Character is…

Go ahead, fill in the blank:  Character is _____________

Did you ever ponder this question?  Is character defined by what you do, what you wear, how you speak, the things you believe in?

Or is it defined by whom you associate with, your socio-economic background?

These are questions I have to ask every times I create a character for my books, and yes, I need to know all of the above factors.  And yet, knowing all these things about a character (or a person in real life) still doesn’t tell me about that person’s true character.  A person’s hair color, hobbies, loves and hates, beliefs, education, job, family, constitutes their characteristics, or in the literary field, “characterization,” but not their true character.

Let me give you a quick fiction example that I’m going to make up right here on the spot.

Janice Christopher is a loud and vociferous woman, a name partner in a high profile law firm.  You can often find her barking orders at her associates and junior partners and demanding that things be done her way and 24 hours prior to any given deadline.  You don’t ever talk back to Janice, except to say, “Yes. Right away.”  Anyone foolish enough to challenge her, or even hint at disagreeing has found themselves fired on the spot.

Janice locks herself in her windowless office, but can still be heard yelling at people on the phone through her solid oak door with a polished brass plaque with her initials JC solemnly engraved.

When asked if she’d like to make charitable contributions to non-profit orgs, she quickly snaps, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch!  I worked my butt off to get to where I am now.  Damned if I’m going to enable any feeble minded organizations to become dependent on companies that work for their revenues.”

So, you think you know Janice’s true character, right?  It seems pretty clear.  Let’s dig a bit deeper.

On the way home from work one day, Janice makes a left turn and drives past a rough part of town in which she and her car stick out like a daffodil in the midst of the twisted wreckage of a plane crash.  All through the neighborhood, homeless people fill the sidewalk.  Tempted to step harder on the accelerator, she tries not to look.  But the little girl with a begrimed face and red pigtails twirls around and dances around her mother, who clutches a baby to her breast and rocks back and forth with a face crinkled from fatigue.  The little girl, who cannot be more than six years old, stops twirling, waves and smiles at Janice.  Only then does Janice fully realize that she’s stopped the car and pulled over.

Janice gets out of her car, and goes over to meet the young girl.  “Hi Megan.”

“Hi.”

Janice nods to the disheveled woman nursing the baby, wrapped in filthy rags.  “Is that…?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“When did they arrive?”

Megan shrugs.  “I forgot.”

The woman makes eye contact with Janice and quickly lowers her gaze as though frightened and ashamed.  Right away, the Cartier wrist watch and the Gucci hand bag grow uncomfortably heavy.  “Megan, do you know how long she’ll be here?”

“Mommy says they kicked her out.”  She smiles, revealing blackened and missing teeth.  “But I’m happy now.  I don’t have to come out here by myself everyday.”

With hurried steps and a watchful eye on Megan’s mother and baby brother, Janice goes to open the trunk of her her BMW.  She drops her handbag inside, grabs a milk crate heavy with packages and lugs it over to Megan’s mom.  By now, about six other homeless people gather, all grinning wide, and talking at the same time.

“Hi Ms. Janice!”

“Yo JC!”

“Oh, it’s you again.”

“Wassup, Mama?”

Kneeling, Janice sets the crate on the ground and turns to  Megan.  “Help me out, please?”

“Okay.” Megan takes each shopping bag from her hands which contain bottle water, granola bars, toilet tissue, and other supplies and passes them out to the members of the crowd, excitedly receiving them.  Some say thanks, others just walk away.  Janice really doesn’t care, she’s focused on Megan’s mom, who still wont lift her chin.  She can almost sense the shame that must fill her heart.

Finally, Janice reaches out with caution and gently places her hand on Mrs. Riley’s shoulder.  Stays there for a few seconds until the back and forth rocking subsides.  “Mrs. Riley?”

Nothing.

For a while, time stands still.  Without a word, without even a look from this woman who though probably in her thirties looks as life-worn as an octagenarian, by her demeanor, Janice senses that dark dread she knows all to well from her childhood days back in Paradise.  Though she’d never told anyone, she’d come to New York from California years ago to escape the pain.  And now, here it was again, not quite staring her in the face.  An old acquaintance whom she’d hoped never to meet again.  If this acquaintance had been a person, she could have slapped a restraining order on him and done everything within her power to keep him far away.

But no.  There was no stopping him.

When she felt it was all right to do so, Janice slid her hand under the tangled bangs draped over Mrs. Riley’s face.  Megan resumed twirling and singing the Smurf song, which–had it been anyone else at any other time–would have made Janice shout, “Shut the hell up, Kid!”

Not this time.

Janice pushed the greasy hair back over Mrs. Riley’s ear, then gently lifted her chin.

Mrs. Riley’s eyes were red and marked with dark stains reminiscent of streaked masacara–but Janice knew it was dirt–gave her pathetic racoon eyes.  From her icy expression, Janice knew.

“Oh Sweety…”

Then the ice thawed, melting away with tears.  As the hardened shell dissolved it gave way to a very human person beneath.  Mrs. Riley wept silently, still rocking the baby back and forth at her breast under the scratchy wool blanket.

Tears welled up in Janice’s eyes as well.  “How long?”

“Last night.”

A thousand thoughts ran through Janice’s mind.  If I’d only made a second run last night. If I’d been here when she got out…

Then abandoning any concern for her expensive clothes, personal hygiene, or anything else at all, Janice sat next to Mrs. Riley, whom she’d wanted to meet for the longest time, put her arms around her and wept with her for her dead baby.  In another life, when Janice had been a teen mother living alone, abandoned by that boy who styled himself a man, and had lost her six month old baby girl to SIDS, her unwelcome acquaintance, otherwise known as “Death” had paid her a visit as well.  And though she’d made the choice to leave all her pain behind, she could never quite be rid of Death’s imparted gift of pathos.

Tomorrow, Janice would sell the firm, execute all her shares, and do what she’d vowed she would do since she was seventeen.

Open a shelter for homeless women with children.

 

Okay, that was just off the top of my head, but I was trying to make a point about character.  What did you learn about Janice’s character–not her characteristics or character traits?  Do you ever judge a person by their words, their personality–or lack thereof?  What then is character?

In STORY, by Robert McKee he states:

TRUE CHARACTER is revealed in the choices a human being makes under pressure–the greater the pressure, the deeper the revelation, the truer the choice to the character’s essential nature.

 

The next time you’re tempted to simply write someone off as a “jerk” or worse, because they were rude, or they offended you, try to keep in mind the definition of character.  And the next time you find yourself faced with a difficult situation, remember, the choice you make, that to which you commit your actions, will determine your character.  Not your feelings, not your emotions, or likes and dislikes.  Your choices, beyond the latter, is what defines your character.

You always have a choice about how to respond to a situation.  And let me tell you how you can take control of your destiny.

It all starts in your mind.

Your thoughts affect your words.

Your words affect your actions.

Your actions affect your habits.

Your habits affect your character.

Your character affects your destiny.

You are not your emotions, despite what pop psychology might try to tell/sell you.  You must be true to your principles, not your feelings.  Want a simple example of how you are not and don’t have to be controlled by your feelings?  Here you go:  You’re having a huge fight with your spouse.  You’re both yelling and saying things you hope no one will ever hear you say, outside of the privacy of your home.  Suddenly, the phone rings.  CallerID says it’s your mother, the last person you want to know you’re having a fight with your spouse because she will say, “I told you not to marry him/her.”

Still furious, you pick up the phone because you know she’ll keep calling.  And what do you do?

You put on your pleasant face and answer with a melodic voice, “Hi Mom!  Oh yeah, everything’s just peachy!  Okay, gotta go… love you!”

Then back to the fight of the century.

Be honest, you know what that’s like.  We’ve all been there.  The fact is, you always have a choice, and if the motivation is there,  there is always a way to control your speech and actions. For example, someone promises you a million dollars if you can make it through an entire month–video cameras everywhere–if you never say a negative thing.

How about destiny for a motivator?  Is that worth taking control of your emotions and doing what you know is right and good, rather than being a slave to your emotions?

Hey, I’m not advocating becoming a robot, or a Vulcan.  Emotions are a gift from above and make our lives rich and real.  But they are not the be-all-end-all of us.  They must be subject to truth and prudence and principle.  If you make the choice to make these your criteria for defining your character, you’ll no longer be a slave to the ever-changing tides of emotion.

Start with your thoughts and words.  About words?  It’s been said that the tongue is like the rudder of a great ship.  Consider the size of a rudder in proportion to the ship in which it controls.  Now consider the whole flow chart above about how your words and thought ultimately direct your destiny.

It’s good to know you always have a choice.

Joshua Graham is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, winner of the International Book Award and Forward National Literature Award. His thrillers include DARKROOM, LATENT IMAGE and BEYOND JUSTICE, and TERMINUS. Graham's works have been characterized as thought-provoking page-turners.

Legal Notice: All information on this website and blog are from Mr. Graham's personal experience and insight and should not be viewed in any way, directly or inferred, as qualified professional advice.

All creative writing on this website or Mr. Graham's books: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. (novels, short stories)