Writing Exercise: Character Development

If you're struggling with one of you characters, try writing a letter as your current character to their older or younger self. Think of what they might want to tell their past or future self, this might help you pinpoint what's important to your character.

You (AHC 294)

Be advised: a Code 3 lockdown is in effect. Do not leave your post unless instructed to do so. Do not change your radio’s frequency. Please stay calm.

You hear the loud, piercing emergency signal punctuate the announcement. You know you shouldn’t, know it’s against protocol, but you find yourself turning the volume knob every so slightly so that the even-toned female voice quiets down a bit as she repeats her announcement.

Be advised: a Code 3 lockdown is in effect.

Pretty middle of the road code, you remember. One of the AHCs must have escaped. You recall that a Code 3 means only one AHC loose in the facility. You notice that the voice coming from your radio hasn’t yet told you which of the AHCs to look out for.

Do not leave your post unless instructed to do so.

You tap the toes of your boots on the ground, and it produces a gentle clinking sound. It’s hard to not feel frightened when you’re stationed in a basement tunnel with darkness surrounding you. The air is both stale and damp, like something left sitting in a puddle for far too long.

You fidget with the stun baton in your hand. You’re almost itching at the thought of giving the clever creature a little buzz and sending them on their way. Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s how you survived the Alternate History Facility.

“Who’s that?”

You hear a voice echo down the tunnel, sudden and unexpected. You turn your radio down even more, fail to hear the flat, calming voice say something new.

AHC 294 has breached containment. All personnel report to the nearest safe room in a calm and orderly manner.

“Hello?” you ask the darkness, voice tentative and unsure. Was it a supervisor coming down to check on you? You’d done exactly as the emergency channel told you -

“Show yourself!”

You are sure that voice sounded different from the first one.

“You first!” you exclaim.

All you hear now is the gentle cadence of slow footsteps. You clutch your stun baton and switch it on out of panic. You hear the piercing sound of the emergency signal and turn your radio’s volume back up.

AHC 294 has breached containment. Humanoid class. Shapeshifter. Mimics humanoid voice -

You’ve heard enough. It’s time to go. You start walking north down the hallway to the closest elevator, and your stun baton crackles and sparks with blue light with every step you take.

You reach the elevator and see that it’s locked down too.

It’s too late now.

Heavy steps from behind you cause the metal grate covering the ground to tremor. You turn around to face whatever is here with you.

“Oh,” you sigh. It’s only your supervisor. He must have come down here to look for you.

“I thought I was a goner.”

Your supervisor says nothing. He only stares at you with hollow eyes.

“I said,” you begin again, “I thought I was a goner.”

“Show yourself!”

Your heart stops and you feel your body freeze. It’s already too late.

It’s seen you. It’s heard you.

The creature, because that’s what this really is, slides in and out of focus as its true form emerges. It licks its jowls, and leaps.

Now, instead of two bodies, there is only one. It looks just like you, skin a little paler, eyes a little more vacant. It drops your baton and your radio to the ground and begins walking further down the hall.

AHC 294 has breached containment. Humanoid class. Shapeshifter. Mimics humanoid voice. Will attack on sight. Do not engage. Do not acknowledge other employees until you’ve reached a designated safe room.

Soon, it will find that nice boy you wanted to have a cup of coffee with. Your voice will ring light and sweet, but it is not you.

It is AHC 294.

“I thought I was a goner.”

You

“Chae-bisou, are you all right?” Sajangnim asks.

“I’m alive,” you mutter. “Just - give me a moment.”

“We should get back to camp,” Sajangnim says. “Come on.” And he picks you up.

“Sajangnim!” you protest, but he keeps walking.

“You can put me down. If I just lean on you -” you begin, but he shakes his head.

“This is faster.”

“I’m getting you all muddy.”

“I told you, I’m not afraid of getting a little dirty.”

Your ankle is seriously irritating you, and also you now notice how nice he smells. “Please, Sajangnim -”

And it starts to rain.

“There - a shelter up ahead.” He tightens his hold on you and speeds up.

Because you are camping in a national park, there are little rest shelters all through the forest for hikers to use. The one Sajangnim spotted is in good repair, dark wood, benches on three sides, space for a little fire pit in the middle. He sets you down on one of the benches gently.

“Let me see your ankle.”

“I’d rather get the mud off.”

“Take off your shoe,” he says, and you obey, because you always obey.

But then Sajangnim strips off his t-shirt, which isn’t nearly as muddy as yours, and goes to hold it out in the rain. He wrings it out a few times, and then he lets it soak some more. He returns to you, uses the t-shirt to wipe the mud off your clothes as best as he can.

“No, Sajangnim, your t-shirt is expensive -”

“I can buy another. Hold still.”

You submit, tense beneath Sajangnim’s gentle hands. Sajangnim goes to rinse his shirt out again, and then he wraps it around your right ankle.

“Does that help?”

“Yes,” you admit, trying to be polite. Before today, you have been sure that Sajangnim is incapable of tending to anyone with an ailment or being this gentle, because Sajangnim is brilliant and hardworking and doesn’t tend to have much patience for those who aren’t on his level, though occasionally he manages a dose of condescension.<

“Thank you,” you add, because Sajangnim looks terribly anxious.

At that, Sajangnim sits back. “I’m sorry I made you fall.”

“It wasn’t you. It’s muddy out there. It’s even muddier now, I’m sure.”

x

Writing Exercise: Character Development

"You"

Second-person point of view is an intimate way of looking at a character's thoughts. As an exercise, take a scene from the book you're writing. Choose a character, and then re-write the scene entirely from a second-person POV, noticing what details shift because of this perspective change.

Guess where?

This is a story about a place that no longer exists.

But it did, once.

We were given the letter A, because of course they gave us the infamous scarlet letter, to remind us of who we were at our cores. Perhaps you've over-analyzed that bit. But if you wander the halls, you might hear indistinct wailing echoing from behind thick, wooden doors. Could be howls of joy, could be screams of sadness, exhaustion, and homework that can't be understood.

This is where we met. In a land of green carpet and white-washed concrete walls, of inconvenient fire drills and hidden liquor bottles.

The B for Boy land was a foreign and unreal place. Each time a door was kicked open, you heard loud rap and hip hop music, smelled dirty clothes and showers not taken, saw hallways littered with trash. It was definitely lived in. It was a place we dared not go, unless we accidentally started loving one of them.

C was for the miscreants, the odd ones out. Too old for purely gendered halls, too out of place, or just too angry to deal with people in general. It was clean. Fox News was their white noise. Every person a ghost, sleeping, at work, in class, avoiding homework. Sneaking in and out of those rooms felt natural, like we were all adults here and we could be trusted and besides the RA isn't our mom anyway.

They tore it down. We don't miss it, but we miss the memory of it.

Guess Where?

It seemed like a bit of an obscure spot, on the east side of campus, at the edge of one of the quads and near a parking lot. From a distance it might have been a gazebo. Up close it was all stone and columns and arches and classical Greek architecture, which made some sense, because it housed statues, a good number of them Greek philosophers. Each statue had its own plinth and plaque and nameplate, a description of what made them worthy of inclusion in the small circular temple. The center of the little alcove had a circular space inscribed with the institution's motto and its coat of arms. Rumor had it that if one stood right in the center, one's voice would be specially projected. Plenty of students and visitors alike had stood there and tried it out. It was open to the air, so sometimes on a windy night the breeze cut through sharply, but it was also a good place to sit and think, maybe watch cars drive by. Once in a while, it was a safe place for a wanderer to bunk down and sleep.

Exercise: Setting

Guess Where?

Good worldbuilding is when the author can bring a place to life for the reader. Using your powers of description, describe (in 2-3 paragraphs) a place or setting with which you're familiar. Then show your work to somebody who knows the spot and see if they are able to guess it through your words.

Dialogue

Context: SGA

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Rodney said, keeping his voice as calm and patronizing as he could manage.

“Darling,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth, “you’d best start giving a damn soon, or our guests may think us inhospitable.”

No one had expected some crazed conspiracy theorist nuts to explode into Rodney’s living room while Atlantis’s senior command was having a planning session - and very nice dinner party at Major Lorne’s hand - but now there was pretending to be done.

“Where is he?” the lead gunman asked. He had pale skin and pale eyes and looked like he didn’t see nearly enough sun.

“The person you’re looking for, Dr. Daniel Jackson, has never been to this house, and I doubt he ever will be here in the future,” Elizabeth said, and Rodney snorted derisively.

For a man who was terrified of rats offworld, his ability to be snarky when guns were in play was astounding.

“Then give us Dr. Meredith McKay. Where is she?” the second gunman asked. By contrast, his face was tanned and weatherbeaten from many long hours in the sun.

John looked at Rodney. Rodney shook his head minutely.

The second gunman turned his weapon on Teyla. “You. You’re Meredith McKay?”

“I am not as brilliant as Dr. McKay,” Teyla said, serenely.

“But you know who she is? Where she is?”

“I do not know where she is,” Teyla said, which was not exactly a lie.

“Do you know how to reach her?”

“I do not have her telephone number,” Teyla said, which was the truth.

“Wow,” one of the other gunmen said, forking up a mouthful of the garlic mashed potatoes. “These are really good.”

“Please,” Elizabeth said. “We’re just having a dinner party. We aren’t the people who can get you what you want.”

Lorne said, “They’re real mashed potatoes, not out of a box.”

The gunman actually set is gun down and sat down at the table - in Lorne’s seat - and started serving himself dinner.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Rodney. What now?

Ronon punched the first gunman in the head, and chaos exploded. Teyla, Ronon, John, Lorne, and Elizabeth managed to overpower the gunmen, disarm them. Ronon, Teyla, and Lorne got them all backed into a corner, hands raised in surrender, while John put in a call to the SGC. They needed backup immediately.

“Next time,” Elizabeth said to Rodney, “please do try to give a damn when armed gunmen crash into your house.”

“Their demands were stupid, and I didn’t give a damn about those,” Rodney said, and he handed Elizabeth her plate of food and a fork. “But I did give a damn about, you know, maintaining our cover.”

Which was that they were having a nice dinner party and nothing more.

“Gone with the Wind? Really?” John asked once his phone call was done.

“I was improvising,” Rodney protested. “Improv is harder than people think it is.”

“Totally,” one of the gunmen said. He sounded young.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Writing Exercise: Dialogue

Famous Lines

Dialogue isn't exclusive: characters may say the same things, but mean something entirely different in the context of the scene. Pick one of the below famous lines from literature and film. Then start a scene by having a character say it. Develop the scene that follows in 500-600 words and see where it takes your characters.

• "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
• "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."
• "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!"
• "You're gonna need a bigger boat."
• "Oh, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars."

Setting

Context: TJ Hammond, from Political Animals. Recovering drug addict. Attempted suicide once. Grew up in the White House. Really struggled when he came out. Gifted pianist. Also, my messy living room.

The first thing TJ noticed when he stepped into the small den was the piano. Baby grand, Kimball, natural wood color. The poor thing was left open all the time, the strings and innards coated in dust, the extreme ends of the keyboard coated in dust as well. A corner of the piano had been chipped, probably during transportation. Several music books were open on the music stand, as well as some taped-together sheet music. Something in Korean called Beautiful. A couple of old protestant hymn books. Beside them was bafflingly, a jar with moss and a plastic unicorn in it. There was more than one pianist in this house, or the pianist had very eclectic taste in music.

There was a drum kit beside the piano, the drum throne closest to the window. The drums were dusty but the heads and cymbals weren’t; someone played often. TJ had often regretted being the only musician in his family; he always made music alone.

The carpet and walls were dull beige, but the couches were red-and-green plaid. Whoever had decorated the place had acquired pieces with little thought to a decorating theme, had probably acquired the pieces used and as needed. The loveseat had a case for an electric bass spilled across it, and a couple of amps were shoved into the corner. A dusty guitar case stood against the opposite wall; it looked like it hadn’t been used in a while.

The wooden end table beside one of the couches was covered in books, pens, and a tissue box. Someone was reading a psychology journal about serial killers and suffering from a cold.

The room was decorated sparsely, two pictures hung on two of the walls, a third wall dominated by a massive circular clock that read the wrong time - someone had neglected to change it during the last time change.

The room, however, looked comfortable. Lived in. A blanket was bundled on one edge of the couch, a laptop open on the arm of the couch. A yoga mat was rolled up in the corner. TJ wondered, if he’d grown up in a house like this, small and poky and plain, but filled with music and books and softness, privacy, where he could bundle up and lose himself in what he loved, if he’d have turned out better.

Not a drug addict.

Not a coward who tried to kill himself.

Someone worth loving.

He pushed those thoughts aside, crossed the room to the piano, pulled the bench out, and leaned in, peered at the sheet music. Tested it out.

The song was beautiful indeed.

Writing Exercise: Setting

Room

Write a description of the room you are in from the point-of-view of a character in your work-in-progress. If the character is from another time or place, so much the better. What would the character notice first? What would she find odd? What would she love about the room? What would she dislike? Go beyond describing the physical space and capture her attitude about what she sees. Let her be snarky or wax poetical. Whatever captures her emotions about the space.

Establishing the background

Context: Rodney doesn't know that John's dad is a High Storm Commander in the Maelstrom (basically a high ranking officer in their city's militia) and has a lot of money

Concrit: Is this good? Like, at all?

~

John waved the scroll in front of Rodney's face in an attempt to distract him.

"Stop that. I need to concentrate."

John hopped up and took a seat on the empty part of Rodney's worktable. "You and I both know that dagger isn't for anyone in particular. Or at least anyone important. After all, you haven't hired me to be your bodyguard yet."

Rodney gritted his teeth, put his tools down and looked up at John. He was giving Rodney a smarmy look because of course he was.

"What's on the scroll?"

John shrugged. "You sure? A minute ago you weren't interested -"

"Please," Rodney snapped, his voice full of unnecessary venom, "Stop. And tell me why you're here."

Instead of giving him an answer, John handed him the scroll. Rodney unrolled the parchment and read the title of the document out loud.

"Petition to Form a Free Company..." Rodney's voice drifted away as he quickly scanned the few details John had already filled in. When he got to the bottom, he saw the fee required to submit the petition and chuckled cheerlessly.

"So much for that." He rolled the scroll back up and handed it back to John. John didn't take it, and instead just stared at him.

"What?" Rodney asked. "There's no way."

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean there's no way? Of course there's a way. We get two more signatures, I think we can easily convince Teyla and Ronon -"

"I don't mean finding two more people to sign the petition! I'm talking about the money, John!"

A few people turned their heads toward the commotion inside the Blacksmith's Guild. Rodney cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

"I'm good at what I do, but there is no way that I can come up with fifteen thousand gil. That's ludicrous. I can barely pay you to be my bodyguard."

John frowned. "I can get the money."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "How? The fishing in La Noscea can't be that good."

John hopped down from Rodney's worktable and dusted himself off. He turned back toward Rodney, a grim look on his face.

"I want to show you something."

Rodney motioned towards the unfinished dagger in front of him. "I can't, I need to finish this -"

"Please," John said, his voice barely audible.

Rodney blinked at John's sudden show of sincerity. He stood up from the table and put his supplies away, eyeing his fellow blacksmiths with a cold look, as if daring them to go rooting about in his things. He motioned for John to lead the way and John did so silently.

The cool night air felt good on Rodney's face as the two of them stepped outside. John still hadn't said anything more, but he started walking across the bridge toward the Aftcastle, so Rodney followed. They crossed the courtyard until John suddenly stopped short in front of Maelstrom Command, the beating heart of Limsa Lominsa's Grand Company.

John stood in front of the bridge leading toward the Maelstrom's open gate, but didn't take another step. Rodney stood next to him, unsure of what was happening. John had never mentioned anything about the Maelstrom before.

John pointed toward a large bulletin board off to the side that was covered with morale-boosting posters, encouraging citizens of all Eorzea to pledge their allegiance to the Maelstrom.

"On that board, you'll find a list of all the high-ranking officers in the Maelstrom. I want you to go look at the Storm Commanders list and tell me if you see anything interesting."

Rodney raised an eyebrow, giving John an incredulous look. "Me? Why can't we both go look? Why can't you just tell me -"

"Just go look. And meet me at the Aftcastle's Aetheryte over there when you're done."

John walked away before Rodney could argue any further.

"This is ridiculous," Rodney muttered to himself. He rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine, and crossed the bridge toward the Maelstrom headquarters.

"I'm not interested I'm not interested I'm not interested," Rodney whispered to himself as he approached the board, anxious that a Maelstrom underling would try to offer him a sales pitch on joining up. He found the list of high-ranking officers, saw Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn's name at the top of the list. He glanced through the long list of names until he found the Storm Commanders.

He didn't have to look much longer. His name was at the top of the list.

Patrick Sheppard. Storm Commander and father of John Sheppard.

Rodney turned away, saw John standing in the blue glow of the Aetheryte. Rodney walked back toward John and stood at his side, saying nothing. After a few minutes, John tugged on Rodney's sleeve.

"I tell a better story when I'm fishing. Come on." He grabbed Rodney's hand and they both touched the Aetheryte to teleport them to Fisherman's Bottom.

~

John cast his line into the water. Rodney looked out to the horizon, smelled the salty air, and wondered just how much John was about to tell him.

He wouldn't admit it, but Rodney wanted to know everything there was to know.

"I joined the Maelstrom as soon as they'd take me. I knew it was what Dad wanted, especially after my brother ran off to the Garlean Empire."

Rodney's eyes widened at that detail, but didn't want to interrupt. John sighed, reeled in a little, and continued.

"I climbed up the ranks. Made it all the way up to Storm Sergeant First Class. Dad was grooming me to be an officer but...I didn't want it. I wanted my life to be more than just following Merlwyb's lead. So I quit. And instead of running off and joining up with someone else's cause, I stayed here. Took odd jobs. Joined the Fishermen's Guild. That really pissed the old man off. One son a traitor, and one son a lowly adventurer."

Rodney took a deep breath. John still hadn't gotten to the matter at hand.

"So what does this have to do with the free company petition? The money?"

"Oh, got a bite!" John jumped up and started reeling in his line, fighting against what turned out to be nothing but a Lominsan anchovy.

Rodney laughed out loud, and kept laughing as John put away his fishing supplies, tossing the anchovy back into the sea.

"I'd like to see you do better."

"Hey, I make swords for a living."

John smiled. "Is that all you want to do? Make weapons?" John cocked his head to side, giving Rodney a knowing stare.

Rodney shook his head. "No. It's not."

John took the free company petition back out of his bag and handed it to Rodney. "Then sign. And we'll go to Ul'dah."

"But the money -"

John put his forefinger to Rodney's lips to hush him. "I can get the money. My dad will gladly pay fifteen thousand gil to get me out of Limsa Lominsa for good. Or, at least for a while."

Rodney took a quill out of his bag and signed the petition, handed it back to John. John nodded, stood up, and started walking back down the dock with bag in hand.

"John?" Rodney called to him, watching him go.

"Yeah?"

"Why me?"

John grinned. "Because you were born to do magic."

Establishing the background

Context: SGA Steampunk AU, Rodney doesn't know John is Dave Sheppard's brother

Looking for concrit: too much infodump?


"I thought the whole point of your revolutionary engine is that it's more energy-efficient than any engine on the market." John wasn't perched on the edge of Rodney's workbench for once, stood with him and the rest of the Atlantis team just inside the doorway of the lab.

"It is, if you consider the net energy requirements and expenditures in the design," Rodney said. "What makes my engine so energy-efficient is that it's - it's almost like a human body. Once you get past the start-up cost, which is pretty massive, it more or less keeps itself going."

"Like what Janus wrote of," Radek said.

"What Janus wrote of but never left detailed notes on and that no one has ever come close to," Rodney said, a little peevishly.

Radek rolled his eyes, took off his spectacles and cleaned them on the hem of his jacket.

"Great. So let's fire it up," John said. "You said Sheppard's breathing down your neck, Elizabeth's breathing down your neck - as much as Elizabeth ever does anything aggressively - and this one hurdle will solve all of our problems. I get to fly. You get that prize from the Royal Guild of Arts and Sciences. Radek has enough money to keep him in a lifetime supply of kolaches. Miko can take her sail design elsewhere, go back to star diving. And Kavanagh will finally get out of your hair."

It was Teyla who said, "It is not that simple. The initial expenditure of energy is massive, is it not? Humans are perfect machines, capable of reproducing and forming their environment around them to meet their needs. But in their early years, they are completely vulnerable. They spend their first few months utterly dependent on another human being, if not their first few years."

She was the only one of them who was a parent or anything close to it.

"Are you saying you can't do it?" John asked. He fixed Rodney with a look that was far more serious than any Rodney had seen on his face before.

"If I had more time I could figure it out," Rodney said. "But I don't have time. Sheppard's patience is at an end, and there are other external pressures." He very deliberately did not look at Teyla when he spoke.

John was a soldier, believed in saving all he could, in leaving no person behind. If he knew of Teyla's predicament, he'd do something rash.

"Then what's your plan?" John pressed.

"Janus created a device to power his automatons. It could provide the initial delivery of energy we need to get the system up and running. It would fit in the space, and it would convert the energy in such a way that we wouldn't just be setting off a powder keg in the engine furnaces," Rodney said, because he knew how John's mind worked.

"Janus's notes on all of his greatest inventions are incomplete," Miko said.

"I managed to fill in some of the gaps on his automaton designs," Rodney said. "This piece - it amounts to the automaton's heart - will get us what we need. We just need this piece."

"How the hell are we going to find this one piece of an automaton that we're not even sure still exists, if it even existed at all?" Radek asked.

"Other pieces of Janus's legendary designs have been found," Rodney said. "We have to try. We need this engine up and running."

Really, Teyla needed this engine up and running. Rodney didn't care if Sheppard and Elizabeth were mad at him. He was used to people being mad at him.

Radek said, "We should ask for help. I will send a message to Dr. Carter." He started for the pigeon coops.

Miko said to Ronon, who'd been watching the entire exchange silently, "Come on. I'll show you where some of Janus's works are archived."

Ronon nodded and followed her to the door, handed her her hat and draped her shawl across her shoulders, held the door open for her, followed her out. Strange. He rarely cared about Earth-style manners and deportment.

John swept for the door. He almost crashed into Kavanagh, who was just coming into the workshop.

"Hey," Kavanagh said.

John grabbed his shoulder. "You're coming with me."

Evan emerged from the corner. "I'll help," he said.

He always helped.

Rodney said, "Come on. I have a lot of Janus's works."

Evan nodded and followed him. Rodney knew they'd be awake late into the night.

Writing Exercise: Setting

Establishing The Background

Think of some information your readers will need to learn to understand the story. This could be technical information or character backstory. Now write an argument between two characters in which you use conflict to share this information.