Get to know your characters by -
Taking them out for coffee - see earlier post in July
Draw them - you don't have to be an artist this helps you to visualise their physical characteristics which will influence how they sound.
Draw where they live - again helps you to see and hear them at home. How differently will they sound when placed in a stressful environment?
Fill in a character questionnaire - there are loads to choose from - imagine you are asking the character the questions and listen to the rhythm of their speech, the vocabulary they use.
Find their flaws- what is the worst thing they have done? Do they carry shame in their body? Voice? Avoid talking about certain subjects?
Look at yourself -What makes you sound different from your family members or friends? How is your speech different from your child's?
Think about mannerisms and non-verbal body language- does your character use their hands while talking, do they look down when they lie? Do they cough when nervous?
Place each of your characters in a situation and watch how they react. What will they remember? How would they describe it? Which sense is dominant- do they remember the smells or sounds etc.?
Great exercise -
You have 800- 1000 words.
Write about three characters in the same place, together. They talk about a remembered event. Each has their own perspective. How do their voices differ?
It was an assignment - here's my attempt.
'It's like, so weirdy. Why d'we celebrate Christmas?' Pippa asked as she wandered around the small lounge, touching the little silver and gold metal stars her mother had strewn on the black reflective surface of the table. 'And why stars? We can see all the stars we want.' She gestured at the expanse of space through the glass that graced one side of the room.
'Because we have to remember, Pippa. It would be too easy to forget traditions, too easy to think that this is normal life. You need to remember or you will never adapt when we reach Quintana.' Claire stepped back into the galley kitchen and made hot chocolate the old fashioned way. The rich, sweet, smell chased her mind back to one particular Christmas Eve.
'Remember the Chalet?' She called out to her daughter, it was more of a plea than a question. Tears blurred her vision and she grasped the curved edge of the pristine work surface, it was cold, not warm like her well-used, wooden kitchen table back home. She shook her head, not home anymore. It was cold that Christmas when Dan had whisked them off to a chalet in the Alps. Three days of pure white snow that turned into glitter when thrown in the air. She had laughed like a child and the magic of Christmas had sunk into her heart. The small, dark-wood chalet, contrasted against the snow and tall, frosted pine trees, had looked like an elf's house. Downstairs there was only one room, dominated by a crackling wood fire, it had felt safe and warm. Upstairs were two bedrooms with sloping roof beams that Dan forgot on numerous occasions, each time he held his head and rolled on the bed, squealing like a piglet. She and Pippa had laughed until their sides ached. She brushed away the tears and sighed at the compact, efficient space. It was not a kitchen. She lifted two of the mugs and stepped through to the lounge.
'Mum,' Claire placed the mugs on the table before turning to retrieve the last one. 'Smell this. It's real hot chocolate, like we had in the chalet. What a lovely Christmas that was.'
Isabelle waited for the aroma to drift her way. 'Pippa love, be a darling and fetch my shawl, it could be cold tonight.' It was cold that Christmas at the chalet. Not in the pokey little rooms that poor Dan had fought his way around, but outside. Dan and Claire had insisted on a walk as the sun went down, Claire exclaiming over the colours, icicles and snow as if she were a child. Isabelle's hands and feet tingled as she remembered the biting cold that touched her bones. She reached for a mug and wrapped her hands around it. It was hot. 'Where did you get the real chocolate from? This must have cost an awful lot of work hours. Only for memories of a freezing Christmas.' She blew on the frothy top and lifted the drink to her lips.
Pippa raised her eyes to the curved, grey ceiling. 'Oh, Gran.' She said, not adding that the temperature was constant in the space ship. She took two steps to the door of her gran's room, reached inside and snagged the soft, faded-green shawl from its nook. She nuzzled it into her cheek and remembered climbing up creaking stairs, racing along a tinsel decorated corridor and searching through piles of cat-cuddled clothes to find 'The Christmas Shawl.'
'Here y'are, Gran.' She draped it around Isabelle's frail shoulders and hugged her briefly. Poor Gran, sh' missed earth.
'Thank you sweetie. You are a darling girl, even if you have forgotten how to speak properly. You were such a wee thing that year, the snow was taller than you. Do you remember?'
How could I not? Though Pippa. I am reminded every Christmas Eve.
Someone laughed in the corridor outside their apartment. It triggered a memory of her dad laughing and wrapping her in an enormous, multi-coloured quilt, but the picture faded as if she was looking through a comet-tail.
'Sometimes I think the memories s'not mine, but what you've told me.' She admitted as she sat on the fixed seat and picked up the last mug. 'Was there a quilt?'
Claire lowered her mug, unaware of the froth on her upper lip.
Pippa smiled.
Gran spoke, 'I do declare you are still a child, Claire.' She indicated her lip.
Claire giggled as she wiped it off, and then licked her finger. 'Yes, Christmas brings my inner child out. I had forgotten about the quilt. What did Dan call it?'
'A dream- quilt.' As Pippa sipped her chocolate crazy snow-creatures, a wild sledge ride and her dad's grin flashed through her mind.
'I miss snow,' said Claire. 'You were right about the stars Pippa. But I was too late to get snowflakes.'
'I miss Dad. He stuffed a pillow up his jumper and stuck cotton wool on his face.' Pippa span a silver star, it twinkled in the harsh light. 'Was that at the chalet?'
'No, that was at home.' Claire shut her eyes and pictured her husband. Would they ever share a Christmas again?
'I miss my home,' said Isabelle. 'However, under no circumstance do I miss the rain, or the cold.' She tugged the edges of her shawl together. 'Will it be cold on Quintana?'
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