There are thoughts out there that our characters are an extension of ourselves. When I sit down to write, I don’t think “what would I do?” or “what would I want?” or “how do I make this character more like me?” These are simply things that never cross my mind. But that doesn’t mean they don’t leak out onto the page.
When you read my upcoming novel, about a 17 year old boy and a 30-something police detective, you may wonder how I relate to either of these things. When I first started writing this story on a whim when my son was three, and left it for years (he’s now 17 himself), I had no clue about 17 year old boys. I also had no clue about being a police officer or detective other than what I’d learned about my dad’s job as I grew up. That information is of course, very outdated since he was an officer in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s.
Other characters in the book are modeled, consciously or subconsciously, like friends and family. So where does the inspiration person end and the character begin? Or where does the inspiration person begin and the character end? The two are such a part of one another, it’s hard to tell.
If you ask my opinion about which character I’m most like, I’ll tell you none of them. Because there’s not a single one that I identify with wholly or some even just a little. But they do stem from my life experiences.