And if you give the Other Woman not only some redeeming characteristics but a reason for her interference (not just a desire to make the heroine miserable), you'll create a much more interesting and believable scenario.
The heroine should never descend to the Other Woman's level, but she should be able to put the Other Woman in her place — as does Melody, the heroine of Annette Blair's single title The Kitchen Witch:
“Witch,” Tiffany said, almost, but not quite, beneath her breath. …
“Shark,” Melody said, in the same low biting manner.
Tiffany stiffened, and Logan began to cough.
“Over there,” Melody said. “In the aquarium, isn't that a shark?”
Melody makes her point and puts Tiff any on notice not to attack her again, but because she hasn't exactly called Tiff any a name, she hasn't sacrificed her standing as a heroine.
Though the Other Woman can play a pivotal part in the romance, she is a secondary character, and she shouldn't take over the story. Since she can sometimes be more fun to write about than the heroine, limit the amount of time the Other Woman and the hero are together without the heroine present. Avoid writing from the Other Woman's point of view, because going into her thoughts takes the focus off the heroic couple.
THE WRONG MAN
The masculine equivalent of the Other Woman is the Wrong Man — the one who's bad news for the heroine in one way or another. He might be her fiancé, ex-husband, or the man she's dating when she meets the hero. The heroine may have dated him just once, but he continues to pursue her because he's convinced she's the only woman for him. Or, he might not be anything at all to her, but he'd like to be.
The Wrong Man comes in many varieties. He's not necessarily a bad man, he's just wrong for the heroine. He may be so devoted to his job that he has no real time for the heroine, or he might be so passive and dependent that he's more like a doormat than a man. Alternatively, he might be so nice and agreeable that he has no convictions or strength. He may be using the heroine financially or emotionally. Or he might simply be self-centered, arrogant, and oblivious to her needs.
In any of these variations, the Wrong Man can be thoroughly unpleasant if he doesn't get his way, and he's not above deliberately causing trouble between the hero and heroine.
The heroine may have already realized how bad this man is for her, or she may come to understand this during the story because of the contrast between the Wrong Man and the hero.
The Wrong Man can be just as much fun to create as the Other Woman. But it makes sense to be careful when building the character, especially if you want your heroine to be seriously involved with him before she meets and falls in love with the hero. If he's so bad for her, or he's such a loser, why hasn't your brilliant heroine seen through him already? If you let him show his true colors slowly and subtly, your readers and the heroine will discover together exactly how awful he is.
In her sweet traditional That Old Feeling, Cara Colter shows the moment her heroine, while talking to the hero, realizes that the guy she's been dating is the Wrong Man:
“I have to leave,” she said, and hoped he could not hear the faint note of desperation in her voice. … “First thing in the morning. … I've had a call from Jason.”
“Ah,” [Clint] said. … “And Jason is?”
“A friend. A good friend. The boy who's asked me to marry him, actually.”
She knew as soon as she blurted it out how wrong it sounded, but he picked up on the part of it that was wrong.
“A boy,” he said, with the softest edge of scorn.
And she knew it was true. Jason was a boy. Immature and self-centered, perhaps even colossally so. They'd been friends for years, and none of those things had mattered, as long as they were just friends.
Then … in a moment that was probably inspired by too much champagne, Jason had seen her romantically. …
She had said she needed time to think things over, but her time with Clint was not helping her sort through anything. It just confused everything more.
Only one thing was crystal clear: Clint was a man. Jason was a boy.
Until she compared him with the hero, Colter's heroine thought that Jason was a pretty good guy. But once she spots the contrast between Jason and Clint, she can't ever go back to thinking that Jason might be right for her.
Like the Other Woman, the Wrong Man may try to take over the story, absorbing space and story time. Be wary of letting the focus of the story slide off of the main characters and onto the Wrong Man.
THE PARENT/GRANDPARENT
Meddlesome parents, grandparents, and other assorted relatives used to be a staple of the romance novel. Now that young adults are more independent and less concerned about what others think of them, the managing relative is less useful to the romance novelist. But that doesn't mean the breed has died out.
However, the relative plays a different role today than she did in the past. Instead of matchmaking or actively manipulating the hero and heroine, the relative expresses a real problem or need that the hero and heroine get caught up in resolving.
A big temptation when dealing with a parent or grandparent is to let the story drift into details of the past, concentrating on things like the relationship between parent and child during the adolescent years — whether or not it has anything to do with the current story.
Occasionally the parent/grandparent doubles as the villain, as in Jo Beverley's single-title historical The Devil's Heiress. In this passage, the hero, Hawk, confronts his father, who he suspects is planning to destroy the family estate:
Hawk was blunt. “Is Slade planning more building here?”
His father twitched, then looked away. “Why?”
Guilt, for sure.
But then the squire looked back, arrogance in place. “What business is it of yours? I still rule here, boy. …”
“It is my inheritance, sir,” Hawk said, “and thus my business. What is Slade planning, and why are you permitting it? … I was told that there were men here who sounded like surveyors studying the area along the river and that they later spoke to Slade. What interest could Slade have down here? There is no available land. …”
“You might as well know. Slade's planning to tear down this place, and the cottages too, and build himself a grand riverside villa. …”
Doubt and fear stirred. His father, for all his faults, was not a fool, nor had his illness turned him mad. “What have you done?”
The squire took a sip of brandy, managing to look down his long, straight nose. … “I have gained a peerage for us.”
The father's actions prompt the rest of the story, as Hawk's efforts to save the family home force him to court a woman he doesn't love.
THE EXTENDED FAMILY
Sometimes it seems that romance heroes and heroines come in just two varieties — those who have no family at all (or at least none that they want to speak to) and those who have enormous, close, warm-and-fuzzy families.
Family members can be terrific tools for giving information to the readers. They're likely to be delightfully and brutally frank, they can act as a catalyst for a main character's action or change of heart, and they know more about the hero's or heroine's past experiences than most friends do.
One danger with using family members as characters is becoming too involved in explaining the family relationships. If you find yourself detailing the birth order of siblings, or how their current quarrels and disagreements hark back to their childhood days, refocus the story on the hero and heroine.
It's tempting sometimes to throw a kid into a story just for the entertainment value — maybe an ornery little brother, the precocious child of the hero or heroine, a cute niece or nephew. But unless this child is an important part of the plot, think twice. Even if the child is an important secondary character, it's easy to allow her to distract you from the main story. Send the kid out to play or put her down for a nap so you can keep the focus on the hero and heroine.
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p; THE BEST FRIENDS
Next to family members, friends are the most likely characters to speak their minds. They're also the characters most able to influence a main character's actions. Unlike heroes and heroines, friends aren't restricted to speaking gently and being polite. Showing a hero or heroine interacting with a friend is one of the best ways to demonstrate what sort of person the main character is.
Friends are also a good source of information for the hero or heroine, allowing the author to share details in an interesting way. In her long contemporary The Secret Wedding Dress, Roz Denny Fox shows her heroine, Sylvie, and her best friend as they piece together information about Sylvie's new neighbor:
Anita heard the bumping going on next door, and paused. “Has someone moved into Iva's house?”
“In the process of moving. See the van? … You mean you haven't heard any scuttlebutt at work?” Anita was the loan manager for Briarwood's only bank.
“We wouldn't necessarily hear if there's no mortgage involved. Iva's great-nephew probably sold the property. I think he's employed by a newspaper in Atlanta. Iva used to brag on him. … I can't remember, but I think he may have been Iva's only living relative.”
“Wouldn't we know if he'd listed the property for sale?” Sylvia ducked to see if she could ascertain what was going on next door.
“I suppose it's conceivable the nephew just retired.”
“Then he's not the man I saw carrying stuff in from the car. And there's a little girl. She can't be more than six or seven.”
Through their dialogue, the two characters fill in the reader while the main character also finds out what's going on. (We'll talk more about the use of dialogue in chapter twelve.)
Friends or groups of friends sometimes creep into stories because the author would like to write sequels featuring related characters. New writers often spend so much time and effort setting up such a sequel that they get distracted from the initial story. Or, in an effort to make a secondary character suitable to star in her own books, they try so hard to preserve the heroic qualities of the character that she doesn't fulfill the useful role she should be playing in the first story. Make sure your secondary characters stay in a secondary role.
TERTIARY CHARACTERS
Tertiary or third-level characters are the walk-ons, the extras who probably have no recurring part in the story. Because they're less important to the plot, they may not have names at all, or they may have only a single name. Examples might be the butler, the waitress, and the secretary, all of whom function in the story without being a critical part of it.
It's a good idea to check all the tertiary characters to see which ones are really necessary. Can you combine several of them into one?
The appearance of large numbers of tertiary characters can be a tip-off to poor scene construction. For instance, if a cab driver appears once in your story, is he really necessary? Unless something important happens during the heroine's cab ride — something that seriously impacts the story — it might be better to begin the scene with the heroine's arrival at the party, rather than with her getting in the cab. Eliminating the cab ride also removes the need for the cab driver.
The goal is not to do away with tertiary characters altogether but to avoid using precious space on them unless they're a real benefit to the story. In her long contemporary Cinderella Christmas, Shelley Galloway's heroine meets a shoe salesman, a tertiary character who will fill the role of fairy godmother:
She ventured in farther, all too aware of how her own sneakers stood out among the beautiful sandals and designer pumps.
But those feelings were quickly forgotten when she saw the gold sandals.
“May I help you?” The same salesman who'd approached her the day before appeared by her side. His voice was curiously comforting, as if the question that he probably asked a hundred times a day was actually sincere.
“Yes, please. I'm interested in this pair of sandals.”
His eyes flicked to her outfit of faded Levi's, black turtleneck sweater and worn tennis shoes. “In size …”
“Sorry. Size five, please. Narrow, if you have them.”
“Narrow, too?” As if he favored small feet, the corners of his lips turned up, stretching his thin face. “Very well, ma'am. If you'll have a seat?”
Later the heroine finds out that the salesman's first name is Warren. Notice, however, that we know little else about him — despite the fact that his assistance is what allows the heroine to have her very successful evening at the ball.
SHOWING YOUR CHARACTERS
Now that you've gotten to know your character options, how can you best convey your characters to your readers? You can tell the readers about them. That's the easiest — and least effective — way. Saying to the readers, “Sally was a nice and compassionate person” really doesn't convey much information. For one thing, definitions of nice and compassionate differ from individual to individual. And for another, you're asking the readers to accept without question your judgment of Sally rather than coming to their own conclusion.
Alternatively, if the character is an important one, you can use the character's thoughts, words, and actions to show the kind of person she is. And you can say a lot about a character through what she doesn't say or do. If, for example, she has the opportunity to make a perfectly justified sarcastic comment — the kind it's very hard to resist — but restrains herself instead of speaking, the readers suddenly know a lot about the sort of person this character is.
The most effective ways of illustrating character allow the readers to see the evidence, then reach the conclusion for themselves. Showing your characters draws readers into the story and keeps them fully engaged in figuring out these people. Slowly sharing the pertinent information about important people — as opposed to just dumping it all in one long passage — adds a sense of realism to your story.
Think of how you learn about the new people you meet. You usually don't exchange complete life stories on first introduction. Often, after knowing someone for years, you find yourself saying, “I never knew that! You never told me that!” Your characters should reveal themselves the same way — gradually, sometimes without even realizing what they're revealing.
There are a number of devices through which you can reveal character traits in a way that makes the readers feel they're right there — watching, listening, and making their own judgments about the people they're getting to know. The more personally involved with the characters the readers feel, the more absorbed they will be in the story.
And the more important the characters are to the story, the more crucial it is to show, rather than tell, the details that matter most. Each of the following techniques can be used alone or in combination with others to make your characters unforgettable. You can show a character:
Through the character's own thoughts. This doesn't mean the character psychoanalyzes himself or thinks, “I'm a really considerate and intelligent person.” The way your mind works illustrates the kind of person you are. If a character thinks compassionately of another person, the readers get the message. In her inspirational romance Deck the Halls, Arlene James's hero thinks about himself in a slightly self-deprecating manner, leading us to believe he's better looking than he gives himself credit for, but also that he's humble:
Vince didn't know about being “tall, dark and delish,” but he didn't think he was a “bald warthog,” either. He'd happily give up the single state the moment that God brought the right woman into his life.
If Vince had said to himself, “I'm good-looking and I'm positive God's spending his time finding a woman for me,” we'd have an entirely different view of him.
Through the character's own words. This technique isn't usually used directly — in the form of “I'm a charming and modest person” — unless it's to prove the opposite of what's being said. But what a person says about her actions, intentions, and history can be very revealing — often unintentionally so. And a person who defends another says something
important about them both. In her romantic comedy Catch and Keep, Hannah Bernard uses irony to show the hero's female friend as anything but the Other Woman she's trying to sound like:
“You know what they say,” she said as she grabbed her small suitcase and they walked together to the plane. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Someday I will get back at you for rejecting me. I won't rest until I find you the love of your life and bring you to your knees.”
By showing this snippet of humor from the friend, the author also characterizes the hero, an unusual man to have a female friend close enough to talk to him like this.
Through the character's own actions. If the character acts in a down-to-earth, practical way, chances are she's a down-to-earth, practical person. Or if she draws back a fist to hit a child, she's painted herself as a villain. In her chick-lit novel Can You Keep a Secret?, Sophie Kinsella shows her heroine as warm and caring, despite being somewhat ditzy, when she rescues a toy for a child she's never met before:
The guy with the laptop is still typing. Behind him is a little blond boy of maybe two, sitting with a beautiful dark girl. As I watch, the boy drops a plastic wheel on the floor. It rolls away, and immediately he starts to wail. …
Suddenly my eye is caught by a patch of bright color on the floor. It's the wheel. It's rolled under a row of empty seats, right over to the window. … I unbuckle my seat belt. Somehow I force myself to my feet. Then, with everyone's eyes on me, I bend coolly down to retrieve the wheel.
OK. Now I can't reach the bloody thing.
Well, I'm not giving up, after I've made this big deal about it. Without looking at anyone, I lie right down on the plane floor. … I shuffle forward, stretch as far as possible … and at last my fingers close around the plastic wheel. As nonchalantly as I can, I get to my feet, banging my elbow on a seat tray, and hand the plastic wheel to the little boy.
On Writing Romance Page 17
