Ask most readers who have read Aaron or Little Boy Lost: Enlightened and they can tell you things about Aaron or Brian that I probably couldn’t. For me, the mark of a great book is that I can remember the character names after I close the book. Most of the time, I can’t. Oh, the book was good while I was reading it. It may end up with a good rating on Goodreads, but if the characters don’t haunt me, it’s not a 5-star read for me. Ask me anything you want about Zach Tyler from Rowan Speedwell’s Finding Zach or Paul and Danny from Kele Moon’s Eden series. Ask me detailed, in depth questions about any Harry Potter character from JK Rowling. I can tell you when the Weasley twins’ birthday (April 1^st) is or the names of Neville’s parents (Frank and Alice). I’ve read the series at least twenty times because it’s one of my all-time favorites.

Why?

That is an excellent question.

I have the unique privilege to beta for Rowan Speedwell (dreams do come true if you fangirl hard enough). One of the things I envy, love, I mean love, about her character development is the detailed way she unzips her characters and puts you right inside. As much as I love Zach, I think Miles (from Illumination) is probably my all-time favorite character. I was reading for her then, so I got to watch as he developed from start to finish. It was absolutely beautiful. I identified with him, I GOT his quirks. I wanted to meet him, sit him down and have lunch with him (probably just to feed him because he forgets to eat). He’s gorgeously written.

It’s not just Boy A and Boy B. Many books I’ve read, the characters are interchangeable. There’s nothing unique about them. It wouldn’t matter if his name were Bob or Karl, if he were blond or had jet black hair, or what color his eyes are. I won’t remember a thing about him when I archive his book on my Kindle. If he had a good story, he’ll get a 4-star rating. If he didn’t, I won’t rate it, just mark it as read. Because I don’t care. I don’t care about this character enough to remember his name.

I daresay that once people close Aaron, they remember his voice (especially if they’ve read the book on audio – I will never get that voice out of my head). They remember not to touch him. They remember that he likes chicken nuggets and French fries because his psychological development is stuck at 16. They remember his mother’s love for him. (They may not remember her name because she’s not as developed.) They remember his brothers. They remember Dr. Thomas and how much he helped Aaron. And, they remember Spencer. The may only remember that Spencer is deaf, but they remember his name.

So, how do you create characters that will haunt your readers?

The answer is that you have to remember them. It amazes me when authors start to tell you about one of their books and can’t remember the protagonists’ names. I will never get Aaron out of my head. I can tell you anything you want to know about him. Where he went to Elementary school, what the park looked like that they were walking past when they were abducted, where every single scar is. Everything. I spend a month before I start any book just writing an encyclopedia of sorts—character identity and essence, setting, dialogue pieces, events leading up to the book, research, and anything else I may need to reference during my process. It includes a nine-page character analysis spreadsheet for each main character (that I’ve developed over the course of the last five years). I keep all of this in Scrivener with a detailed outline and usually have 20,000 to 25,000 words written in it before I ever open Word.

Knowing your characters’ fears, hopes, dreams, and history will help you to slowly tick up the tension, to ratchet up the conflict and make the reader care. Your character has to have something significant to lose in your novel. He has to have the threat of death hanging over him page after page. The death doesn’t have to be physical—it could be emotional or even professional. If he’s outed, is he going to lose his job? Will he lose his apartment? Maybe. But we have to know what circumstances led him to have no safety net, and we have to know him well enough to care that he doesn’t have one. But to understand what that safety net is, you must know your character.

If Bob just runs down the street for Tylenol, we don’t really care. We assume he has a headache and go back to our lives. But, if we know Bob. We’ll know that he has a baby girl, Sally, at home with a fever of 104. We’ll know that his wife died of cancer two months ago. We know that she sacrificed herself by rejecting the chemo that would have saved her but killed her unborn child. We know Bob feels responsible and clings to Sally like a lifeline. We know Bob doesn’t know enough about caring for a sick infant to know what to do. We want to smack Bob and tell him to take her to the hospital. We watch helplessly as Sally falls unresponsive. We get a sick feeling in our stomach. We cry with him. Why? Because now we know Bob and we know Sally.

At a very base level, my process starts with the principles taught by famed screenwriter and story analyst Michael Hauge, whom I had the luck to see speak at RWA in Atlanta. His story structure is fabulous, but his character development is just as fascinating. I would absolutely recommend you go to Audible and find The Hero’s 2 Journeys. It’s a lecture given by Michael Hauge and Christopher Vogler (author of The Writer’s Journey). In it, Michael talks about his story structure (the Outer Journey) and character development (the Inner Journey). It’s an excellent approach to stripping a character of his fears throughout a book and leaving him fundamentally altered.

The result of all this work?

Julian Holmes from A Heart for Robbie knows – his characters sit right next to him in a chair and tell him stories. My friend Jodi told me after she read it that if she needs to start keeping chairs open for my imaginary friends, we’re going to stop rooming together at events.

Xoxo,

JP Barnaby