The Inner Chamber: Why Characters Make Us Care

Last month, I left you at the doorway to the Inner Chamber—the Who—and with one thought: the antagonist didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be a villain. In their world, they’re the protagonist.

This month, let’s open the door.

Quick recap: a thriller begins with the What, the object that raises questions. Then comes the Why, the reasons people will risk everything to possess it. Now we reach the Who.

At first glance, that seems like the easiest part. Just invent a hero and a villain, give them names, and let them chase each other around the world (in 80 days).

If only it were that simple.

Sometimes that’s enough. But the memorable stories—the ones you recommend, reread, or follow across a series—need characters with depth.

In my Darwin Lacroix series, I began with an adventure where an archaeologist found evidence that ancient Romans used lava tubes to move secretly behind enemy lines. When the What and its relevance to the modern world, took shape, it made sense that my main character was European.

But he began the way all my characters do. I discovery-write to get a sense of who they are: how they move, what they do, how they talk, their basic personality, and eventually a name. (Spoiler alert: I don’t remember exactly how I arrived at Darwin.)

As that profile deepens, I begin to layer on the Why they care about the What that drives the story. For Darwin, this comes from his profession, but more so from his family legacy.

For the villain in each novel, I begin in the same place: Why would someone want the What? I explore (invent) their past, their wants and desires. Each one is the hero of their own worldview. No one was born bad, and few characters are purely evil.

The better a novel develops that clash of worldviews, the deeper the conflict, the richer the stakes.

As I write, I sometimes picture a person I’ve encountered. (Bad bosses, I’m looking at you.)

For personality, I sometimes use the Enneagram, a framework that describes nine basic personality types and, more usefully for fiction, how those personalities behave when healthy, stressed, or somewhere in between. Darwin is an Investigator, though I formed his personality long before I discovered the Enneagram.

What interests me isn’t the label. It’s the range. A character’s fundamental personality can stay recognizable while pressure pushes their behavior from generous and visionary to vengeful, ruthless, even murderous. Read more here.

I also like to drop characters into situations that make you ask, “What would I do in their shoes?” What would I steal to feed my family? Would I do worse?

That question takes the Who beyond a profile. If the antagonist is simply greedy, we understand the motive and move on. But if the antagonist believes the What belongs to his family, the conflict deepens.

Take Sinai Deceit. The antagonist, Mike Carson, learns that his inheritance was denied even though he is a legitimate heir to the Lacroix fortune. He sees Darwin as the bastard who took it. Darwin has no idea Mike exists, because the family repressed the knowledge.

Two characters, each with a legitimate claim to the same legacy. Mike is chasing what he believes is rightfully his; Darwin is coming to grips with a legacy based on a lie.

Each is right.

And each is wrong.

This is where the Who becomes delicious.

Their conflict puts them on a collision course. Each believes the inheritance is theirs, so what matters is how they go about getting it—and, in Darwin’s case, what he decides to do once he learns the truth.

Those choices reveal character.

For me, building the Who starts with belief. Then the story piles on pressure to test that belief and see what a person will do when pushed hard.

The What gives them something to fight over. The Why gives them a reason to fight. The Who determines how far they are willing to go.

And, for me, when a story is well-crafted, I find myself wondering what I would do in their situation.

At this stage in my manuscript, I have an object, stakes, and people on a collision course. But I still don’t have 85,000 words.

That’s the last part of my formula: How.

Next month, I’ll show you how I take all these pieces—questions, characters, research, Post-it notes, wrong turns, and discoveries—and turn them into a novel.

Until next time,

Dave

Writer’s Tip: If you’re trying to understand a character, stop asking what they do. Ask what they believe. Beliefs drive decisions, and decisions drive stories.