“The humour made Agent Chapel’s eyes intense in a way I’d never seen before. Maybe part of him had loosened with the removal of his tie. His top button was still firmly fastened, but baby steps, right? Already I trusted him less to fix my computer.” –From “Touched”, Book One of the Marnie Baranuik Chronicles.

Any writer will tell you, character development is not only crucial, it’s also a fuckboat loaded to the gunwales with barrels of undistilled whoopie! (side note: I hear one can acquire tickets to the fuckboat for a Sunday afternoon sweep up the Welland Canal. Miiiiiight want to glance at THAT itinerary before signing up.) Even the most minor character in your story–be it a short story, novella or a novel–deserves the conscientious sweep of his or her creator’s attention.  Hey, that’s you! Why are you a writer, again? Right: you enjoy sweating from the eyeballs, pulling your hair out one strand at a time, peeling your face back a la Poltergeist, and talking to canned salmon in Aisle 4 of the grocery store while the stock boy with the cowlick gives you the crook-eye. Also: you might be borderline insane. Glad we’re in the same boat, here. Hold on … is this boat sailing toward the Canal? *panicked blink* 

(The author apologizes for being distracted by the prospect of screwing strangers on a boat and talking to canned fish … which is clearly ridiculous, as she doesn’t even like salmon)

If you’re going to put a person on the page (and make no mistake about it, unless you’re writing unpolished turds, you should be putting a person on the page) does that person not deserve moulding, fleshing, and sensitivity–mindful, loving strokes of the artist’s brush? That rough-hewn character, newly fashioned one day by the casual toss of your writerly hands, can only go as far as you take them. If you fling him in there and let him gamble about raw and unseasoned, he will be 2 dimensional … worse yet, he will come back to haunt you in the wee hours of the night, possibly wearing a ski mask (but not if you were so thoughtless as to never describe clothing, then he’s a naked angry character, and those are the worst), possibly driving your bedsheets up the crack of your ass in the most frightening cotton-to-ass disaster in history. No? OK, maybe he’ll just flounder around making your story crappy. But, which is worse?

Sacrifice a few hours to the quiet contemplation of one of your underfed characters this week … and yes I did say hours. Take your dog for a walk, but take your character with you. Do your shopping, and be cognizant of your character’s suggestions. (Would Agent Chapel eat bananas? I’m thinking a big ole yes! I hate bananas–what am I gonna do with three bunches? *shrugs and tosses them in her cart anyway*) Heed their wishes, their desires (oh yes, those too), listen to the quiet whisper of their requests. Why not let them write themselves? Sure beats folding them in two and cramming them around your designs. You’ll know when you get it wrong, because if you’ve trained yourself to hear them, they’ll tell you. The old saying goes, “give them an inch and they’ll take a mile”, but oh boy does that work in our favour, fellow writers, when it comes to character creation. 

*offers a hand, palm up, to her imagination* Does he swagger when he approaches, or is he a no-nonsense strutter? Is he accustomed to walking the halls of a court house, shoulders back, chin up, eyes scanning for the important people to whom he ought to nod? Does he hunker down behind a desk, massaging the fingers he uses more than any other part of his body? Does he dance like Fred Astaire in sock feet when he thinks no one’s watching, late at night, in the pale glow of the open fridge, while he’s trying to decide on a mixer for his rye, crooning beneath his breath? I sure hope so, cuz that’s friggin’ adorable, and makes me wanna squeeze his tushie. *gives a special someone the fluttery-eyelash routine, hoping she looks seductive, and not so much like she has a scratch on her cornea*

So give your character an inch; when he takes that mile, chase him down the street with a pen and paper (don’t mind your neighbour’s goggling stares–that just means you’re winning! Wheeee!) and mark down every detail. His unexpected flights of fancy.  Her grim determination. His unfortunate but familiar whinny of a laugh. The way her fingers never stop moving, even when they’re just making busy work of the empty gum wrapper in her pocket.  The aged-to-yellow bruise on his chin. It’s a lot more work, I will admit, and it tends to encourage your friends to discuss the pros and cons of institutionalizing you. And your work will be so much richer for it.

Even if you do have to publish from the Funny Farm.

(AJ Aalto is the author of Touched, Book One of the Marnie Baranuik Chronicles, launching summer 2011, and is currently wrangling toward completing the last draft of Death Rejoices, Book Two of the same series. Please note: AJ Aalto has never actually seen the fuckboat, but is confident that it exists, if only on the fetid sludge pool of her imagination.)