I’m what is called a pantser like Stephen King. I don’t outline the story ahead of time. But I do take time to stop and think or journal on where I’d like my characters to end up. Anyhow, my two characters, a woman and a man, are growing in separate places right now. The guy’s growth is far more interesting than the woman’s. In real life this normal since women mature at a younger age than men, but in writing is this ok? Should I find more balance? Should I be more deliberate about her growth? My only concern is that she will be unrealistic if I am too deliberate. Or am I over thinking and this is how characters grow in fiction.
Fiction writers, do you find this or do this intentionally. Like, give another character more spotlight? Maybe it’s her slow growth that makes him more interesting and vibrant? I’d love to hear your strategies.
“Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful.” – Samuel Johnson (1709 – 1784), English Author, Poet, and Literary Critic and Writer
I had been thinking about the good guy vs the bad in a collection of short stories I’ve been working on, and I was reminded that in life no human is ever pure bad or pure good. What is most important when developing my characters is that I display my characters as their true selves. Whether they are good or bad doesn’t matter. As long as I display them as true as possible, they will make the choices themselves. The truth is we all teeter between being the good guy and the bad guy. And the gray area where we can’t seem to navigate is what makes us human.
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Bad Guys -On Writing
Quote Via https://www.decision-making-solutions.com/ethics_quotes.html
Dorthey has to fight the villain inside her. She tries to stay focused on growth and not letting others bring her down. But sometimes she gets down, real down. She wants to drag her enemies to the depths of hell. Introduce them her friend, Death and fill their bellies with the greatest pleasures in life. She wants to leave them stranded and lonely waiting for someone to just. come. and. love. them. The place she was. The way she was. And sometimes she loses control and she stoops. She stoops and she feels like she’s let herself down every time she does. She never wants another human to feel the physical and emotional pain she’s gone through. But she clinches her fists and grits her teeth at times, praying for vengeance from above and below. Then she thinks, you know what, they may never realize the pain they caused. They may never take the time to learn their own soul. Their own magnificent inner being. Now that, is the true heartbreak. And that is when she reels herself back in and remembers that in another life, in another dimension, she made the same mistake. Even if it would have never been in this lifetime. That thought slacks her jaw and releases her shoulders. This is her growth. This is a snapshot inside a human mind attempting to grow from every circumstance. This is her truth.
Who are you when you’re
when that sweat is dripping
from your brow
When your feet are up
on the couch.
Can you define yourself?
Not your hobbies
or your top responsibilities,
but who you are,
between your out-right
“I’m a little purple person,” it whispered in my ear. “I run and frolick and think of the many ways I can return to you. It’s just a matter of getting to you.” It takes ten huge steps away from me, but since it’s so small it doesn’t get more then 3 inches from my face. It sits, crosses it’s legs, and faces me. “In between the spaces is space, my dear poet, it’s space to be filled with memories and love and if you even feel the need, hate.” The little purple person then lays down staring at my popcorn ceiling, and places two arms behind his head. “And if you must know, my dear poet, the space between my maddening choices is balance. Where the imagination runs wild because the madness isn’t present, but it was and it will be. Some call it peace, but I believe, my dear poet,” he faces me now, “it’s best left temporary. Because to grow we must change.” He goes silent and slowly closes his eyes. I study this tiny person. He must be no bigger than my thumb. I roll over and look at my popcorn ceiling. My eyes slowly close. That could be true, it could be true.
I’ve started compiling a list of Famous Writers from New England!
Still working on the list. But this is what I have so far. I’m proud to be from New England and live where so many great writers have lived. Thought I’d make page to show off my home.