It’s like Pinocchio. A man takes a piece of wood, and makes a doll, a companion. Eventually the piece of wood goes through a string of interesting episodes, collects friends, enemies and a personality on the way, and eventually becomes a real boy with real emotions and a degree of morality, which was the whole point of the story.

Writing any character must begin somewhere, and should eventually end as it did with Pinocchio, not necessarily to the production of a character of good morals and kindness, but to a character that has lots of shading, depth and richness. In short, they have to, like Pinocchio, go from wood, to flesh. For me, this is not a quick process.

It takes time to get to know people. Similarly, it takes time to develop characters. Some of the process involves thinking stuff up. But more importantly, it involves listening, or rather, being open to what comes our way. This openness involves being alert and accepting of the suggestions that our subconscious makes, or the opportunities and possibilities that open up (or turn up) on the page, and that we must recognise as gold in order to not stroll past without bending to pick them up. Sometimes it is a scene involving another character that will call for a character’s growth. And events play a significant role. What character, indeed, what person, has not been changed dramatically by events of importance – either big or small – in their lives? We live our lives step by step, and the lessons that come with each day are taken up, absorbed into our being. They form the great amalgam of the person, and are as individual as every wrinkle, mark, or freckle on our complexion.

And so, building characters is a meticulous, painstaking process that is both conscious creation and gift. The delight I feel when I uncover a new element of a character’s personality or history is as satisfying as when I discover those things about a real person. There’s a sense of, Oh, I never knew that! or Wow. That’s amazing! in discovering things I never knew about something that’s ostensibly my very own creation. Which is another fascinating facet of creativity. How much is deliberately constructed, and how much just happens, falls out of the sky, or just fronts up as a blatant ambush. How did I not see that coming?

This is one of the most pleasurable aspects of writing. The adventure. The absolute thrill of not knowing what is going to happen next, and when it does, what I’m going to do with it. This is the lot of the organic writer. When not everything is tied down to a strict outline, so many things can take one by surprise. And so the plastic doll, or the cardboard cut-out that began the journey with me many words earlier is sometimes nothing like the warm, fleshed-out being with whom I walk, hand in hand, into the last page of the final draft of my manuscript.