I stare wide-eyed at the cooking pot in front of my roommate while he’s adding ingredients to a simmering red sauce. Gram gram’s recipe, made-from-scratch, thick and hearty. What went into the pot (and what had me staring) was what I would describe as six-to-seven irresponsible handfuls of oregano. He was telling me some story about a party he went to the week before as he generously dumped heaps of the dried herb into the bubbling goop.
“Hey man,” I said, interrupting his story, “don’t you think that’s enough oregano?”
“Bud, you’re not Italian — ,” he replied, “ — so I forgive you. Take a note, if an Italian is making a red sauce: don’t comment on how much oregano goes into it.”
4 hours and 2.5 bottles of red wine later, he serves up the steaming sauce over a pile of al dente spaghetti and hands me a plate. It’s been a while since I last ate and I’ve got a great wine buzz going, so I don’t hesitate to shovel down a few bites.
“Dang,” I said with a mouthful, “it tastes like it’s made with love.”
But my roommate is silent. He’s taken only one bite. He’s staring straight forward. I twirl up another bite of spaghetti and thrust it into my maw before taking the time to process the look on his face. It reads ‘disappointment’.
“You good?” I ask.
He exhales loudly.
“What’s up?” I prod.
“Well, there’s too much oregano...” He says.
“Nah,” I said, “it’s really good. I don’t think — ”
“BUD, IT’S GOT TOO MUCH FUCKING OREGANO!” he yells, standing up.
Like a true artist, he dramatically pitched the whole batch down the kitchen drain. He then grabbed the bottle of wine and sat quietly across the room from me, shaking his head, sipping his wine, hungry and angry at himself. I ate the rest of my spaghetti and let him stew for a while.
He could tell with one bite that his sauce wasn’t up to his standards.
If it comes to my own work, you can be damn sure I’m critical. I prefer every controllable aspect to be up to my personal standards, which is a bar I choose to set rather high. My roommate’s reaction to his red sauce is one I‘ve witnessed before with other serious creatives. A large amount of time invested in a passion project can be a source of immense frustration if the result is perceived to be sub-par. I get it.
I have a couple of characters that I am concerned about, in this regard, because I don’t want to overwork the dough too much. One character, her name is Yoon, was initially not quite as crucial to the ‘big plot’ as she has now become. As I’ve been writing the story, it seems that Yoon is naturally aligning with a lot more plot points than I anticipated. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing by any means, but what I’ve noticed is that I’ve dumped a lot of responsibilities on her, which has tipped the scales on the plot-impact of whom I would consider the “primary main”, which is a character named Augustine.
I’m throwing a LOT of oregano at this poor woman and I don’t want that to result in an overutilized character, one that that has too much influence in plot areas where she isn’t technically required to play a role. I began with a trio of “main” characters, one being as I said above the “primary main”. Organically dividing their roles in the story has shown me that it’s not currently a super great balance. Yoon’s brother, Endre (shown above), is one of the trio and his role has also expanded significantly. Overall, this has resulted in a diminishment of my primary main character’s list of plot responsibilities.
Like I said, this may not be a bad thing, it might not be a big deal at all, but the amount of character development (oregano metaphor) I’ve injected into my secondary main characters may be cresting a peak. What I’m worried about is this:
There are “conceptual realms” (I’ll call them for now) in character design that should be avoided in most cases. Lots of writers don’t realize they’re even treading in these realms while they’re sending their character off on the big journey. It’s an awareness thing, but even having the awareness of these “realms” doesn’t mean you won’t accidentally wander into them.
For clarity, let me list some examples of these “character realms to-be-avoided” before I get back to my point. Here’s just a few (and there are lots):
The Realm of the “Deus Ex Machina” (and reversely; “Fluff” Characters)
Let’s say you have a cast of five characters. Four of these characters spend a majority of the plot trying to figure out the big problem. 11 chapters and 2.75 acts later, the fifth character finally rolls of the couch, yawns, and then just SOLVES the problem by themselves in almost an instant. This is an easy to avoid realm of character development, because it actually lacks development. Every “plot” point leading up to that moment may have been amusing, but if the other four characters didn’t somehow contribute to the fifth character's success in solving the big problem, then that means those four characters technically don’t matter to the real plot. Even if their sub-plots were hilarious or irrelevantly insightful, if a character doesn’t ACTUALLY contribute to the plot, then they’re fluff.
A novice writer (like myself even) may find themselves in this realm, as they may be attempting a “twist” at the story’s resolution that they interpret as a crafty surprise. I imagine in some cases, it could be? I have “Deus Ex Machina” tattooed on my back, but even I don’t want to find my characters in this kind of plot device because I want all of my characters to have clear and valuable roles in the plot.
The Realm of the “Exposition Dispenser”
This kind of character is dangerous, because they are so full of utility but so susceptible to a reader skimming over them. I know I have at least one “Exposition Dispenser” and I am trying to find ways to make them as interesting as possible, because therein lies the problem: the “Exposition Dispenser” is both not a particularly clever character to write for and they are often very boring to read. Comic media is where a lot of these characters are fully exposed, mostly because a well written novel can better hide the explicitly boring nature of someone explaining something in length. In comics, the reader will visually interpret a dull and unchanging setting with characters whom are expressing very little, all while one character fills space with their lengthy speech bubbles. It doesn’t matter how important the speech is; if it’s too long and there’s little visual intrigue, you can bet on the fact that few will take the time to read it.
The Realm of The “Mary Sue Architype”
I almost didn’t even want to list this one because I know I am intentionally steering the boat towards something that resembles this realm. A “Mary Sue Architype” in writing is a term most typically witnessed in “fanfiction” writing. The “Mary Sue” role is often the main character and normally they are in a fabricated plot taking place within a pre-established world (like Harry Potter, or Naruto, etc.). Often, this architype is represented as female. Often they are considered flawless. In just about all cases, it is arguable that the “Mary Sue” is the author inserting a version of themselves into this pre-established world as a powerful, beautiful, perfect being. It’s a lot of self-flattery. It’s an irresponsible amount of oregano.
My fear with this realm is that my character Yoon is, without a doubt, the most “myself-instilled” character in my roster. Each of the characters in my trio of “mains” could be considered a version of myself in some regard, but Yoon is a little bit different. She is a little more on-the-nose when it comes to how I perceive myself. Her interests are very similar to mine, her reactions to things are easier to write because they come from a raw, reactionary place within myself. She is certainly not without flaws, but I am still concerned that she could be considered “Mary Sue” in design, especially since she is female and I am… well… not female. Additionally, the “fanfiction” aspect applied to the “Mary Sue” is certainly absent here.
The Realm of the “Sign-Holder”
This kind of character is either introduced as, or develops in a way that makes them appear to be, an obvious representation of some kind of general-knowledge concept. For example, if you’re watching a show and a character who wears black and walks around carrying a scythe shows up, I can probably guess that you know what this character is all about. I believe a metaphor attached to character development should be treated like flavor notes in whiskey. If one particular flavor note is too dominant, to the point where you can’t avoid tasting it, then that whiskey may be perceived as lower-shelf quality. High-shelf whiskey normally has multiple flavor notes, each a bit subtle, but perhaps slightly more apparent to one sipper than another.
I didn’t mean to get too romantic with that comparison, but an attached metaphor to a character is something to be administered in moderation, I feel. Sure, it’s a bit different for shows of a literal nature, like Captain Planet. But if your characters are just supposed to be regular people, I think it’s best to keep their metaphor attachments mysterious. Ideally, open to discussion. Much unlike this blog post, of which the metaphor of cooking spaghetti sauce offers little room for interpretable error.
ANYWAY,
Back to my point!
As I’m adding ingredients to my red sauce, I’m trying to find the balance of zest and spice necessary to create these “compelling” characters. I don’t want any of them to fall into one of those “realms” I mentioned above. Despite my knowledge of “things to avoid with story characters” (and to be completely transparent), I actually have no idea how much oregano is too much when it comes to my own cast. But, I don’t intend on being too sparse either. A character’s path of development is crucial to the reader’s perception of them and I want to give the reader to an accurate view of who the character is. How they end up feeling about the character: that’s completely out of my control.
My goal is to write my characters, see them in action, then sample the sauce. It’s so very easy to criticize the work of others, call them out for things like “Mary Sue” and “boring expositional scientist guy”, critique their work as if you’re the expert. But when you sit down and try it yourself, you’ll discover the difficulty of melding your personal writing voice with your own standards of craftsmanship. I’m feeling the pressure now, for sure.
But what can I say? I am an amateur at this. When I finally see the characters on the page, interacting with each other, expressing their expressions, taking meaningful action; that’s when I think I’ll be able to taste for sure if there’s too much oregano. Until then I’ll just be adding my ingredients pinch by pinch, keeping the burner on low, and maybe throw back a couple glasses of wine while this simmers.
Catch you next month.
❤ Casey