When I meet someone new, we start to talk about what we have
in common, and if we hit it off, we tell stories. Stories of events, where we
came from, the people in our lives. In other words, backstory.
We share these things because the events in our lives have
shaped us into the people we are today. It’s the same with characters in a
fictional story. She stood at the crest
of the hill, her short sun-bleached hair tousled by the wind. Mud streaked
across her NAU sweatshirt. Okay, we have a snapshot of her, but who is she?
In order for that character to seem real, we need to know
her background. Was she an only child? Did she have any pets? Did she stomp in
mud puddles or did her mother keep her indoors? Writers know these things, and
since we’re trying to introduce the character, we want to tell the reader
everything we know, as soon as possible.
That’s where we run into trouble. If that person I just met immediately
bombarded me with all his history and his most intimate details, I’d probably
back away. A story here, a snippet there: that’s how we get to know someone.
I once had a dog named Barney. We left him home alone while
we went to a movie, and when we got home, a bag of two dozen dinner rolls was
missing from the kitchen counter. We couldn’t believe a fifteen-pound terrier
could have eaten all those rolls, but they were gone. Only the empty bag
remained. Then we began to find them. One was in the shower. Another behind the
toilet. Two behind the laundry hamper. He’d even scratched up the carpet in the
corner of the bedroom and hidden one underneath. We were finding rolls for
weeks.
We need to hide our backstory the way a terrier hides food.
A comment here about a camping trip. A memory there of being forced to wear a scratchy
dress to a wedding. A hint now and then that there’s a story behind the story. If
we do it right, the reader is turning the pages, eager to find out more. And by
the end of the story, we’ve made a friend.
Comments
Post a Comment