Characters 101

[kanshu]

Characterization is about the most difficult thing in writing, and especially in fanfiction. I think all of us have encountered the "OOC" characterization... so here's the idea:

- Introduce one character of your choice "in detail" to us. Include physical descriptions as well as personality traits, habits, favorite food, favorite cloth, tag lines, enemies, friends... whatever you can think of to give a well rounded insight into the character.

The idea behind this is to get an idea at what to look at when you create a character, or when you write someone's else's character.

Of course, it also has the side effect that people might get curious about the one or other character from a show/manga/anime/book/movie.

[treneka]

hmm... I find that I am nearly incapable of describing characters in the absense of action. That is to say that I throw my character of interest into a situation and let his/her actions speak to the question of "who is this and what makes him/her tick?" Since I don't think mini-fics are what you're wanting here, could you perhaps do one character intro as an example?

[KarotsaMused]

Kya. Um. XD That's a tough assignment, Moose, especially because if someone picks a common character it's infringing upon everybody else's conception of said character. (Or stranger yet, conversion of someone from -their- conception of a character to someone else's. Case in point: Lady Jaida's Schuldig is more fun than the one in Weiss Kreuz. XP) And that's scary. I'm a wimp. So I'll go the lazy-assed route and bring to you Taylor Bentley, because:

A) Opti did say "...what to look at when you create a character..." and I created him XD
B) He's an old one of mine, and therefore probably the best developed
C) You don't know what he looks like until I give it to you so we get to see just how well I pull this off
D) His foundation is largely the basis for how I wrote Gojyo in the beginning, until Gojyo became his own person to me. And then Taylor went in another direction entirely. So...don't expect Gojyo XP But the two characters remain very close to one another, which is kind of weird...I started writing about Taylor three years before I learned about Saiyuki...

Oh, and before I begin - it's a *major* quirk of mine to try description first, before even *naming* a character I introduce. I always try to have their name given in dialogue if anything, instead of me as the narrator going "This is Taylor. Love him. Rah." This won't count, though, 'cause y'already know he's Taylor. ^^;;

Okay, here goes nothing...


Taylor Bentley is sitting on his roof. He suns himself in the heat of midday, enjoying the silence afforded after the morning's activity. He smokes idly, not bothering to remove the cigarette from his mouth because there is no one to talk to.
Taylor Bentley is a mongrel, the effect of two gene pools mixing to spite pure heritage. His hair is strawberry blonde and his eyes are pale blue, near hidden against the whites and the stark contrast of his dark skin. A Portugese mutt with nothing but his father's name to explain his fairness. The fairness he uses to bum cigarettes and alcohol off of legal patrons taken in by his smile. They let him smoke, not fooled by his lies because more than his boyish freckles give him away. He fidgets, uneasy with lying but desperate for fixation and escapism. Even Taylor's skin, bronze and freckled, can't hide the bruises on him.
Taylor is used to the soreness, the stiffness of limbs used as both weapon and shield. Used to touching someone so it hurts them, even with friendly fingers because his elder brother hates the feel of his hands. His brother, the one called Kiegan Mio, my Kiegan, refuses touch and love and Taylor can't just blame it on the autism. Taylor takes things personally. So Taylor picks fights over girls, over smokes, over anything he can to get the punches into the air.
The cigarette burns dangerously close to the filter and he stamps it under the heel of his muddy, hand-me-down sneaker. Perfunctorily, he examines the newest rip in his good blue jeans, checking for scrapes and finding none. Taylor is meticulous about the wounds he is reckless in receiving. He hates girls to see him bloody.
Taylor hates girls and their empathy noises, the high-pitched sighs for pain, the low, husky sighs for attraction. He hates how they think they know everything about him when he, at sixteen, knows nothing about himself. He especially hates that they giggle when they make him blush and the shells of his ears turn red.
Taylor Bentley lays back on the roof, feeling hot terra cotta shingles press into his back. It is soothing on sore muscles, a reassurance without any bars. Taylor hates being hugged almost more than he hates to be cold. He will button himself into sweater after sweater, jacket upon coat and six pairs of socks but he can't bear the feeling of arms around him, locking him in. His father never hugs him, but his mother always tries.
He tries not to resent her, but it's hard sometimes. She doesn't trust him to know already that Kiegan's problems aren't his fault. As if he is stupid or something.
Taylor is not stupid. He is no genius, but he is not stupid. He can handle himself academically, and his test scores are a mark of frustration because there he really lets his teachers know his capability. But he never does homework, hardly participates, spends class time antagonizing others.
Taylor is not friendless, but the few he has aren't as attached to him as they are to their rides. Or even to their jackets. Taylor has friends that will help him take someone on, but will leave the moment they're outnumbered. Good boys to have around until it really counts.
Taylor does not have enemies, in the sense that an archnemesis is not readily apparent, but he is mean enough and surly enough and obstinate enough to create some ill-will among his peers. To put it lightly. A boy who does not try in Phys. Ed. should not have muscles like Taylor's, should not run like Taylor, should not stretch like Taylor. But Taylor fights for the hell of it. And because his mother gave him a girl's name.
For the majority of his young life, Taylor's mother kept his hair long. He has the sneaking suspicion she braided it for him before he gained sentience enough to get away. His beautiful tresses were touched often by adults, pulled by the girls, made fun of by the boys. When Taylor grew old enough to do something about it, he shaved the entire mop off. And when his bald head was petted just as often, frustration gave way to stubborn middle ground. He keeps it shaggy and dirty, unappealing but easy to clean and away from his eyes.
Taylor feels his skin tighten against the heat, finally beginning to burn under the sun. He slips through the window behind him that leads into his room, checking in on the only well-kept thing in the place. A small terrarium houses two Ornate Box turtles, by the names of Mortie and Rigs. Taylor named them when he was six and his father had to have a stern talk with his mother before she tried to ship him off to a therapist. It was hard, growing up after Kiegan.
Mortie and Rigs are Taylor's pets, Taylor's best friends, and Taylor's solace when it rains and he can't go out and smoke on the roof. He won't smoke inside because the smell taints his walls and bed. Mortie is an evil looking thing, with only one red eye and his left front claw missing. Still, he greets Taylor with expectations of food every time he sees the boy's face. Rigor, Rigs for short, is rather sedentary, preferring somnolence to scrambling over every time Taylor bends down. Taylor feeds the turtles better than he feeds himself. He remembers to care for them, but will forget to shave his own face.
Without having to take his shoes off, Taylor slips out of his overlarge pants and pitches them at the corner of his room he has subconsciously designated for dirty clothes and grabs a fresher pair, pulling a black t-shirt on over skin still warm from sunlight to keep the heat in. Taylor wears a lot of black for warmth. He smokes for warmth, abuses the microwave for warmth. And then will bundle himself in blankets to eat ice cream.


*wipes forehead* There's prolly more, but that's a lot of writing, ne? Characterisation's a big deal XP