Character Building

I thought it might be interesting, this week, to explain a little more about the method of creating characters by giving ‘voices’ to inanimate objects, particularly buildings. I first learned to do this in an exercise at my local writers’ group, Weymouth Writing Matters. You simply choose your object, and imagine what type of character it might have. I say ‘simply’ – but it does take a bit of effort.

Bear in mind that any object, just like a person, has both an appearance and a history, both in its current form and in terms of the materials it’s made from. This is particularly true of buildings, which also have a shared history with human beings – they are made by them and for them, so it’s no great surprise that they resemble them in some ways.

An imposing building, or one that has had a long life works best, of course. For instance, I developed my character Rissa the Ship Warden from the lighthouse at Portland Bill. Now this is nothing if not imposing – tall, flamboyantly dressed in red and white, and with a voice like a foghorn. Well, it is a foghorn. But the lighthouse also has a job to do in warning ships off a dangerous rocky coast and a tide-race. It is a competent and reliable worker with the good of the community at heart. You can see where I’m going with this, I hope. I assigned these qualities to Rissa (named after the kittiwakes that nest nearby, Rissa tridactyla). She is tall, striking, dressed in red, and loud. She is also a competent and reliable worker with the good of the community at heart… You get the picture. From this starting point it was easy to add more: people who give themselves wholeheartedly to their work are often temperamental when they’re off duty, so I gave Rissa a fearsome temper. She also becomes a mother and finds it difficult to give enough of herself to both work and family. Soon I had a full-blown person dealing with the ups and downs and trials of life. She was immensely enjoyable to write about.

I revisit this exercise regularly when I’m creating new characters. It’s a great way to concentrate the mind in collecting together the features of an invented person without being too random. The characteristics of a building have to hold together, or the building wouldn’t. The same goes for people, I’d say!

 

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Finding a Voice

Portland and its harbour have been an important landing place and harbour for centuries. That’s probably why we have so many castles round here.

The most charismatic, I think is Rufus Castle, with parts of its foundations dating back as far as Norman times, I believe. It’s a dour sort of place, parked on a rock overlooking the lovely Church Ope Cove with its many-coloured beach huts, and still standing guard in the teeth of the eastern gales after all this time.

Some years ago, when I was still seeking my ‘writing voice’, I wrote a series of short pieces in which I gave a voice to inanimate objects, particularly buildings. There are many interesting buildings on Portland, and I gave ‘voices’ to quite a few of them during this little project, but Rufus Castle caught my special attention. Here the castle itself is speaking to a visitor:

“I was built on this rock. And made of it, too, your honour. Oh, these great many years past. My purpose? Why, to guard that little, small cove, the one they call the Church Ope in the new-fangled speaking. Guard it against the Northmen when they come i-viking. They don’t come these days. Not often. But see, your honour, they have left behind siege-engines, all colours, dotted round the beach. The people of this isle come and sit in them, and make a holiday. ’Tis a great wonder.

“Have a care, your honour, and do not approach me too close, for my walls do crumble. If a stone should fall and crush you I should be mortified. And so should you. I fear I grow frail, for a stronghold.”

And there we are. As soon as I had finished this, I knew I had found the writing voice and tone I had been looking for.  The castle rapidly transformed into a character – Rufus the Hermit, all alone on his draughty clifftop – and that was where my Isle of Larus stories began.

The Jurassic Coast is a gift to the writer, and this wonderful place just keeps giving and giving. Characters walk out of the sea and fly down from the cliff tops. Ideas for stories float in with the tide. I love it, and I’m exceptionally lucky to have so much inspiration right here on my doorstep.

 

For full details of all my books, see my Amazon page: tinyurl.com/mygx77l 

A Guilty Pleasure

One of the joys of life as a retiree is having the time to watch the tide come in. Pointless? Maybe. Time-wasting? Certainly. Enjoyable? Extremely.

At a different seaside, in another age, I would watch fascinated as the sea crept in. A moment’s distraction, and it has advanced further, while you’re not looking. Beautiful, relentless, magical. I loved it, as a child. There was neither time nor opportunity to do this during my working life, so it’s a particular delight to return to this simple childhood pleasure.

And it is every bit as pleasing now as it was then. That stealthy, inexorable creep of the water, ripple by ripple; parched seaweed clumps revived, and waving with joy at the return of the sea; little crabs and shrimps advancing happily as the sand is reclaimed and turned from land to seabed. Inch by inch, the beach being covered by the ocean all over again, until the time comes at last: high tide! I could watch it for hours, and I do. Wasting time standing and staring is a guilty pleasure, indeed.

I was going to point out the parallel with working on a book. Growing bit by bit, advancing, creeping forwards – that sort of nonsense. But I won’t. For me, watching the tide come in is purpose enough in itself. I don’t need to justify it, and it’s never time ill-spent. If I happen to be walking along Smallmouth Beach and find the tide coming in, I will find the time to stop and look.

There is much to be learned from watching and waiting, from nature in action, from seeing the passage of time made visible by the water advancing on the beach, and these things are not always measurable. You might say it’s wasteful dawdling, I would disagree. It’s one of the joys of life.

 

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Time and Tide (and NaNoWriMo)

It’s that time of year again. No, I don’t mean Christmas is coming; I mean NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. Writers everywhere are tying themselves in knots through November in an effort to produce the 50,000 words in the space of thirty days that the competition demands. That’s an average of 1,666 words per day, which is not impossible by any means, but it is a considerable commitment of time and effort. And quantity, of course, is no guarantee of quality. If you are well-organised, it can be a very good way to get the first draft of your novel down on paper.

I’ve never taken part in NaNoWriMo, though it’s been around since 1999. This year I’m in the ideal situation – my book is largely planned and I’m 25,000 words in. Another 50,000 words would complete my first draft. In a month. I thought about it carefully, too – but I shall not be taking part this year.

When I stand on the top of the Chesil Beach look along its pebbly bulk towards Portland, I can’t help but observe that it’s composed of nothing but masses of little stones, each complete in itself, each taking its own part in creating something much larger and more impressive. The individual words of a book do that too, don’t they? Weather and tide have arranged the pebbles in a precise and particular order, which is what the writer does with the words of her book. My point? Nature arranges the beach in her own good time, and this writer prefers to let her story evolve naturally, too. That’s not to say I never set myself targets or make an effort – but the best ideas come along when they’re ready, and for me, too much forcing rarely produces good results.

Now, I know that NaNoWriMo works very well for lots of people, even if they don’t reach the 50,000 word target. Many a good book has evolved from the discipline of it. But to churn out all those words in thirty days is too relentless a commitment for me, and would be too neglectful of other things (and people!) in my life.

So this year I shall be cheering on my writing friends who have taken up the challenge. I wish them good luck and lots of splendid ideas. And me? I’ll be working at my usual pace, taking my time, letting the story develop and ripen and creep into shape, just like the Chesil Beach. Time and tide will work with me – the best assistants any writer could wish for.

 

For full details of all my books, see my Amazon page: tinyurl.com/mygx77l