People rarely show their true emotions.
Sure, there are those that always wear their heart on their
proverbial sleeve, but most everyone has a few emotions that they never show.
We’re naturally inclined to hold something back. It’s in our nature to be less
trusting than maybe we ought.
How is this relevant to writing? Well, characters should
hold something back, too.
I’m not saying that characters should be emotionless. Not in
any way, shape, or form am I alluding to that. Yes, some characters are meant
to be emotionless (like Spock), but all good characters that aren’t Vulcans
have some form of emotion. Without
emotions, your characters will be boring and your reader will stop reading your
thing.
However, characters can still hide what they truly feel. You
can give your readers a hint of something more, while holding it back.
How?
You let your
character put on a mask.
Creating the Mask
Before you can show your characters holding something back,
they need to present something.
After all, to put on a mask, you need to find a mask first.
So. What is your character’s mask going to be? Quite simply,
this mask needs to be a realistic
emotion and personality for the scene/situation. If your character puts on
a constant mask of ludicrous amusement, then we’re probably going to doubt
their validity. You want your reader to believe at least a little in the mask
at some point.
The mask has to make
sense to the character. If your character wouldn’t force that emotion out,
they can’t wear it as a mask. Often times, a character mask is an easily
accepted personality/emotion for that particular character. When the other
characters can say “okay” and move on, so will the reader.
Masks should start
simple. If you try to present a complex mask for a character right from the
start, your reader will have difficulty with reversing their opinion and mental
image when the mask comes off. As you continue, let it expand slowly. Keep in
mind, however, that each layer you add to the mask will make it harder to
remove. Perhaps consider letting a layer fall for every two layers you add.
Then, once the whole thing comes off, you’ve got a manageable mess to deal
with.
This mask you create
should pretend to encompass the whole
of the character. It should pose in front of their real character.
For instance, my character Deyu (from Agram Awakens) is a slave girl who rarely talks, who is meek and
quiet and obedient. To all the other slaves, she’s little more than a mindless
worker, and to her master she’s nothing but a tool.
This is the mask she presents to the other characters (I
call this a story mask). The reader,
however, is inside her head, and so realizes that there is more to her than
mindless, repetitive work.
Inside, Deyu hates her masters (even as she fears them). She
holds tightly to her emotions and refuses to let those around her see them:
they are her only possessions. The reader gets to see this mask of bitterness
and hate and fear and desperation.
But it’s still a mask (the reader mask, as I call it).
Deep down inside (where not even the reader gets to see
until three-quarters of the way through the book), Deyu wants to be happy, to
laugh and to talk and to dance. She wants to make friends and help people and love
them.
Yet she can’t.
She knows that the second she lets this true version of herself out, those
around her will squash it.
So Deyu puts on a
mask. Two of them, in fact.
Every character has a different mask. It will come from
their circumstances and from their personality and from their choices.
Foreshadowing the Layers
The point of a mask
is to hide something. And the point
of story is to reveal the truth. Therefore, when you have a character mask
in a story, you need to show that mask for what it is: a masquerade.
You can’t,
however, just go around pulling masks off willy-nilly. Your reader will find this jerking and unsatisfying. They’ve come
to accept these masks as truth, so when you tell them that these masks are
lies, they will stop trusting you. You
lied to them about the mask, so what else have you lied about?
The easiest way to show a mask as such is to foreshadow its falsehood. These can be
simple single-sentence hints at something deeper, something opposite the mask.
When the character acts in line with their mask, show them grimacing inside,
show them debating the choice, show them wishing to be real.
Do this slowly. Let it build a sentence per chapter at a
time, until you can unveil the mask as it is. The more you foreshadow, the more your reader will accept the mask as a
mask. When a character’s mask is slowly revealed as a mask, it doesn’t feel
like a lie.
Revealing Depth
The thing about masks… they don’t often stay on well. A
strap breaks, the plaster/plastic/paper wears thin, and it breaks.
Whoops.
When your character’s mask breaks, they have to reveal their
true self.
It creates a moment of deep and real character growth that
will make your reader fall in love with the character they’ve already grown to
know and care for.
There’s only one problem: character masks are more durable than your average masquerade-party
mask. They’re made of pure personality and emotion, both of which have high
endurance and way more stubbornness than they deserve.
Your character needs
to feel pressure before they give up their mask. It’s not a real mask if
they’re willing to shed it at the smallest provocation.
Let them struggle against it, let them cling to their mask.
When it comes to Deyu, she clings to her mask for most of
the book. She shows it to everyone, to the people around her and to the reader.
Nothing can tear that mask from her, even the moments of freedom she receives.
She’s had her mask for so long, it’s almost become real to her. And when it finally breaks, Deyu
continues to hold onto the fragments. Sometimes she retreats back to those
slivers, holding them up despite their inability to conceal her. She says “no,
this is me” as she presents the broken vestiges of her fear-mask.
Turns out, that mask was what protected her innocent soul from
the world.
The mask has to be
broken, not just taken off.
Character masks can create a reality in characters that can
never be found by coming up with lists of their favorite colors and desserts.
They’re real, they’re
raw.
They bring truth to
your story.
After all, the truth is the point, isn’t it?
I've heard the concept of character masks before, but I really like the imagery you use to describe how to go about using them...you make it more vivid. Thanks.
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