The Chicken & The Egg

Us writers are always working on ways to make our characters jump seamlessly from the page into the reader's mind. We do this in various ways of course.

But for me my characters always seem to stem from some part of myself.

In Sun Worship I touched upon how I try to experience the things my characters do.

Well, within reason of course. If anyone's read SixDead Men I'm sure they're very worried right now.

See for yourself...

Terence Ire shifted his position swiftly and the knife was suddenly more securely in the grasp of his right hand. He slid the blade beneath Marc’s rib and felt the tip puncture the heart. He smiled at the look of surprise on the dying man’s face and pushed the knife as far as it would go before he twisted it expertly. He felt Marc’s body shudder against his holding calves and thighs. As Marc’s eyes rolled back in his head Ire released his left hand from Marc's mouth. He wiped the saliva and snot on the glove on to the dead man’s t-shirt. He pulled the blade out and stood in one fluid movement.

So... ALL my characters stem from some part of my own personality?

Well, where Terence Ire came from I really don't want to know.

At any rate, I often take a personal quirk and impose it on a character in some shape or form. But in the main I like my central characters to possess certain personality traits:

Humour

A sense of fairness

A taste for good food

A love of life

After watching a documentary on
Colin Dexter and his character Morse, I was struck by how I had clearly incorporated some of Morse's qualities into my own detective, Robert Deed, in Six Dead Men. But then I've also tried to make him relentless like Columbo and inscrutable like
Sherlock Holmes.

Then I also realised some of his personality quirks were in fact mine – namely:

A love of crosswords

A love of literature

A love of privacy

A hatred of cruelty towards children and animals

A hatred of misogyny

A hatred of discrimination

Well, here's the thing; when I wrote him I wanted to give him characteristics which I admire in a person. I wanted to create a male character who was a thoroughly nice person, strong minded but fair yet emotionally fragile. But more than anything, I wanted him to be credible.

So I was seriously chuffed recently when a male friend, whose opinion I value, told me he really liked the character I'd created. He found Detective Inspector Robert Deed completely believable.

I've since come to realise that Deed also embodies many of the qualities I wish to own. Except for the lonely, emotionally fragile part.

So I started to consider the whole chicken and egg debate. I wondered if I had begun to absorb some of my characters' traits into my own psyche. At this point I don't truly know the answer to that. But I do know that I often wish I could be more like a particularly strong character I wrote when it comes to certain situations in life.

But if any of you who know me well think that I'm becoming like the people I create on the page then please – answers on a postcard of your choice.

Faetaera: Through The Rabbit Hole

Larell’s heart was full to the brim. His audience with Aurelia had been unexpected and full of wonder. He was not surprised she was aware of his plans to send a force through to the other side. Aurelia always knew everything going on in her world. At times he thought he saw the weight of it bearing down upon her. Then he wished to take her in his arms and carry her as well as the burdens she bore. But of course he would never do this, merely imagine it. It made him love her all the more. She thought he did not know how she came by her information and he planned on keeping it that way. It was the only way he knew to express his love for her without feeling foolish. In the crystal lined chamber he felt her load more palpably than usual. He knew it was simply his foolish love-sickness for his Queen but he let the feeling soak through him regardless. Aurelia's lips twitched briefly as though she was amused. She was kind in her tolerance of his ridiculous obsess

Aphasia - Phase 1

It was one morning of May 2021. I woke up and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know I had a stroke. I carried on as though I was okay. I even tried to negotiate with my guest when she was leaving. I tried to talk but only mumbles came out of my mouth. She left me with a big hug. I knew something was wrong. I tried to call my cousin, Michelle. With a few grunts, I convinced her to come round to my place. In the end she came round and she was very worried. She stayed with and we had lunch together. After she left, I called my friend in Sheffield, Bev. I tried to say what was wrong with me. I couldn’t speak. She rang my neighbour, Kathy. Kathy was out with Nelson, her fabulous dog. Bev rang her so she came round. When she came to my house I was sitting in the dark. Bev said she should call an ambulance. I took the phone from her and shook my head. Before long my neighbours Lizz and Leo came to see how I was. Kathy told Leo to ring the ambulance because I took her phone. She did not know w

Faetaera: A Triumvirate

A Triumvirate Brairton’s minions slipped through a barely noticeable fissure. The tear would close shortly. Despite the increase in their regularity the breaches rarely stayed open very long. To the three insidious spies, the stink of the new world was almost unbearable. But in time the triumvirate would each become so used to it they would scarcely notice it at all. That it poisoned them they did not know. Brairton was not in the habit of informing his operatives of fatal consequences. Their programming precluded any thought beyond the mission they must complete. In this Brairton had been exact and had performed the necessary rituals himself. Each had their mission branded into their being. They would travel together for some time but then slip off to their secret destinations one by one, never to see each other again. The threesome latched on to their individual targets and began their particular brand of individual mischief immediately. Minion one skulked off to en

Rae of Light

Search This Blog