Okay, seriously? Nintendo’s new console is called the Wii U? Did Satoru Iwata put fifty dudes in a room and say “You have to come up with a name even worse than the Wii?” Cause if so, one of those fifty dudes got a freakin’ promotion. To, like, Executive Director of Crappy Names.
I don’t like the name, is what I’m trying to say here.
The actual device looks pretty sweet though.
Right; to business. Yesterday the redoubtable Chuck Wendig discussed 25 things you should know about characters in fiction. It’s an excellent post, worth reading in full, but I’ll direct your attention to number 17:
Nobody Sees Themselves As A Supporting Character
Thus, your supporting characters shouldn’t act like supporting characters. They have full lives in which they are totally invested and where they are the protagonists. They’re not puppets for fiction.
This is something I’ve thought about a lot recently. To explain what I mean, I have to fill you in on my animal situation.
See, when my wife and I bought a new house back in August, our realtor didn’t mention that our yard has some kind of occult power to attract rabbits and ducks. I don’t know what it is, but this property is Rabbit Mecca, the Prime Nexus of Duckitude. It’s a freaking Easter convention out there. You look out a window, you’re going to see one of these two animals. This is the way of our world.
But, ducks and rabbits, not that exciting, right? They hop and/or waddle around, they eat some, you know, herbivore type stuff, and pretty much call it a day. Yeah?
Well, when you’ve been immersed in these creatures’ inner sanctum for months on end, it turns out there is some serious shiznit going down. Rabbits, for instance – they fight. Did you know rabbits fight? They have these crazy one-on-one showdowns where one rabbit will lunge and the other will (I truly don’t know why) just hop straight up in the air as high as its legs will take him. Which, for rabbits, is pretty high. This is the Qui-Gon vs. Maul of the rabbit world.
Ducks don’t fight (at least, not that I’ve observed), but if you really watch them, they’ve got this unbelievable attitude. They walk into your yard, and there’s a very English-gentleman vibe going on in the way they hold their bills up. They’re like, I say, what’s all this then? You haven’t mowed yet this week? Tut-tut, old chap, hardly the standard I should expect. And you’re like, come on, duck, I’ve been busy this week, why you gotta judge me that way? And then you realize you’re defending yourself to a duck.
My point is that if even ducks and rabbits have these feuds and ninja moves and hoity-toityness going on, how much more do the minor characters in books and movies and plays have their own secret worlds and private ambitions? That pizza delivery guy isn’t just a plot device; he took this job because he’s saving up for an engagement ring but he’s not sure if the girl still loves him because she keeps making comments about his uncle and she knows he hates it when she talks about his uncle because he’s actually a really good guy in spite of the drinking and…
Do you need to tell the life story of every little character? Of course not. Give them a sentence or two (or whatever is appropriate for your book) and move on. But a sentence about a Real Person will be richer, more interesting, and far more satisfying for your reader than a sentence about Supporting Character #8.
And hey – it might even change how you think about people in real life, too.
Or at least mallards.
Brian D. Buckley 