How many stories can you tell about yourself? It’s something we seemingly never tire of doing. What’s interesting are the patterns within the stories we choose to share with the world, and how they define us and shape the way we behave. Are we victims or heroes, tricksters or passive, the voice of reason or the spurned lover? Listen out for the stories you tell, and the stories you hear. Listen and learn, and then think about how they apply to the fictions you write.

Once you’ve worked out the kind of stories a character tells about themselves, you’re a long way to working out what kind of person they are in practice. I’ve never been a big fan of the whole detailed biography approach to character creation where you know what they had for breakfast and what colour socks they wear. Too much information. But if you get a feel for the way they talk about themselves, the stories they share and roles they play in them, other stuff starts to fall into place.

Someone who plays martyr in their tales, and likes to be different without having the smarts to figure out an original way of doing so…it’s kind of easy to see them wearing a big old leather trenchcoat. Contrarily, a character who never realises the joke is on him…well, there’s something about putting them in a ‘comedy’ tie, and having their clothes chosen by their mother into their twenties and beyond. These things have a logic of their own: you might not agree with my choices, and that’s fine as long as you’ve got your own radar for such nuances.

Nuances are what it’s all about. The distinctions a character makes inform their place in the world, and what they are capable of doing to change it. Norris Cole of Coronation Street meticulously places everyone on a social scale that’s of utmost importance to him, while Phil Mitchell of Eastenders pays heed to social convention only when it doesn’t interfere with his personal goals.

When different worldviews meet, sparks can fly. Drama often reaches its climax points when characters who have been close are polarised by their attitudes and actions in a new situation. The trick then, is to know your characters well enough to find situations that will force them apart. Will they accept the new reality, or will it cause them to redefine their relationship?

Alan Moore’s Watchmen is full of fine stuff emerging from a profound understanding of the distinctions between his characters, ably illustrated by Dave Gibbons. All are superheroes, each has their unique take on what can and should be done about humanity, the distinctions between them leading to a monstrous plot hatched by one of their number in the name of the greater good. Other, more grounded characters, have their more human response to the grand scheme, but are so ‘normal’ in their perspectives that they are easily outfoxed by the mastermind. It’s brilliantly realised, and for all the structural excellence on display that takes it several cuts above any other work in the comics form from a technical viewpoint, the character work is what makes Watchmen tick. And it all starts with the stories they tell themselves, about the world and their place in it…