The Wound and the Want: How to Breathe Life into Your Characters

It’s January 4, which means I can still wish you all a very Happy New Year! It seems fitting that this, my first 2014 post, centers on the writing concept that had the most effect on my book, BECOMING JINN, which I teased on this blog last year. (Well, in November but that still counts as last year!)

As a reader and as a writer, nothing matters more to me than character. So it shouldn’t be particularly surprising that an exercise to create a character profile is what kicked my writing brain into gear.

Last month I discussed how having both an inside story and an outside story gives your novel a firm foundation and touched on the concept of “the wound and the want.” This surely goes by other names, but I love the way “the wound and the want” rolls off the tongue.

The idea is simple: The primary characters (and even most of the secondary ones) have a wound that makes them want something. This want is the guiding force of your story; it is what your character is striving to achieve. Essentially, the want is the purpose of your novel.

Wait, and that’s simple? Pretty heavy stuff there, isn’t it? For one thing to be the purpose of your novel?

Well, it is and it isn’t. If you don’t know your character’s wound and want, you will flounder while writing, your story will lack a depth that makes the readers care, sympathize with, and follow your characters, and your novel may not be as strong as it can be. It may not live up to its potential. But once you figure out the wound and the want, everything flows from it and your job is easier, not harder.

Need, hope, wish, call it what you will, but your characters must want something and they must want it intensely. The want doesn’t need to be some spectacular thing. It’s the intensity of the wanting that matters and that instills doubt in your readers that the character can achieve his or her goal. This gives you tension while you toss obstacles at your characters that thwart them from fulfilling their want. And the wound that makes them want? That gives your character depth, motive, and backstory.

One-dimensional characters usually lack a wound and a want. Ditto for cardboard villains. Your main character’s wound and want must be fully fleshed out and must be able to change and deepen as the story progresses in order to sustain an entire novel, but your supporting characters should also have a wound and a want. You don’t have to explore it as fully, but the wound and the want makes them who they are just as much.

So many key aspects of a novel come from these two words: the wound and the want. That’s all good right, but how do you figure out what your characters’ wounds and wants are? There are likely many ways, but I’ll share what worked for me, what I learned in the novel planning course I took that turned me into a proud (and somewhat obsessive) plotter.* It all goes back to those writing exercises I used to scoff at.

As I’ve said previously, the best part of writing exercises is that they have the capacity to surprise you, to spark an idea that may form the core of your book, something you might never have thought of (or only thought of after multiple revisions). This is because they make you think about your characters.

Character profiles can be developed in many ways: writing a letter or diary entry from your character’s point of view to help discover their history and voice; interviewing your characters and answering as if you were in your character’s head; jotting down responses to a series of simple to complex questions about who they are.

Is this hard work? Not really. But it’s more thinking than writing. And we all know how much we writers are just dying to put fingertips to keyboard and start, well, you know, actually writing our stories. As much of a believer as I am in plotting, even I feel that pull and that desire to shove all this aside and just write. But I know in the end how much better my work will be if I put in the thinking time first.

To dissuade myself from giving up on these exercises too early, I go old school: pencil and paper. I take a brand-new, spiral-bound notebook and start writing the answers to these questions by hand. I actually do almost all of my initial plotting and writing exercises by hand. Doing them this way separates them out as a distinct task. I associate notebooks with plotting, so when they are in front of me, I don’t feel that pull to write the same way I do as when I sit at my computer. (If you give it a try, let me know if it works for you!)

So finally an end to the teasing! What’s the one question that gave BECOMING JINN its unexpected backbone? The thing I would have never expected to fuel my main character Azra’s wound and want?

What is the worst thing your character has ever done?

That’s it. I won’t tell you what this thing is because that’d be a spoiler. But the worst thing she did was to her best friend. And the reason she did it is because she wanted what that friend had. And why she wanted it was because of the wound she has had since she was a little girl. Wound, want, story. From one question. Powerful stuff.

Here are some of the other questions I most use when creating character profiles. If they don’t work to spark your imagination, find ones that do. There are many books and Web sites listing these kinds of character-building exercises. Browse through, pull out the ones that get your brain churning, and customize your own character profile exercises. Then grab that notebook and start plotting!

* The writing course I took was at Grub Street with author James Scott as instructor. After two long years of waiting, his first novel, THE KEPT, is debuting on January 7. Congratulations James! And much thanks again!

** Lori is holding an ARC giveaway for Jessica Khoury's VITRO, which will be released on January 14. Enter to win by January 6!

Wound and Want

What does the character want (primary and secondary characters must have wants)?

What are his or her motives for wanting this?

Where in the story is this made clear to the reader? (And it should be.)

How do we learn what the central character wants? Dialogue? Actions? Interior thinking?

What or who stands in the way of him or her achieving it?

What does that desire set in motion?

List five things that are obstacles to what the character wants: can be inside or outside character. Rank their intensity, how hard is it to get past each one?

Who Is this Character?

Name

Age                                                                             

Need/want

Key strength               

Key flaw (and consequences of failure, which is not as important for secondary characters; but for secondary characters, do need: relationship with main character; history with MC; purpose of character in story, how affect MC)

Where live geographically? Describe.

Physical description    

Voice         

Faith

Fashion sense: What would character wear in summer? winter? To a wedding? funeral? bed?

Likes/dislikes

Vices

Nervous habit

Family history/relationships

Key friendships

Role models

Social status                                   

Academic performance

Special talents/hobbies         

Favorite hangout

Favorite phrase

What does he/she do on weekends?

For work?

Favorite meal? What would dinner with them be like?

Deeper Questions (for MC and antagonist)

Worldview

Moral compass

Is he or she a giver or a taker?

Introvert or extrovert and how manifest in life?

Most secret yearning?

Childhood dream that never came true and why?

Worst thing ever done?

Secrets? Secret life?

What has held him or her back in life?

How many people would come to his or her funeral? Why might someone decide not to attend?

Most unlikely or most contradictory aspect?

How strong is character under pressure?

What is their character arc? How change and grow? How apply toward overcoming final obstacle? Tip: at the bottom of every page, write what you know about the character from that page to see if the character is changing over course of the novel, if new information is being given or too much is repetitive.

Twitter

Author Web site

Goodreads
Facebook

Inside, Outside, and You Won’t Be Upside Down

In last month’s post, I shared my light bulb writing moment. Thanks to a novel planning course I took, I went from a floundering pantser to a flourishing plotter. And I’m still pinching myself that the agent and book deal swiftly followed. The concepts from that class are so instrumental to my novel planning and writing that I wanted to share them and hopefully give someone else that “aha!” moment.

Last month I discussed the importance of writing exercises. As I teased in that post, writing exercises have a way of tossing the most unexpected of things into your writing stew. I know because it happened to me. While creating a character profile, a single question sparked an answer that now forms the backbone of my book, BECOMING JINN. I know I promised to tell you more this month, but I realized I can’t. Not yet. Because first, we need to have a little chat about a key component of story planning: inside and outside story. 

If I had to pick one concept that had the greatest overall effect on my writing, it would be this one. Unfamiliar with the terms? Let me explain.

The outside story is the plot. The what and the when. The inside story is more subtle but arguably more important. Because the inside story is the why. Think of it as the motive for the crime. 

Your outside story question is the goal your character is outwardly striving to achieve. It is something tangible. It is not “to be happy.” It is “to win a World Series.” The plot will revolve around this story question. All the obstacles you toss your character’s way will try to thwart him from achieving his goal.

The inside story question asks why your character wants to achieve this particular goal. It is the emotional side of the story. Your character has a need she inwardly yearns for, a need she may not be fully aware of until your outside story kicks into gear. If the character is aware of the need, he is not actively striving to fulfill it until the inciting incident bops him over the head. 

In order to hook your readers and keep them with you and your characters until the very last page, your characters must be real. We must be able to sympathize with them. For that to occur, your characters must have an inside story. We must know the emotional question your plot is serving to answer. 

You cannot plan a novel without knowing both your outside story and your inside story. From the start. This is key. No, it’s more than key. It’s essential. Understanding this truth is the turning point in my writing career. You cannot add the inside story after the fact. I tried. It doesn’t work. This is because the direction your novel goes depends upon, and changes, based on your character’s need. 

Maybe the character wants to win a World Series game because his need is to make his father proud. But maybe it’s to finally give him the self-esteem that years of schoolyard bullying stripped from him. The past and present events in your character’s life, the relationships, and all the supporting players depend on the direction the need takes you. Take the same plot and the same character and shift his or her inside story question and you’ll have an entirely different novel on your hands.

Often writers think the inside story must be veiled, some mysterious thing the reader has to work to discern, but that’s not the case. You can state it frankly, plainly, and hopefully right at the start of your novel. Knowing the emotional question is like giving your readers a blueprint, a guide for how to read your book. It’s a measuring stick against which both you as the writer as well as your readers can compare your character to see if and how the actions (the plot) in the story are changing your character (or not). 

Your inside story question, like the disasters in your outside story, must change, must ratchet up, must keep upping the stakes and refining itself. Keep in mind that your character doesn’t have to achieve his or her need. Often the best stories leave characters yearning. The character doesn’t have to change, he or she just needs to be presented with the opportunity to change.

A balance between the inside and outside story is what makes a good novel great. All plot and the story is too surface. All character and the story will drag. The combination of the two is what makes a novel work. It gives us events that happen to characters we care about. 

When you plan your novel, you must plot both the events in the outside story as well as those in the inside story. When you come up with the obstacles you throw at your characters, consider the inside story question and see how the emotional component of the story is served as a result of those obstacles. Often the “disasters” in each timeline will match up. Sneaky how that works . . .

The following overly simplistic example distinguishes the inside and the outside story and illustrates the drastic difference having an inside story makes:

A man and a woman are shopping in a grocery store. The man pulls a box of sugary cereal off the shelf and tosses it in the cart. The woman not so subtly suggests oatmeal might be a better, more nutritious choice. The man rolls his eyes and stacks a second box of chocolate-coated cereal on top.

What I’ve just given you is a very short story that is all plot. It tells you what happens. But as a reader, if you’re not bored, you are quite generous. Why do we care that these two people disagree over what constitutes a healthy breakfast? We don’t. At least not yet. Not until we have the inside story. Take two:

A man and a woman are shopping in a grocery store. The man’s hand shakes as he pushes the cart down the cereal aisle. The couple’s best friends are not only getting married the following week but just that morning at brunch announced they are having a baby. He speeds up as they roll past the jars of baby food. He reaches for a box of sugary cereal and casually tosses it in the cart. The woman watches her boyfriend of eight years not even hesitate as he chooses food meant for a child. How is he supposed to raise a child if he still is one himself? She breezily suggests he try oatmeal instead. The chocolate cereal he deposits in the cart answers her question. 

We have the same plot: a couple grocery shopping in the cereal aisle. But with the addition of the inside story, the plot now has context. We understand why each character acts the way they do. We understand their motivations. And keep in mind, I said “each character.” Because every main character and even most of your supporting characters should have an inside story. These characters must need something. They must want something.

Which brings me to the concept that changed BECOMING JINN: the wound and the want. Unfortunately we are out of space! I promise to tackle the idea of the wound and the want, character profiles, and how they shaped my book next month!

Contest Announcement!

My 2015 YA debut author group, the Freshman Fifteens, wants to help make your holiday season shine. Our giveaway, The Twelve Days of the Freshman Fifteens, will open on 12/12 and run through 12/23. Critiques, ARCs, gift cards, and more up for grabs! Be sure to follow us on our Web site and Twitter (@Freshman15s) for details and keep an eye out for the official announcement!

Twitter

Author Web site

Goodreads
Facebook

When in Doubt, Shout It Out

A well-known, multi-book published author finished her latest manuscript and presented it to her editor.

“Would you like to read on paper, on computer, on Kindle, on iPad?” the author asked.

The editor shook her head. “I would not like to read on paper, on computer, on Kindle, on iPad.”

“But—” the author began.

The editor held up her hand. “Nor will I read in a box, on a boat, with a fox, or with a goat.”

The author closed her laptop, thinking the relationship had finally come to an end. “I am sorry you have no interest in this book,” the author said.

“That is not what I said.”

“But you refused to read. Not even in a box, on a boat, with a fox, or with a goat.”

“I did.”

The author was confused.

The editor continued, “I would not like to read on paper, on computer, on Kindle, on iPad. I will not read in a box, on a boat, with a fox, or with a goat.” She smirked. “I want you to.”

The editor then sat in a tufted chair, snacking on eggs and ham, while the author stood in the middle of the office and read her latest manuscript — her entire manuscript — out loud. For ten hours. From start to finish.

While the above dialogue is imagined, the story is real. The editor believed the best way to decide if a book was working was to hear it.

And you should too.

Advice about reading your dialogue aloud has become common. Dialogue is spoken. To ensure it sounds natural, like a real-life conversation, it makes perfect sense to give actual voice to the lines. Whether you add the accent, pitch, or inflections you heard in your head while writing is optional (and dependent on your flair for dramatics). But I think we can all agree that reading your dialogue out loud can improve your writing.

But what about the rest? Description, narration, interior monologue, what comes of reading your entire book aloud save for a sore throat?

For one, it’s different. We writers read the words we write dozens of times. A hundred is not out of the question. We write, read, rewrite, tweak, wordsmith, perfect. And we can vary it. We can read on paper, on computer, on Kindle, on iPad. In a different font may be more useful than with a goat, but the underlying need is to read your book in a way that gives you a perspective closer to that of a new reader than one who practically has the text memorized.

Reading your manuscript out loud changes your perspective. In hearing the words spoken instead of simply in your head, you instantly have a new experience, a new lens through which to attempt to read your book like a virgin reader.

Second, you increase your chances of finding mistakes. Our brains are very smart. And, like autocorrect, try to account for our imperfect fingers. As well-meaning as our brains may be, this “help” translates into us skipping over extra words, inserting missing ones, and glancing right over tipos — typos. Reading aloud ups the odds of finding these stealthy errors.

Finally, giving voice to your words makes those words better. When you read a sentence with warring words, fiercesomely frustrating alliteration that drones and groans and marathons on out loud, a lack of breath, an abundance of boredom, and a numbing of brain cells shine a spectacular spotlight on what, on the page, worked fine. Saying the words out loud points a finger at ill-placed or missing punctuation, run-on and thus confusing sentences, and other unintentional missteps like the one a writer friend once told me about.

He was attending an event where an author was reading from her work. To a packed crowd, into a microphone, the author read a personal, moving account of a milestone event in her life. Raw and soul-baring, the passage turned on the spigot for everyone in the room. And then she ended the reading. 

With a rhyme. An unintentional, inappropriate, mood-ruining rhyme.

If she had only read the ending out loud before this moment, she wouldn't have left her audience torn between tears and laughter.

Take control of your writing by infusing it with voice, literally. A bonus, if you have the guts, is taping yourself and listening in the car, in the gym, while folding laundry. Work through those tricky spots by changing your perspective.

And hey, at the very least, you'll have the most personalized Christmas gift imaginable for friends and family.

Do you read your work out loud? Does it improve your writing? Are you willing to risk the sore throat to test the theory?


Lori Goldstein is the author of Becoming Jinn (Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan, Spring 2015, sequel, Spring 2016). With a degree in journalism and more than 10 years of experience, Lori is a freelance copyeditor and manuscript consultant for all genres. She focuses on the nitty-gritty, letting writers focus on the writing.

Twitter

Author Web site

Goodreads
Facebook