which quirks your character is likely to have picked up and made a part of their speech, as a result of either their environment, personality, or both. It’s another aspect that can help set your character’s dialogue apart from everyone else’s.

II. Nuance

There are lots of little details you can add to your dialogue to make it much richer and more subtle. You can also vary speech patterns this way.

First, there’s the long dash. This is the semicolon’s prettier cousin. It serves the same purpose, but (at least to my eyes) it looks like a natural pause that would appear in speech as opposed to a tricky grammatical gremlin. Some characters will use the long dash, while others will break up their sentences.

“It’s extremely complicated—the sheer number of things that could go wrong is staggering.”

“It’s extremely complicated. The sheer number of things that could go wrong is staggering.”

The difference is subtle—the main thing is the length of the pause and how the next sentence is inflected. That sounds needlessly complicated, I know. Try reading the two sentences out loud and listen to the subtle shifts in your voice. See what I mean?

Then there’s the ellipse. Where you place these can have a drastic effect on the sentence.

“…no, that’s not it.”

“No…that’s not it.”

“No, that’s…not it.”

“No, that’s not…it.”

“No, that’s not it…”

Some people hate ellipses and avoid them like the plague. It’s entirely up to you, though I think they can be quite effective.

There’s also the period versus the comma. An example will explain better than I can.

“No, not really.”
vs.
“No. Not really.”

“I would never do something like that. Honest.”
vs.
“I would never do something like that, honest.”

A small difference, but not an insignificant one.

This is my absolute favorite little tool: the italics. These can make an enormous difference in your sentences. Observe.

“I am sorry.”

“I am sorry.”

“I am sorry.”

Two examples are better than one, no?

“You need to do this.”

“You need to do this.”

“You need to do this.”

“You need to do this.”

It’s like magic! Italics can do wonders for a sentence, and the meaning can change drastically. Use this powerful tool to make your dialogue that much more real.

If you already knew all of this, that’s great. If you knew but forgot and just now remembered, that’s even better.

So, there we go. Four areas that can help spice up, spruce up, and improve your dialogue. These areas can help make your character’s voice more distinct and make your dialogue overall more readable. I know I didn’t cover every area there is to consider, but I hope this was at least an interesting read. Happy writing!

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