I often listen - in an abstract way - to other people's conversations. It's a great way to gain insight into characters. To wit:
Son, aged about eight: Oh, Mum, look, plums! Can we get some?
Mother: No, we don't like plums.
Son (disappointed): Oh.
And off they went.
I heard what she really meant: I don't like plums.
I thought the kid loved them, and would now have to go without. Two things can happen: he will grow up and convince himself he doesn't like plums either, or have a secret longing for them. Either way, I thought the mother narrow-minded and selfish.
My mother hates stuffing, and yet, every Christmas, she would stuff a chicken for Christmas lunch.
This may only be food, but it's an indicator of how children learn to hate more than just plums. Parents have complete dominion over children; it is they who teach bad language, poor choices and bigotry.
Of course, as writers we construct evil characters from these types of conversations. We develop the reasons why someone as innocent as a child can evolve into a selfish, self-serving and sometimes violent bad guy. And it's usually sourced in the parents, in the denial of what a child wants or needs.
Heroes come from the same source; and in both cases, there is something inherent in the genetic make-up that resists the petty, the injustice, the cruel and accepts the affection, generosity and duty.
The genesis of our characters lie within ourselves, but are tempered with the traits of others. There's no better way to find those traits than to listen in to conversations.
Oh, and I love plums.
1 comment:
Because of my wife's business I often observe parent/child interactions such as the one you describe. Who can really get outside himself enough to avoid such twisted dialogue? And why would a writer want people to rise above themselves? What would we write?
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