Back to characterization...that nagging "make it or break it" part of most stories and novels, and at least for me as a reader (if not also a writer) the primary element that determines the success of said work. Back when I first started writing this blog, one of my early entries focused on this literary aspect, by referring to my grandmother's infamous evaluation of some of her various acquaintances as "real characters."
I published my seventh book, Reunion, recently and am currently working on number eight, That Old Cape Cod. Both of these novels have unique characterization challenges, one that would fluster (her word not mine) even my grandmother.
In the first one, I chose to write about a group of friends planning to attend a 50th high school reunion, which couldn't help but be based on my own experience, since it was one I just had. What better group to draw from, then, than my actual high school classmates? Most of the novel deals with the characters' memories, as well as the secrets they kept from each other. A parallel plot is the book one of the characters is writing, in which this experience becomes far more negatively exaggerated than the actual one (or does it?)
Unfortunately, this raised the eternal dilemma: how to create flaws and frailties in characters modeled after people I love (because, of course, this is how one creates successful characters...at least according to the "how to" books). The villains were far easier...after all who doesn't have some leftover rage for the bad guys of our youth? Still, the question of potential insult (if not downright libel) definitely looms in those circumstances, thus restricting one's level of poetic license.
The question is, how does one (as Hemingway so determinedly reminds us) "write about what you know," without crossing the line too far into what maybe not everyone you know wants everyone to know about them. I have concluded that no writer's characters are entirely fictional, despite the disclaimers, which even I have become guilty of including. But that doesn't mean you can't jumble up their personalities into composite beings (as I did in Reunion) or place older models in younger bodies, or make women you know into men and vice versa (a bit more of a challenge, but still possible).
This method of characterization can, however, have some unexpected consequences. When my husband complained that in my first book (Scraps of Eternity) I immediately kill him off (sorry, spoiler alert), for example, my daughter countered with the observation, "well at least Mom didn't turn you into a gay male lawyer." On the other hand, the fictional family who endearingly populate the Seaside Restaurant in Home to Trout River, may one day be sought after by several readers who claim the book inspired them to travel there, and thus put the place on the map...okay, maybe in a few photo albums at best, but I can dream, right?
The characters in my newest venture (still in its first draft), That Old Cape Cod, are a combination of old friends, lovers, and ghosts, and occasionally all of the above. Talk about challenging...imagine trying to create flaws for someone who is no longer living. I mean, what can they do about it at that point? And what possible message can come from the impossibility of change? This may take longer to write than I imagined.
But what the heck? Heaven knows, I've got the time, what with the current constrictions of an epidemic to keep me home and typing away. On the other hand, there's nothing like a good quarantine to release one's inhibitions in regard to "fictional" character creation. On the one hand, it's made me more aware of whom I genuinely miss when I'm not allowed to see them, as well as who I really don't; and undoubtedly, there are many who have come to similar conclusions about me.
Therefore, I rather expect there are other writers who have come to the same realization, even ones whose books are, shall we say, more widely read than mine, and perhaps this circumstance will inspire a whole new literary movement. I'm not talking about the inevitable flurry of apocalyptic novels (which I have to confess I might be looking forward to), but also (another result I happily anticipate) an abundance of fiction populated with more "real characters." My grandmother would be proud.
