When I was little, I adored plush toys. Teddy bears are classic for most kids. My favorites? Dragons and dinosaurs. They were often difficult to find among bunnies and bears back in the late 80's and 90's.
These squeaky little gems were part of my childhood collection—a mound of stuffed toys so large, it often forced me to sleep on the edge of my day bed. I kept many of my favorite toys to pass down to my children someday. When hubs and I decided not to have children, I kept them to give to my sister's children. I did give some away to my oldest nephews, but a small collection of my favorites remained.
Then my bestie's daughter had her third birthday. She also loves dinosaurs. I gave her the pink and orange dinosaur pictured here, and a Land Before Time fast food meal toy. When she said the character's name (Spike), I was ecstatic. I also felt a little wistful.
Those who have fond memories of their toys can relate to this struggle. I wanted to give the toys new life, and share a precious part of myself with another child, but I also struggled to let go of something that had once been so precious to me. The first three Toy Story movies convey this emotional battle so well, especially the end of the third movie. I know I'm not the only one who cried when (spoilers: Andy passed along his treasured toys and went off to college.)
The Toy Story movies did an exemplary job at digging up those old childhood feelings—memories of simpler times, fewer worries, and fewer toys with plugs and batteries. Some of us retained several of our favorite toys, but others may have lost their treasures in moves, house fires, or to destructive siblings/friends.
How we view our possessions now is often tied to the circumstances surrounding toys/resources/sense of stability during our formative years. As an author, it's my job to connect a character's responses and reactions to a deep feeling from their past. I strive to dig below the surface and answer questions like:
Why did this character yell at another character for forgetting to make coffee?
Why was it so hurtful for this character when their significant other teased them about a broken object they still keep on a shelf?
Why does this character get so quiet when parent friends complain about cleaning up their childrens' favorite toys?
Why does this character get so offended when someone orders a ton of food and won't take leftovers to-go?
My family moved at least ten times when I was between the ages of seven and sixteen. During those times, many of my toys were lost, ruined, or thrown away. I could no longer keep many treasures since they all had to be packed up and moved again when necessary. Money was tight, and healthy family time dwindled to nothing. Tension and exhaustion reigned. Treats like cookies were rare and often disappeared quickly.
Looking back, it's easy to guilt myself. At least I had a home, food, toys, a family. I wasn't in physical danger, and I never went without basic necessities.
But these trials still affected me emotionally and physically. Though I've done an immense amount of work to forgive, put into perspective, and grow in kindness and love, I still react poorly at times. That past pain will always be there, waiting to catch me at a weak moment. How does it manifest now? I can laugh off most of these examples, but they have caused strife in the past with friends and family.
I take great care of my things (from the idea they may not be replaced if lost/broken), so I'm sometimes shocked when other people don't
I've driven the same car for over 20 years (need for stability, to save money, and I love it!)
I don't like to share my dessert (in childhood, I had to "eat them before someone else does"). It frustrated my husband early on. He didn't understand why I wouldn't share a dessert with him. Once I explained that I don't want to rush (and his bites were twice the size of mine/he ate twice as fast), he understood. We can laugh now, but it was a struggle to get there!
My old toys represent happy times when I often played alone with no risk of ridicule and no family drama
I hate small talk and crave deep connection (since my family didn't acknowledge struggles)
I truly hate the act of moving, though I love living in/traveling to different places
But I have to give credit where credit is due. My mother did wonders holding our family together and pulling us through those difficult times. I'm the person I am today because of her sacrifices and critical thinking, but also because I learned to find my own way at a young age.
Back to the first example. What deep-seated past circumstances could cause characters to react poorly? I'll use the coffee example and play around with some past pain scenarios.
Why did this character yell at another character for forgetting to make coffee?
This character's father used to yell at their mom if she didn't make the coffee early enough. Dad had a strict job and needed to leave for work by seven. Mom suffered from insomnia and had trouble rising early. As a child, the character used to pray their father wouldn't yell at the mom who was doing her best. The character became resentful of the dad who failed to understand how much pain his anger caused. As much as the character didn't want to turn out like their father, that modeled behavior burst out at the coffee pot when they didn't sleep well.
This character was an "invisible child." Their parents did their own thing and rarely took interest in the child's life. As a result, this character grew up yearning for lasting connection with others. They have trouble communicating their feelings, so others often assume they're strange. When the coffee pot is empty, even though everyone else in the room is holding a steaming cup, they feel like that insignificant eight-year-old, hoping someone would acknowledge them.
This character, the baby in a large family, is now in a serious relationship. Their significant other knows how much they need caffeine in the morning, but the past three mornings in a row, only a few drops of revitalizing liquid remained at the bottom of the pot. When they were a teen, their family members replenished the pot for early risers, but no one bothered to think of the youngest character who needed the boost before school. The pot was always empty, and they often missed the bus. They felt disrespected and belittled, projecting those old hurts on their significant other.
It's never about the coffee. Or the toothpaste. Or the mix up at the restaurant.
Just like real people can have major reactions to minor offenses, fictional characters should, too. Once an author decodes a character's behavior triggers and connects them to old, deep wounds, the characters take shape. Explore that past trauma until a character starts to resemble bits and pieces of real people. Looking inward is often the best place to begin.
Keep on smilin'!
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