Writer's Blog: How To Build A Clarebear (Patreon)

Demo Word Count: 357k 

I admit, most of what I’ve learned in college has faded. I was a night-before crammer, which means that while I did well on tests, I retained knowledge very little after that do-or-die test period hour. Technically, sure, I majored in Creative Writing. But I would argue that I spent the next years recovering my naturally irreverent style after my professors attempted to drill into my head that Writing was a Very Serious Art meant to Examine the Human Condition (and yes, my use of capitalization on that last bit is completely at random).

Even when learning about writing almost made me hate writing, however, I’ve always wanted to tell stories. Some authors claim that writing is “necessary” to them, and that they “write for themselves”—these people are true artists, for whom I harbor immense respect and awe. I’m not like that. I write because I want to share a story. 

Writing is hard. Closing my eyes and imagining what will be written? That’s fun! So much fun! Imagining is the best! But actually putting words on a page and then editing? Not always as easy.

Writing a large work becomes easier, however, when instead of forcing characters to behave a certain way, I allow them to write themselves. My mom (an engineer) always gets confused when I talk about this.

“What do you mean 'he decided’ to turn evil?” she’ll demand. “He’s in your head. You get to direct his actions.”

One of the biggest issues with some of my earlier work is that I agreed with her: I thought that my characters were mine to direct. And, okay, fine, technically this is still true. I can reign in their behavior, and I’m not claiming to ascend to some spiritual realm where the will of the character is channeled through my fingertips as I meditate before a keyboard (although I’ve read some authors so good that I’d swear this must be what happens). What I really mean is that, instead of looking at each character as a portrait painted by yours truly, I view them as jigsaw puzzles where I only paint the pieces.

I don’t always know how those pieces will fit together within the larger picture (aka plot). But, unlike with a blank canvas, precut pieces will only show one true image—put the pieces together wrong, and the puzzle will looked warped and bumpy. It’s my job as the writer to figure out the best possible image.

I may have lost the metaphor a bit here as I’ve ran out of caffeine and am thus prone to tangents. I had another metaphor planned involving marbles and physics as well, but an example will probably work better. So, let’s make an example out of Clarence.

How many puzzle pieces a new character gets depends on how important they are to the overall story, and how often they’ll appear. Usually, I’ll take a personality quiz for each major character, write side stories dedicated to them, and create complex backgrounds and past relationships. Clarence didn’t get any of that. He’s a side character. Other than his general personality, his jigsaw only needed the three most basic pieces: what he wants, why he wants it, and how he’s going to get it. Desire creates action, so in order to figure out how Clarence will behave I first needed to know his deepest (darkest?) desires. This all sounds like a late-night phone hotline ad but bear with me.

Since Clarence is a side character, I didn’t initially bother giving that much depth to his base needs. He wants power. Why does he want it? Because he thinks that he deserves it. How is he going to get it? By intimidating those with less authority.

They’re all extremely simple answers, but the combination is enough to give Clarence a distinct personality. I know that Clarence is a coward and a bully since he only challenges those beneath him. I know that he thinks that people (or at least, he) should get what they deserve, which means he’s also an idealist. “Bully” and “Idealist” seem like conflicting character traits, which means that Clarence was probably disillusioned somewhere along the way. What could’ve disillusioned him? Probably not getting something that he wanted or expected. Add in the evidence of his administrative job within Mind Blind’s world, and that probably means he wanted to be a Ment but isn’t one. But if he ever thought he had a chance at having powers, that likely means that people in his family are Ments and that he himself has a relatively high Pollard Score. 

Ergo, Clarence is now a Pollard Five who dreamed of being a superhero as a kid since one of his parents was a Ment, only to have his dreams crushed by just barely missing the bar. He’s not an MIV, either, which would be the next natural job choice, so he probably failed the ASE. Clarence isn’t as smart as he thinks he is, and deep down he’s afraid of admitting it. Because if he admits it, then he’s at risk of also acknowledging that, according to his ideals, he doesn’t deserve the very thing that he wishes for. Which is power. (It all comes back to the Big Want.)

This is why Clarence acts like a jerk to Button, and is so upset about them joining Unity. Every single question about Clarence (his background, what he would do in a given situation, etc.) can be answered simply by making a conclusion based off what information I already know about him.

It rarely feels like I’m “making up” these details beyond the three original components. Rather, I’m solving how they best fit together within the story’s premise. Sometimes pieces fit differently then I’d anticipated, which is why I often feel that it’s the characters, and not me, who are making the decisions.

It’s the logic of creativity.