(Based on Chuck Wendig’s Nov., 2013, blog)

 THE CHARACTER LOGLINE:

Your assignment: Write a logline (aka “elevator pitch”) for two of your main characters. A logline is the one-liner that sums up a character and his/her role in a story. Keep yours to 140 characters or less. Here are some examples:

— Three Little Pigs: “The Big Bad Wolf, an aging loner with an insatiable taste for pork, seeks survival in the form of three pigs living nearby.” (122 characters)

— Star Wars: “Han Solo is a devil-may-care space jock with a hot rocket ship and too many enemies, who falls in with a princess and a wannabe hero.” (133 chars)

— Gone With the Wind: “Scarlett O’hara is a pampered Southern belle whose goals in life suddenly change from finding a proper husband to surviving the Civil War.” (138 chars)

If you’re struggling with your own characters, try doing loglines for well-known players in existing books and movies.

Here’s what’s involved:

A PROBLEM:

The character must have a problem. The problem is why the character exists–it helps generate plot(s). Figure out what the problem is and spell it out as briefly as you can. If you’ve already included it in your logline, you’re ahead of the game.

Think of anything that stands in the way of the character reaching her goal; it could be almost anything: “Can’t find a date;” “Pursued by a soul-eating monster lately escaped from Hades;” “Deals in used souls, but has lost her own;” “Searches for the perfect symphony, but is losing her hearing.”

Consider poor, brilliant Walter O’Brien from CBS tv’s “Scorpion.” His problem isn’t the bad guys he encounters; it’s his inability to interact with “normal” people, primarily his potential love interest, Paige. Whatever gets in the way of their presumed eventual connection is mere plot complication. The real driving force for Walter, is his inability to connect with Paige.

In general terms, the problem is the immediate issue–why we’re here, watching this character, right now.

A SOLUTION:

The character must think he has a solution to the problem. (Not you, the writer, rather, it’s coming from the character.) The player must have a potential solution in mind, and it is precisely that which he’ll launch into in the beginning of the tale.

–The gal who can’t find a date may decide her best bet is to rent a permanent booth in the trendiest singles bar in town.

–The character who can’t duck the soul-eater from Hades may opt to join the space program in order to put some serious distance between himself and the boojam.

–The dealer in dead souls may join a Buddhist order to find sanctuary in some remote mountain temple.

–The gal who’s losing her hearing might seek out a faith healer or a witch doctor if she can’t afford traditional medical remedies.

SOME CONFLICT:

All the wonderful, malleable space between a character’s problem and solution is your playground. Have fun with it. Fill it with dragons, armies, space ships, or a seemingly endless stretch of nothing. It can harbor pitfalls, dead drops, mistakes, oversights, threats, attempts, triumphs and disasters. It’s the land of the Try/Fail, the great and glorious Middle.

You could find this section ridiculously easy to populate. Story stuff could spew out of you as the by-product of the Problem/Solution line up. Walter can’t bring himself to ask Paige out on a date, but when she’s threatened by something that happens as a result of a Scorpion project, Walter will always be the one to risk himself to save her. But what if the Problem/Solution combination fails to provide the sort of conflict needed for a specific genre? Then it’s time to add external conflict.

In “Scorpion,” it comes as a result of the new challenge the team faces in each episode. In the case of the Big, Bad Wolf, the conflict appears in the guise of a pig with some engineering chops–a brick-layin’ porker of all things.

In “Star Wars,” Luke Skywalker dreams of becoming a mystical Jedi warrior, but his tutor is a little green guy with big ears and annoying speech mannerisms. There wouldn’t have been much movie if all Luke had to do was buy a copy of “Jedi Warriorhood for Dummies.”

The great thing about external conflicts is that they provide endless opportunities to develop the character and his/her abilities and/or shortcomings. Walter uses his stratospheric IQ to turn household objects into defensive weaponry. His mind is his principle asset, and the external conflict allows us to see it in action.

LIMITATIONS:

A limitation is generally internal — meaning, it’s something within the character that exists as part of their nature. This limitation hobbles them in some way, altering their problem/solution dichotomy (which we could ostensibly call “the mission”).

Consider Walter from “Scorpion.” His limitation is an inability to deal with “normal” people. This causes problems, of course, but it also allows him to focus his considerable brain power without concerning himself with what other people think. (Although, usually at Paige’s request, he will try to figure out a more acceptable means of sharing his genius.)

Limitations are traits of the character’s that get in her way — they might be flaws or frailties but they can just as easily be positive traits that make trouble for the character and the plot.

COMPLICATIONS:

Complications tend to be external — they are entanglements outside the character that complicate their lives. These can be more character-based or more plot-based depending on which aspect of the story you’re working.

Walter O’Brien has a savior complex. He doesn’t see himself as a cowboy, but when something catastrophic is about to happen–typically the climax of every show–Walter pushes everyone else aside and takes on the most dangerous role. Yes, he’s a super genius, but he’s also part super hero.

And of course the rub is, a character’s limitations and complications are also the things that may help them succeed in their mission even while still causing them grave disorder.

A GREAT FEAR:

Short but sweet: what does the character fear most? Death. Love. Disease. Losing one’s best friend. Bees. Toddlers. Whatever. Identify the character’s fear — meaning, the thing they most don’t want to encounter or see happen — because you’re the storyteller, and you’re cruel, and now you have this Awful Thing in your pocket. And whenever you want, you can bring the Awful Thing out and harangue the character with it to see which way she jumps.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Description for characters is overrated. Just a little is plenty, in most cases. To see if you’re in the ballpark describing your players, try this:

Write a description. Keep it to 100 words or less. (Look at what you did with the 140-character limit for the logline!) Imagine the impression someone would have when first encountering your character. If asked later, how would you character be described? Gangly school-age scarecrow with a flair for fashion? Frumpy, middle-aged matron racing toward senility? Svelte sophisticate whose looks are destroyed by her impenetrable Brooklyn accent?

A short, sharp shock of character description. Remember: writers are best describing things that deviate from the norm and violate our expectations. Find the things that make the character visually unique, interesting, odd, curious — different. Stick with those.

THE TEST DRIVE:

The character’s voice and behavior may still be foreign to you at this point — conjuring details and entanglements won’t let you crawl  into their skin and drive them like a go-kart. But, like a go-cart, you can take ‘em for a test drive. Best of all, you don’t even have to climb into one of those nasty little miniature race cars!

Write a flash fiction piece with your new player in the starring role. Drive him around. Ding him up. Challenge him! Force him to talk to other characters: an obstinate cab driver, a belligerent cop, almost any teenager. Give him a new problem or one related to the character explicitly.

Let ‘em speak. Let ‘em act. See what they do when you get behind the wheel. Inhabit the character.

The bonus is that you may come away with new material you want to use in a longer work.

NOW, GO REWRITE THE LOGLINE:

When you’ve done all these things, there’s a high probability your character has changed in some profound way. So, go back and rewrite the original logline. Sharpen it ‘til it sparkles like the blade on a carving knife.

And when it’s all said and done, you should have a vastly better grip on your character. You know what makes him tick and why.

 –Josh (thank you, Chuck Wendig!)