When you describe real people and their behaviour, folks, try to get it right. Also: remember that if those real people are still alive, you may be sued. The rest of this is about made-up people. To make up people you need to watch real people. Try to do this surreptitiously. There's no law against it, but people get testy when they think they're being watched, in spite of all those CCTV cameras out there.

To make made-up people seem real, you need to have them do things real people do. Like want things. You're good at doing that, because you call it 'motivation'. You're good at having them express obvious emotions, too, like happiness (when they get what they want) and sadness (when the don't get what they want, or lose something they had). Dollars to doughnuts, though, if your characters are flat, it's because they don't do much of anything else people do, like get mad at the paper boy for throwing the Gazette onto the roof again. Things like that.

Today, kids, let's think about how our characters react to frustration.

Do they:

• Immediately give up?
• Declare that trying is futile, anyway?
• Strike a martyr's stance?
• Claim the system is rigged?
• Look for someone to blame?
• Pride themselves on their ability to strike terror into the hearts of customer service workers?

I will guarantee you that I've seen all this behaviour modelled on h2g2, around town, and on Twitter. I'll bet you have, too. Make secret mental notes. Use these things. Not only will your characters suddenly acquire more dimension, but your readers may actually learn something. Believe it or not, actually learning something from your writing is a reason for people to like your writing and not go away yawning. No, it wasn't the elegant description of the flying pink-and-purple Bumblewhatsit. It was the Bumblewhatsit's ethical decisions that made it relatable. People don't need you for your imagination: they've got one of their own. They need you to clothe that imagination with the trappings of reality, so that it will come alive for them.

After a brisk three-hour walk in glorious early-spring sunshine, led by an enthusiastic Guenther, Jim found himself extremely relieved to enter the semi-darkness of a local pizzeria. As he collapsed gratefully onto the faux-leather banquette – why did Germans always overdo the walking? He was going to be sore tomorrow – a diminutive Italian waiter-in-training came running over to take their orders. Beer and individual pizzas were spoken for. Jim, remembering in time that 'pepperoni' didn't mean what he thought it did, opted for a Pizza Funghi, mentally chuckling at the amusement the name would cause in Pittsburgh. Guenther decided on ham as a topping.

The hot food was welcome after the vigorous march. For Guenther, though, the plate-sized portion proved insufficient. After carefully counting his pocket change – this was the 70s, students were poor then – he decided to order a plain Pizza Marguerita, tomato sauce and cheese, to fill the hole in his stomach. Jim shook his head: his stomach was full enough. Guenther declined Jim's offer to spot him another pizza topping, even though Jim remembered the right German for it: 'spendieren'. So Jim compromised by ordering them both another beer, and sat enjoying Guenther's conversation, which was mostly didactic, and the respite from marching around in the Kottenforst.

When the miniwaiter returned with the extra pizza, Guenther's face brightened – then darkened, rather like that of an operatic baritone at the sound of a mood-altering chord. 'Look at this,' he demanded.

Jim looked. 'The pizza is a little overdone,' he commented mildly. Guenther glared around in search of the waiter, who had mysteriously vanished. ('Back to Palermo, if he knows what's good for him,' thought Jim.) With an exaggerated air of martyrdom, Guenther picked up his knife and fork and ate his pizza. But he cut around each burnt area, carefully (he really was rather hungry), and set the burnt circles to one side on the plate.

'Aus pädigogischen Gründen',' as he explained to Jim.

When the meal was over, the waiter approached with an insouciant smile. Oh, no, thought Jim. Don't say it…

'Hat's geschmeckt?' The litany of waiters in Germany: literally, 'Did it taste good?'

Jim had to sit there while his friend unleashed all the pent-up frustration that thwarted appetite and student penury had dealt his way upon the young waiter, who, Jim thought, was probably lonely and far from home and not very sure of this new language. Emphatically, though with great dignity, Guenther pointed out the burnt patches excised from his now-defunct pizza. He frowned with disapproval mingled with the triumph of one who knows he is in the right.

'Es sind krebserregende Stoffe drin,' he announced unanswerably. The waiter shrugged helplessly, unable either to understand the word 'carcinogen' or to pronounce on the health dangers of overbaked pizza, and Guenther, who was after all a practising Christian, charitably forgave him, much to Jim's relief.

But Jim never passed that restaurant again without thinking about burnt pizza, carcinogens, and culinary pedagogy.

How do your characters deal with the existence of other people who don't happen to agree with them, or whose needs may conflict with their own?

Do they:

• Get their own back for real or imagined slights with sly digs and passive-aggressive behaviour?
• Categorise those with whom they disagree as 'those people' and denigrate them as a group?
• Twist their interpretation of a situation around so that the needs of others are really an attack on themselves?
• Try to understand other people's needs and feel a sense of accomplishment at achieving a win/win scenario?

As you can see, the possibilities are almost endless. I recommend that you spend a certain amount of your time as a secret observer of other people's interactions. Try to analyse their behaviour. Don't tell them about it: it will just make them cross. Save your insights for your writing. Attribute this behaviour to a character in one of your stories. I'll guarantee that nobody will ever notice that you're talking about them. Humans are not noted for their sense of self-reflection.

You can thank me for this tip when you win that prestigious literary prize. And no, I'm absolutely sure Guenther wouldn't mind me sharing that story about him, even if he knew I was telling it.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

15.04.19 Front Page

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