As writers, we do everything we can to make sure our characters are fleshed out, 3-D, flawed yet fabulous, enticing readers to invest in the story we're about to tell them.
Unfortunately, the hero and heroine aren't so easily persuaded. When they meet for the first time, they look at each other and see a "type", which is the first step of categorization. Categorization leads to judgment. And judgment is based on past experiences, often painful ones.
It gives the character a valid reason to dismiss this new person, because of a sincere belief that "they are not my type". Sometimes there's a mental checklist of characteristics they want in a potential mate. More often it's a process of elimination, ensuring the love interest doesn't share traits with a person from the past who is responsible for that barbed-wire fence around the delicate heart area.
However, we don't allow our characters to disprove our theories about their mutual suitability, not after just one encounter. We insist they interact—constantly—repeatedly—incessantly. They will have to provide concrete proof that they are not a good fit, and we have deeply-entrenched reasons to make them fail at that evidentiary task.
We put the hero/heroine in dozens of scenes, giving them multiple opportunities to examine each other's behavior and compare it to the ideal attributes of their "type". They input the data, push a button on the Romance CSI computer, and wait the requisite ten seconds for the single page to appear in the printer tray. They pick up the report and pronounce, "Nope, it's not a match", in a gleeful I-told-you-so tone of voice.
Yet just because the preliminary testing rules them out as a "person of interest" doesn't mean they're free to go. Further tests are necessary, and unavoidable.
It isn't long before the characters learn that maybe they've miscategorized, or misjudged, the other person. They discover they're falling in love with someone who is not the "type" they initially saw. Instead, they see the layers unveiled, and become enamored of things that were not apparent during that first dismissive look.
Also, since the characters have grown and changed, those long-ago hurts cannot be applied to the current situation. It is a mismatch, like trying to test oranges for caffeine content.
That seemingly "not-my-type" person was exactly who they've been seeking all their lives.
Perhaps the heroine is too kooky, and the hero likes peace and quiet. Guess what? He didn't realize how boring his life was until she came along with her special brand of crazy.
He's too stiff and controlling for this freeform gal. Oops. Guess a little bit of structure actually made her life simpler so she could focus on being zany.
It's not easy playing matchmaker, especially with characters who are convinced they know more about their relationship needs than the writer does. Still, it would have taken all the fun out of the process if they'd believed us from the get-go.
Let's just hope the next couple doesn't know about our 100% success rate.
A reprint of a post from last year, since it's the summer rerun season.
Ha! These points are all so true. It's like you have to be the anti-Match.com throughout the story to create the tension and intrigue.
Posted by: Liz Fichera | July 15, 2011 at 09:49 AM
Liz, that's too funny -- anti-Match.com. It's also true!
Posted by: Donna Cummings | July 15, 2011 at 09:59 AM