Let’s start with a truth bomb: good stories are not built on characters who like chocolate ice cream and have hazel eyes. They’re built on characters who do things—messy things, brave things, foolish things—and who change under pressure. So, before you get too cozy crafting your protagonist’s birth chart or their favorite 90s playlist, let’s get into what really matters.
Welcome to the real world of characterization—where who a character is, is revealed not by what you say about them, but by what they do when everything falls apart.
What Is Characterization, Really?
In short, characterization is how a writer breathes life into fictional people. It’s the art of taking a name on a page and transforming it into someone a reader feels they know, someone they’d fight for—or against.
There are two main techniques writers use to achieve this: direct and indirect characterization.
Direct vs. Indirect Characterization
Direct characterization is straightforward. The narrator lays it all out: what the character looks like, what they want, maybe even a bit of their history. You don’t need to guess—everything’s spelled out.
“Mason was a bitter old man who hated the cold and never spoke without sarcasm.”
That’s clear. You know exactly who Mason is.
Indirect characterization, on the other hand, plays it cool. It lets the reader draw conclusions based on what the character says, does, and feels.
Mason tugged his coat tighter, scowled at the snow, and muttered, “Should’ve stayed in Miami,” before lighting another cigarette with shaky hands.
You didn’t need to be told Mason was bitter or hated the cold—you saw it.
Both methods have their place. Use direct characterization to anchor your reader quickly. Use indirect to engage their imagination. But here’s the real secret: neither matters if the character doesn’t do anything interesting.
The Mistakes Writers Make
New writers often fall into the “character resume” trap. You know the one: pages of backstory, long-winded descriptions of their appearance, endless trivia that never affects the plot.
Here’s what not to do:
- Don’t dump the backstory. A character’s childhood trauma is important—but not in chapter one, page one. A sprinkle, not a deluge.
- Don’t obsess over physical description. We don’t need to know the precise curvature of their eyebrows unless it matters to the plot. Really.
- Don’t list personality quirks like you’re filling out a dating profile. Their favorite mug or movie means little if it doesn’t move the story.
If it doesn’t affect what they do or decide, it’s probably fluff.
Why Plot Is Characterization
Here’s a radical idea: characterization isn’t something you bolt onto a story. It’s something that emerges from the story.
Want to know who your character really is? Throw them into the fire. Create a problem so big, so urgent, that they’re forced to act. Their reaction will show us everything.
“In the first act, get your character up a tree. In the second, throw rocks at them. In the third, get them down.”
This classic storytelling formula isn’t just about plot—it’s also the clearest guide to revealing character.
When your protagonist is hungry, heartbroken, and hunted—how do they behave? Do they cheat? Sacrifice? Fight? Fold?
That’s characterization.
The Power of Crisis
Great characters are not born on the page—they’re forged by crisis.
Think about Elizabeth Bennet, Harry Potter, or Katniss Everdeen. We don’t remember them because of their hair color. We remember them because they faced something, and the way they responded shaped who they became.
As Orson Scott Card puts it:
“People become, in our minds, what we see them do.”
Want your characters to feel real? Don’t tell us who they are. Show us. Better yet—test them.
So… Should You Even Bother With Characterization?
Yes, of course. But not the way you think. Don’t fall in love with your character too early. Don’t wrap them in bubble wrap and tell us how special they are. Instead, be cruel. Throw them into the deep end. Let them fail. Let them change.
Because that’s what people do in real life. They reveal themselves not in their descriptions, but in their decisions.
As Viktor Frankl once said:
“A human being is a deciding being.”
Your characters are no different.
Final Thought: Begin With Trouble
When you sit down to write, don’t begin with hair color or hobbies. Begin with trouble. Begin with a storm, a betrayal, a loss, a need.
Then watch your character rise—or fall.
That’s the heart of characterization. And it’s the reason we keep reading.
