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Egads, Sherlock, That's Amusing...
Mar. 22nd, 2008 09:15 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mbarker.livejournal.comoriginal posting: Wed, 30 Mar 1994 18:35:01 JST
This morning a motorcycle pulled up beside me while I was waiting for the light to change. The figure on it wore one of the full head helmets, so there was a glistening silver face-shield in front, and a dark plastic dome over the rest. From neck to toe, they wore "motorcycle leathers," in red and white, bulky plastic. Heavy motorcycle gauntlets (they are too bulky to just call them gloves) and shiny black leather boots completed the ensemble.
The interesting question to me was why, despite the almost complete lack of identity, I was sure there was a woman inside that technological marvel of isolation. Was it the posture, or maybe the proportions? There wasn't even a fringe of hair peeking out the back of the helmet - what about that modern suit of armor led me to think there was even a person inside, let alone a young woman?
And then, of course, I began to speculate - what kind of background put her in there? Where was she going? How, in a few words, could I separate this motorcycle rider from all the other motorcycle riders in the world and make her breathe and lean forward and buzz in the minds of my readers?
The light changed, but I continued to mull over this character in my mind, even as the plastic covered surprise package that I never got to open pulled away into the traffic.
Anytime, anywhere, there is likely to be a person around. Look closely - what identifies them as student, dentist, nurse, knee-breaker, or whatever? Then go one step further - what makes this person different from every other person in the world? Is it the tiny mole over one eye, almost buried in the eyebrow? Or maybe the slight hesitation in their walk from a bullet wound in Afghanistan? And last, but most important, set them in a life - were they born and raised in the coal mines of Kansas, or maybe burned by the hot chinooks of the Canadian surfers? Did they read their lessons by firelight during the tropical hurricanes, or perhaps party in Harvard? Are they going to work, or to dance the night away, or perhaps to kill a stranger for money? Has the golden arches training totally wiped their personality?
BTW - you may need to do some (ugh!) research later, to find out just how bad the mines in Kansas are, or what kind of surfboards they use in Canada. Consider it a bonus - when you notice you are missing information during this practice, you have the fun of finding it out!
While I usually play this game in my mind, without even worrying very much about getting all the words and observations down (they will pop up later, when I try to figure out a character), you can write down bits and pieces if you want. You can also do some testing, if you like and the person seems to have time - ask them about themselves, see if your guesses and observations fit, learn something about that waitress bending over your table to drop the dishes clattering in front of you. Most people, once they get over being surprised by your interest, are pleased to talk about themselves - and you may get just the anecdote or detail that will make your story sing someday.
So, the exercise is simple - look around at the people, all the lonely people, and think! Even if you are sitting by yourself - who's that on the magazine cover? Who could it be? (don't worry about reality, that's boooring!) Or what made that woman in the line at the supermarket stick in your memory yesterday - was it the antlers or the fangs? What made the center in the ball game completely forgettable?
(you can even, if you like, write monographs about it...)
Egads, Watson, the game is afoot! Talleyhoo!
This morning a motorcycle pulled up beside me while I was waiting for the light to change. The figure on it wore one of the full head helmets, so there was a glistening silver face-shield in front, and a dark plastic dome over the rest. From neck to toe, they wore "motorcycle leathers," in red and white, bulky plastic. Heavy motorcycle gauntlets (they are too bulky to just call them gloves) and shiny black leather boots completed the ensemble.
The interesting question to me was why, despite the almost complete lack of identity, I was sure there was a woman inside that technological marvel of isolation. Was it the posture, or maybe the proportions? There wasn't even a fringe of hair peeking out the back of the helmet - what about that modern suit of armor led me to think there was even a person inside, let alone a young woman?
And then, of course, I began to speculate - what kind of background put her in there? Where was she going? How, in a few words, could I separate this motorcycle rider from all the other motorcycle riders in the world and make her breathe and lean forward and buzz in the minds of my readers?
The light changed, but I continued to mull over this character in my mind, even as the plastic covered surprise package that I never got to open pulled away into the traffic.
Anytime, anywhere, there is likely to be a person around. Look closely - what identifies them as student, dentist, nurse, knee-breaker, or whatever? Then go one step further - what makes this person different from every other person in the world? Is it the tiny mole over one eye, almost buried in the eyebrow? Or maybe the slight hesitation in their walk from a bullet wound in Afghanistan? And last, but most important, set them in a life - were they born and raised in the coal mines of Kansas, or maybe burned by the hot chinooks of the Canadian surfers? Did they read their lessons by firelight during the tropical hurricanes, or perhaps party in Harvard? Are they going to work, or to dance the night away, or perhaps to kill a stranger for money? Has the golden arches training totally wiped their personality?
BTW - you may need to do some (ugh!) research later, to find out just how bad the mines in Kansas are, or what kind of surfboards they use in Canada. Consider it a bonus - when you notice you are missing information during this practice, you have the fun of finding it out!
While I usually play this game in my mind, without even worrying very much about getting all the words and observations down (they will pop up later, when I try to figure out a character), you can write down bits and pieces if you want. You can also do some testing, if you like and the person seems to have time - ask them about themselves, see if your guesses and observations fit, learn something about that waitress bending over your table to drop the dishes clattering in front of you. Most people, once they get over being surprised by your interest, are pleased to talk about themselves - and you may get just the anecdote or detail that will make your story sing someday.
So, the exercise is simple - look around at the people, all the lonely people, and think! Even if you are sitting by yourself - who's that on the magazine cover? Who could it be? (don't worry about reality, that's boooring!) Or what made that woman in the line at the supermarket stick in your memory yesterday - was it the antlers or the fangs? What made the center in the ball game completely forgettable?
(you can even, if you like, write monographs about it...)
Egads, Watson, the game is afoot! Talleyhoo!
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