The Writer’s Playbook: Interview Your Characters

By Steven Harms

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To start, calculators down.

Now answer the following:
What is three times three?
Ten times seven?
Nine times two?
And, to finish this little exercise, what is eighty-five times forty-six? Take your time.

Hopefully you nailed the final answer. You may be asking what this has to do with being an author? Read on.

In the spring of 1985, I was two years into my first job at the Detroit Pistons. Around that same time, in my hometown of Milwaukee, Wisconsin something occurred that got my attention. The Milwaukee Bucks of the NBA had recently been purchased by Herb Kohl – I’ll get to him in a moment – and I felt the opportunity to return home was worth an inquiry. New ownership of a pro team generally comes with a slate of changes on the business side to align with a new owner’s vision and desire for how they want the place to operate. I wasn’t wrong. I sent a letter of inquiry to the president of business operations of the Milwaukee Bucks, not expecting a reply.

Two weeks later I received a call from John Steinmiller, introducing himself and asking that I come to Milwaukee for an interview. The role was a new position, and the person they were seeking would be responsible for building the sales team and crafting the external sales strategy.

I was flown in the following week and met with John. Our discussion went well, and I was excited to put it mildly. The opportunity would advance my career to the next level. As John wrapped our interview, he informed me that the new owner, Herb Kohl, would also like to meet with me one-on-one.

Who’s Herb Kohl? Perhaps you’ve shopped at Kohl’s. That was Herb’s family business, begun by his father in 1924. Kohl’s began as a grocery chain in the Milwaukee area before adding department stores beginning in 1962, eventually selling it all off in 1979. Herb Kohl purchased the Bucks in 1985 to prevent the team from exiting Milwaukee, in line with his community mindedness, which eventually led to him becoming a U.S. Senator, representing Wisconsin for twenty-four years. That’s the man I now sat across from in his spacious office at a top floor of Milwaukee’s tallest building.

The interview with him was straightforward – my background, schooling, sales experience with the Detroit Pistons, family, goals, and a few other traditional interview topics. Herb was a soft-spoken person, palpably gracious, and he made me comfortable as we chatted. Somewhere amid that interview, completely out of the blue, he asked me that final math question at the top of this article. Stone cold. No pivot. I can’t recall the exact digits, but you get the idea. To this day, I remember Herb said, “Take your time.” It was a jolt. I recall thinking that I was about to blow the interview and wouldn’t get the job. But I figured out quickly how to process the problem and answered it correctly. He then tossed me two more of similar nature. I passed all three. In the end, I landed the job.

My length of service with the Bucks lasted four years before I moved to New York City for my next opportunity. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a moment during my time with the Bucks to ask Herb why he threw those math problems at me. I’m convinced he did so to see how I process information and how I manage myself in a stressful situation. I just never asked. I think I know the answer, at least in part, which aligns with the task we have in creating our characters and developing them.  

Every good author understands that characters tell the author what to write, not the other way around. We’re responsible for bringing the people in our stories to life, intently listening to each, being thoughtful of their backstory, and abiding by who they are as a character. Their dialogue and actions drive the plot. How those are handled by an author is critical to maintaining a compelling, authentic story.

But what happens when a scene or chapter or subplot just won’t materialize, better known as writer’s block? All authors experience that moment, some less than others, but it’s unavoidable. It will happen, probably multiple times in the process of producing a manuscript. Successfully dealing with the problem opens the door to kickstart the interrupted creative process. There are many methods, but taking a cue from Herb Kohl, consider copying his technique.

Have a conversation with the characters on what they’re thinking. Throw them a wildly incongruent question of fact or importance that is unconnected to the story and see how they respond. If their answer misses the mark, that’s alright. Now you know. If they arrive at a plausible, reasonable answer, now you know that as well. If they hem and haw and sweat, tell them to take their time and only move on after they’ve answered. That’s also informative. You now perceive facets of them you hadn’t known, which may be a key ingredient in unblocking yourself and taking your story to a higher level.

Next time you’re at a Kohl’s, or drive by one, or see one of their advertisements, think back to this article and consider the “Kohl method” of interviewing a character(s) to handle current or future writing blocks. He or she may be able to figure out the “math question” you pose. Or maybe not. Either way their strengths, weaknesses, make-up, countenance, and other previously unrevealed attributes will come to the fore.

Just one rule, though. No calculators allowed.

A Killer Voice That Makes an Impact

By Alexandrea Weis

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When you think about a rampaging murderer out to destroy his victims, what comes to mind? Most of the time, it’s their iconic voice. Imagine Candyman without the breathy and slow speech of Tony Todd or Ghostface without Rodger L Jackson’s craggy mix of sadism and insanity. Who can forget the deep, dark, dulcet tones of the Master of Macabre, Vincent Price? That’s what you want to give readers when your character speaks—a taste of their depravity.

Finding that unique resonance can be challenging, but like any diligent author, you appreciate the value of research to carve out a brilliant inflection that will capture your delinquent’s soul. Breathy, croaky, cracking, soothing, alarming can all describe a voice. Vivid comparisons can also bring the essence of someone alive in a reader’s mind. Does her breathy narration sound like a gentle breeze moving through a tree plump with the leaves of spring? Does his laugh remind you of the bray of a donkey? How a death-dealing degenerate sounds can influence what your readers take away from a scene. 

Sentence structure plays a vital role in intensifying a character’s emotions. A nervous woman convinced she’s being followed might require short, clipped phrases, imitating the twittering of a skittish bird. Or there are those long, flowery sentences that could represent the pompous police chief or dense detective who doesn’t believe the victim. Punctuation can also add impact. A frightened person’s dialogue can frequently trail off with ellipses, exemplifying their wavering train of thought. Or a brash thug might add terror to his loud, paranoid ramblings by ending everything in exclamation points.    

A voice doesn’t have to be menacing to create a shudder. An ordinary, quiet man with a somber or even childlike tone who carries out ghastly deeds can elicit chills. Think Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. A monotone, emotionless pitch can tell us more about the inner workings of a psychopath than a shrieking mother frustrated with her children. Remember the crazed computer Hal 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey? 

Don’t forget about the intense horror of silence. The doomed want answers before they take their last breath. Not having the solace of another’s voice could be more hair-raising than a sinister hiss or last malicious chuckle. A memorable example is the unsettling nothingness of Michael Myers as he sliced through his victims in Halloween (1987). 

You may want to design a manner of speaking that becomes your transgressor’s trademark. Police often ask survivors of violence about the voice of their attacker. Even if a victim doesn’t look at the perpetrator, they will never forget how they sounded. The way your slayer stays with those they have tormented can be as important as what they say or do. Inflections, the rise and fall of their tone, the deepness or high-pitched way they laugh, and even the pauses they give when speaking are all critical. The Grady twins from The Shining delivered their creepy invitation to Danny to come and play “forever… and ever… and ever,” scaring theatergoers.

Also, keep in mind dialects do matter. Whether it’s a southern drawl, Texas Twang, the guttural angst of New Yorkers, or the dropped Rs of Bostonians, give your killer some flare. But don’t overdo it. You want authenticity without coming across as stereotypical. Research how people speak naturally in the area you’re writing about. Go to restaurants, walk the streets, sit in coffee shops, and eavesdrop. Get a sense of rhythm and the way people talk. It will give your scoundrel depth and believability. 

Don’t forget the backstory, especially when dealing with physical or emotional traumas. A brute with a history of throat damage, whether through strangling or a sliced larynx, can have a wispy way of speaking that sets one’s teeth on edge. Damage to the mouth, either through the loss of teeth or cut nerves, can provide relevant clues to why your murderer speaks as they do. A maniac who’s suffered immense sorrow or abuse might carry the past in their voice. Cold, unemotional, lifeless tones can tell you a lot about the pain behind someone’s words. Red’s rasp in the movie US becomes even more horrific when the audience discovers rats have gnawed through her vocal cords. A cringe-worthy backstory can ramp up the fear factor.

There’s nothing more insightful than a voice. It’s the true window to one’s emotions and personality. So when creating a killer character who will leave readers mesmerized and terrified, don’t forget their distinct, haunting vocal expression. Take the time to make it compelling, and your villain will live on long after your story’s climactic ending.   

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Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an award-winning author, screenwriter, advanced practice registered nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She has taught at major universities and worked as a nurse dealing with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at New Orleans area hospitals.

Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. The first person to give her writing advice was Tennessee Williams, a family friend. 

Weis is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and Horror Writers Association (HWA). She lives with her husband outside of New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife & Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.

The Writer’s Playbook | Fan Favorites

By Steven Harms

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If you’ve followed any sport—pro, college, or youth—and whether that be a team sport (i.e., basketball) or solo (i.e., golf), there’s usually a consensus player who earns the term “fan favorite.” It’s the individual who captures the hearts of the fans, someone who isn’t necessarily the star player. In fact, I’d argue the moniker is reserved for a role player who rises above his or her perceived limitations to perform at a high level while organically baring their human side on or off the field of play. 

I used the term “earns” with purpose. In all my years in pro sports, I’ve witnessed many a player become that team’s fan favorite just by combining consistently good performance doing their specific job with a personality that endears them to the fan base. It’s not the all-star player, but rather the sub or the unglamorous player who shines. 

In Detroit, where most of my career was spent, those fan favorites were the players with that working-class approach to their job. Detroit is known as a blue-collar, hard-working, gritty, get-the-job-done town. And they love underdogs. Each market has a vibe and a role player that can capture that quality by their level of play and personality to become a star. 

The NBA enshrines such a player by honoring them with the “NBA Sixth Man of the Year Award,” an annual award to the player who is not a starter but is the best player who enters the game as a substitute and puts up the best performance over a season. Invariably, that player is a fan favorite in that player’s market. Why? He’s the role player that shines. Hollywood does the same thing with their “Best Supporting Actor” awards. The award itself is an affirmation that an amazing performance by a secondary character can win over the hearts and minds of the movie-going public.

This dynamic is true in the stories we write and read as well. In my debut novel, Give Place to Wrath, I introduced a three-headed detective team led by the main protagonist, Roger Viceroy. Viceroy dominates the book, but I gave enough spotlight to his two assistants that one of them became a surprising fan favorite—Trevor “Silk” Moreland.

Silk had the backstory in his favor. As a kid who grew up in a blighted section of Milwaukee, he was destined for basketball stardom with a full ride to Marquette University until his dreams were cut short by a bullet that destroyed his basketball career during his senior year in high school. But that unfortunate incident was also the fuse that ignited his passion for police work and honed his innate abilities to become an excellent detective. 

After the book debuted and reviews started coming in, there were a good number of people who called out Silk and how much they enjoyed his character with a few even suggesting I spin him off to his own series. I thought about it, but I also realized he resonated so much because he was a support character who authentically excelled at what he did as part of a team. 

Every story has minor characters, and at times, they’re written to bridge a gap in the story arc or serve a role to provide information or advance a particular chapter. Those characters are needed, to be sure. However, readers will instinctually gravitate to a secondary character if they are written with enough detail, given their own spotlight at times, and can showcase an authentic and relatable character trait or a backstory of overcoming their personal obstacles. They provide an ingredient that elevates the book because they tap into the charitable and empathetic side of our nature.  

I’ve seen it happen in Major League ballparks, NBA arenas, and NFL stadiums. When the fan favorite enters the game, there is a noticeable lift as the fan’s attention turns to that player and the energy and character traits he brings to the game. Win or lose, when the fan-favorite plays, the fans’ enjoyment of the game elevates because they are emotionally invested in that player.  

If an author can write a supporting character that earns an emotional connection to readers, a novel’s odds of success are simply enhanced. It’s the “fan favorite” effect. While readers are certainly intellectually involved with the protagonist, having that beloved bench player enter the game will always perk up the moment and pull a reader closer to where you want them to be–engaged and wanting to turn the page.