When writing a novel, how can a character be developed well, but QUICKLY?

Doing something they enjoy, that expresses their personality, and that is in some way unusual or noteworthy;

May studied the black and white comic panels. “Oh, my. She looks…anatomically implausible. What is she doing to that poor man? Wait, are those cat ears?”

The agent had only one bad thing to say (the synopsis was crap; writing synopses is hard!), but praised the characterization and particularly how well we introduced a character’s personality quickly.

Is it possible to run away from home at 16? What are some essential items to bring for survival?

“No way.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

“About wearing more clothes? How am I supposed to catch any fish if I don’t show off the bait?”

Can you share some of your favorite jokes that are not well-known but always make people laugh?

“Yuuna and the Haunted Hot Springs!” Claire turned the book around.

Claire, one of May’s three flatmates, former university roommate, and best friend in all the world, shrugged expansively. “It’s a Saturday night. What else would I be doing?”

“Exactly.”

How could NASA possibly land on the moon when it's impossible to reach the moon through the Earth's dome? Why are they making up such an obvious lie?

“Cute girls?”

In the kitchen, Claire set out a battered pair of mugs: May’s black, with “PEBKAC: Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair” in white letters; Claire’s white, with “This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays” in dark blue. She carried both mugs into the living room. “A moggie followed you home? Is this some weird Internet slang I’m not current on?”

“Tart!”

Do you believe that Jesus was God on Earth?

Do that and you can ground your characters quite quickly.

“But they’re cold!”

“Nope, I mean a cat followed me home. A black cat, to be exact. All the way from the club. Probably still out there, for all I know.”

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“Claire! Why are you still up?”

Essentially, what you do is show the character:

“I’m serious!” Claire said. “It’s staring straight at me.” She let the curtain fall. “Weird.”

What song are you listening to right now? What does it mean to you?

“No, about the cat. You don’t need a cat. You remember what happened to your spider plant, right?”

Create a context between this character and other characters.

“Thanks. You’re looking pretty ratty yourself. Have you been in that bathrobe all day?”

Why is dating so frustrating and difficult for a guy?

“I try not to, but thank you for reminding me. I know I don’t need a cat. I don’t want a cat. What would I do with a cat?”

“Exactly.”

“So you didn’t meet any cute boys at the club tonight?” Claire called as she bustled about the small kitchen.

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Here’s how we presented the character Claire when she was introduced, which the agent particularly singled out:

“Perv.”

“From the look of you, if you try to sleep now, you’ll spend the next three hours hanging onto your bed trying to stop the world spinning. Since you’re not going to sleep anyway, you might as well keep me company.”

How do I express sarcasm in non-dialogue text when writing a fiction novel?

“I’m glad my sex life is so entertaining.”

“Yes way. It’s washing itself under the street light. Uh-oh, I think it spotted me. It knows I’m watching it. I swear it’s looking at me.”

They both burst out laughing. “I’m right, though,” Claire went on.

What does it mean if someone asks if it’s pink?

“Why is that always your first suggestion? I do not need some tea. It’s three o’clock in the morning! If I have tea, I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Hang on, are they playing ping-pong?”

“I know! That’s why I’m putting them under you!”

Has anyone ever had sex with their cousin? How did it start, and would you do it again?

“May! You’re home late! Early, I mean. Well, I mean, it’s early in the morning, but you’re home before I expected. Er, after. Before?”

“I need to do laundry.”

“It’s not looking at you.”

“Damn straight. So get to it! This time next week, I want to hear some moans coming through that wall.”

“I don’t know. Partying. Going to a pub. Anything besides sitting on the couch reading…” She squinted. “What the hell are you reading?”

“Claire, I—”

Engaging in conversation that also shows something about their intelligence, personality, wit (or lack thereof); and

“It’s a cat. All cats are weird.” May sipped from her mug, inhaling the warmth. She closed her eyes. The room spun. She opened them again. “Ugh. I think I drank too much.”

“Yep!” Claire chirped. “There’s this schoolboy, see, and he’s homeless, so he lives in this boarding house that used to be a hot springs bathhouse, which is cheap because it’s haunted, so he decides—”

“You know what? Never mind,” May said. “I am way, way too drunk to be having this conversation.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend all day reading—” May prodded the book with its garishly-coloured cover with her foot. “Bizarre comic book porn…”

“Fine.” May collapsed into the warm spot Claire had just vacated.

May yelped. “Hey! Your feet are cold!”

May pushed Claire’s feet away. Claire rose to peer out the window. “Huh. It’s still there.”

“None of those either. Look upon the wasteland that is my sex life, and see that it is barren. Naught but a moggie followed me home.”

“I’m just a fan of your catch and release program.”

“Well, maybe if you’d wear more clothes, they wouldn’t feel so cold. Hussy!”

After Eunice and I finished London Under Veil, I entered the first chapter in a contest at a convention where you could submit something and have it critiqued by a professional book agent.

“Number one, it’s not porn, it’s ecchi, and number two, why would I waste a perfectly good Saturday doing anything else?” Claire pulled at her tea and sighed. “The only thing that could make this day better is if you'd come home with some cute boy, so that after you kicked him out tomorrow I could live vicariously through you.”

“You need some tea!”

“They are! He broke the rules of the boarding house by petting this character while she was in cat form, so they invoke the ancient rules of single combat via ping-pong, and—”

Claire sat back down, legs tucked elegantly beneath her. “You are looking a bit sloppy,” she said, inspecting May through narrowed eyes.

“Nary a cute boy in sight.”

“You don’t need a cat. You can’t take care of a cat. You can’t take care of a ficus.” Claire flopped on the other side of the sofa and wriggled her feet beneath May.