by Stephanie Morrill
Stephanie writes young adult contemporary novels and is the creator of GoTeenWriters.com. Her novels include The Reinvention of Skylar Hoyt series (Revell) and the Ellie Sweet books (Birch House Press). You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and check out samples of her work on her author website including the free novella, Throwing Stones.
(This post is part of the Writing A Novel From Beginning to End series. You can find other posts from this series on the Looking For Something Specific? tab.)
Ever read a book where the main character had lots of spunk and voice, but it felt like he or she was operating in a world of cardboard cut outs? I have, and I know my first drafts almost always read that way.
Your main character is certainly the most important one to figure out, and in the early stages of planning, she’s usually the only character I’ve taken the time to unravel. But at some point—ideally the beginning, but for me it sadly tends to be during the second draft—it’s wise to tune into the rest of the cast and make sure they’re earning their spot. A good place to start is to ask:
In my first draft of Me, Just Different, I gave my super popular main character, Skylar, seven friends. To me this felt very real. The popular girls at my school always had big groups of friends.
Then an agent read a later draft, and her response was still, “I can’t keep track of all these friends. We need to cut one or two.” So I cut more.
But how do we make all these characters sound different from each other? It’s easy for characters to all talk the same and react the same way. The big gun for fighting this problem is to create unique backstories for everyone.
In the Ellie Sweet books, Ellie is my main character, but Lucy doesn’t think of herself as The Former Best Friend, Palmer doesn’t think of himself as The Love Interest, and Chase doesn’t think of himself as A Complication.
Yet in so many of my first drafts, you would think the other characters of the book are just sitting around waiting for my main character to walk onto the stage so they can be defined. How do we fix that?
We give them their own things to do or worry about. Palmer is trying to settle into the right group at his new school. Lucy has parents who are divorcing. Chase has a family that struggles to make ends meet and two brothers who are in jail.
When you’ve solidified in your mind what other characters are working toward and thinking about, this keeps conversations from revolving around your main character and his or her issues.
Even still, I like to ask myself:
If you’re watching season of Turn, there’s been loads of great examples of this recently. The main character, Abraham, is in being held in jail as a spy. The only character who can clear his name is Major Hewlett, but he’s been captured by the rebel army. Two other characters—Anna and Mary—devise a plan to get Hewlett back so that Abraham can be freed. But them choosing to get involved actually interrupts Hewlett being freed by someone else, and therefore the audience’s hope of Abraham being freed is now delayed.
Sometimes these ripple effects happen effortlessly—doesn’t that feel amazing when it all comes together?—but more often they take work to create, so don’t grow discouraged!