When you’re a kid, except for your parents and grandparents, grown-ups are pretty much cardboard figures occupying a single well-defined place in your life. Like your teachers, remote authority figures who must live somewhere, but you have no idea where, or what they do there. They are your teachers, and that is the only way you perceive them.
The same holds true for older relatives, those great-aunts and great-uncles who live for decades in some age-limbo between sixty and 117, and who may not even be actual relatives, but simply old people whose entire impact on your life stems from their erratic and opaque relations with your parents. Other than that they share some ancient experiences your mom and dad, you know practically nothing about them; their whole point seems to be to make you wonder what your parents did for fun before you were born.
Then, one day, you realize that a new generation has grown up behind you, and you are that teacher, that great-uncle, that friend of the parents’ from some long-lost civilization called “the Seventies.” You know that you have a fully-rounded life, with a job and a spouse and hobbies–but the kids don’t know that. They see only the two-dimensional character that affects their lives, just as you once did.
As a writer, and someone who has now reached that latter tier of life experience, I can see that this is a lesson: All characters are people, and all people have depth. (Yes, your character can be an alien or a telepathic dog, but they’re still people.) The more sides you see of someone, the more you understand that person. And that can have a terribly beneficial effect on your writing.
A couple of years ago, I submitted a story to a magazine, which bought it. Then the editor asked me about a particular character who appeared only on the first page. She was a waitress, and her raison d’être was merely to deliver drinks and provide an excuse for one character to hustle the other out of the bar. But the editor found her fascinating, and wanted to know more about her. Why? Beats me, but he was willing to pay for a whole ‘nother story if I would write it. (Of course I would. I’m not stupid. And he bought it, and the pair were very well-received, thank you.) The whole idea, though, came about because the editor recognized that even this minor character had a life–a life that intersected with my original story in a way I would never have envisioned on my own.(Who knew she was sleeping with her boss?)
Fortunately, I had matured enough as a person and as a writer to develop that outside life into a story. But honestly, I had originally written that story a long time ago, and if I’d been asked to write the companion piece way back then, I probably could not have done it.
Because, quite simply, I was too young. And now, am I old? Apparently, I’m just old enough.
#SFWApro
Read Full Post »