A Recipe for Characters

I used to love to watch my late husband cook.  For years, he’d dreamed of being a chef, but had gone into computer science, both out of a love of technology and its possibilities, and a desire for a career that would best support our young family. But even deep in the years of software and computer keyboards, WANs and LANs, programming language and code, he found the most joy in the kitchen.  When he finally became a professional chef and we opened our own restaurant, his joy was even more evident. Watching him in the kitchen as he prepped up to create a new dish was truly watching an artist at work.

I think about this now because I have lately been involved in many conversations about the nature of art and the artist, craft and the craftsman, and the process of creation itself, especially as it relates to writing.  It is not likely that anyone will ever define “art” or “the artist” to the satisfaction of all, but it occurs to me that every person engaged in creative acts has much to learn from others who have mastered theirs.

I see him now, with bowls of prepped ingredients spread out, and a large salmon on the cutting board.  When developing a new dish, he never looked at a recipe, and he also never faltered.  He would begin with whatever was the basic flavor he wanted to add, and move from there.  If he began with that cut of salmon, he’d begin with that flavor in mind, and reach for whatever additive most seemed, in his mind at that moment, to enhance it in the most basic way he wanted, and then build his “recipe” from there. He explored and discovered each new dish as he went, and, if it was not what he’d hoped for, he’d start again. 

Recently, my writing group went away with an assignment in character development.  I thought about it, and sat down with thoughts of two of my most recent characters:  Sammy, the lead character in the novel I just finished (The Hapless Life of Samuel Joseph) and Carson, the main character in a novel I’d put away two years ago when it went off in the wrong direction.  I knew what made Sammy laugh – he’d laughed often in the course of his story.  Carson, a much darker character, was another matter.  I thought more. 

What ended up occurring to me was that I couldn’t fit the development of these characters into any one mold, any one ‘activity.’ When I began the Samuel Joseph story, I began with him, with the character.  I’d had a notion for some time of what the story should accomplish, and, as I thought about that, the character of Sammy emerged.  At the beginning of the Carson story, I had an image and a name, and no more.  The purpose of the story did not occur to me till recently, as I began to get back to my character and get to know him in the context of that image I began with. 

In both cases, much like my late husband as he began to develop a new dish, it was a matter of discovery, and I could no more use the same methods on both than he could have in developing a seafood dish versus a vegetarian dish.  The path of discovery is driven by the material you begin with, and the chef/the writer attending to that with clarity.