Keeping Your Character's Secrets —What to Say, and What Not to Say

Just like real, everyday people, each and every character has an internal world and an external world. One of the great qualities of the novel is that the wall between the internal and external can be broken down, and we, the readers, get to peek inside the internal world of a character in the way that we can never do in real life: we actually get to see inside their heads. We feel like we are getting to know all their thoughts, but really, we are only seeing all the thoughts that the author allows us to see.

This is where my blog post picks up this week: thinking about the question what thoughts of my protagonist should I allow the reader to have access to, and what thoughts should be kept secret? The weight of this question is also augmented by the fact that at the start of my novel, my protagonist is also keeping a secret from those around him. And not only is he keeping a secret, but he is also trying to resist the truth himself.

As I've continued my revision this week, I've run into many sections within the manuscript where I've thought, "He doesn't need to say this," and deleted a sentence or two. Mostly because these thoughts have been 1) obvious and something the reader can glean from the exposition and/or his actions, or 2) too mature/analytical for the narrative moment that he finds himself in. I think I should pause for a moment here and say that my story is also being told in the first person voice. This POV greatly informs my questions of what to reveal and what to keep secret because it is ultimately my character who is talking about himself. There is no omniscient or close third narrator who has some level of detachment or even investment in getting or protecting the whole truth of the story. This is Carter's story, being told by Carter. And much like you and I are very selective in the truths we tell, or perhaps more accurately, how we frame those truths, it becomes a significant concern for me as the author to achieve an authenticity in the voice and revelations of my character.

It's not so much that he wouldn't or doesn't think a specific thought, but it becomes a question of what should be said and when a thought should be said. A thought he might reveal at the end of my book, when he is more self-aware and coming to accept more of his limitations might feel very out of place at the beginning of the novel. Similarly, while he reveals his feelings to one of his friends, I need to make sure that the spoken words are an appropriate reflection of a thirteen-to-fourteen year old boy's emotional depth, instead of perhaps something deeply profound that I would love to have my character say.

Finding the appropriate balance between expressed and unstated thoughts begins with an awareness of just who your character is, and also, how your character's secrets affect the overall arch of the story. I know that my novel would be vastly different if Carter were willing to proclaim his secret to the world on page one. Secrets are often very important to the plot and the motivations of your character, and they can be a great way to keep your reader turning the page. But in keeping secrets from your reader, however big or small, you want to make sure to give them enough of an emotional connection with your character so that they care about him, and want him to achieve whatever he is after.

When working around secrets and your character's hidden thoughts, you also want to make sure to keep your character believable. So while you must always remember that your characters have secrets and needs and fears and desires, you always want to remind yourself that they're not always going to be talking about them. Walking the line between providing some sense of that protective self-awareness as well as a willingness to be open thus becomes even more important, particularly when working with a first person narration.

We all have certain things that we want to hide, or a desire to say other things that might not reflect the whole, complete truth. This is an important aspect of developing compelling characters. But as the author, it is your job to figure out exactly what needs to be said and what should be kept behind the curtain. And like most other things in the revision process, there is no formula for exactly how to do this. But one good tip to remember: just like the rest of us real-life characters, your characters aren't as self-aware as you'd like them to be.

Taking a Chance and Making a Switch

So I must admit that I was having a bit of a hard time with my new novel. Of course, I didn't want to admit it to you, or to myself really, but things just weren't flowing quite the way I wanted them to, and I couldn't quite pinpoint why that was. Something about my story just seemed off — too quiet, almost lifeless in a way. As a result, my ideas became harder to execute. The excitement of the story started to dwindle.

Then, the other day, when I was sitting in the park waiting for a friend, I took out my notebook and started writing part of a scene. And then the idea came to me. Try the story in first person. Really? I thought. Before I had even started my novel, I carefully contemplated which POV to choose. Ultimately, I'd settled on third person, because of both the age of the target audience and because I felt it might give me more room for necessary description and exposition. Nonetheless, I resolved to experiment with the POV and switch the first scene (about six pages) to see how it felt. Then I'd compare the two, I figured, or ask someone else which they thought was a better fit in the case that I wasn't sure.

So I went home and gave it a shot. I changed the pronouns, verbs, etc. and literally — and I mean, literally — it was like my character suddenly popped off the page and was walking around with a life of his own! He was immediately vibrant and witty. His voice shone through. He became exciting, tangible, active. I was amazed. Shocked, even! I almost felt taken aback. It was as if the character became his own person, apart from me, the writer.

Now, I know this doesn't and won't happen every time I experiment with POV in an already, somewhat established story, but having the willingness to try something new really taught me an important lesson. Changing things up in the middle of a story is scary. There's no way around that. Who wants to try something new when you've worked so hard to establish the given story? And who wants to find that even after trying, something still isn't working? Certainly not me. But crafting a story is fluid, and the willingness and awareness that sometimes things need to change is as essential as the initial idea itself.

The question then becomes, why is it so hard to change? What are we really afraid of? We fear that if a story isn't working, then maybe we should abandon the story altogether; or maybe we start to think that our talent as a writer is not as strong as we thought. But this isn't necessarily true. Of course, I think there are times to walk away from a project, or to realize that an idea is simply underdeveloped, but at the same time, all of our ideas will need a lot of TLC. Hard work and experimentation are part of the process, even when you don't want them to be.

It's okay to try several POVs, or narrators, or focalizers, or starting points, or whatever. Making the story work is ultimately the most important thing. We just need to remember that sometimes that doesn't come as easily as we'd like, and sometimes making it work it involves taking a chance. I'm not saying that the change in POV solved all of my narrative problems, or means that the rest of the book will come easy. There will be other challenges. Of this, I am sure. But it all starts with the willingness to take the chance. Because if I didn't take the chance, I would still be struggling with why my story felt flat. And I might still be in denial about having a hard time, just trying to push forward and get the words onto the page.

Maybe your chance isn't a switch of POV. It might be something big, or it could be something small. But staying open to change leaves you open to opportunity. And you never know what little change could make all the difference — or when your character might just pop off the page to show you he's really alive.