in, for example, Tracy Kidder's wonderful nonfiction book about building, House. Instead, whenever Margo's job is mentioned, it's usually in connection with her love affairs: She had an affair with her boss; she keeps a list of her lovers in the top drawer of her desk; a design contract is determined by her boyfriend's ex-wife's jealousy.
But, you might ask, so what? This is a book about relationships, not about building. Why does it matter if Margo is not very convincing as an architect?
It matters because it makes Margo less convincing. In the real
world, a job is many things to a person: means of support, proof of worth, daily challenge, path to social betterment, confirmation of worldview, source of exhaustion and pride and delight and frustration and, sometimes, incredible anger. Anything that real to your character must also be made real to us. Otherwise, this person lacks a major dimension. He seems less than fully there.
GETTING IT RIGHT
The easiest way to portray a job realistically is to give your character work you've done yourself. William Styron worked as a manuscript reader; so did his character Stingo in Sophie's Choice. P.D. James, mystery writer, was an administrator in the British justice system. John Steinbeck, like so many of his characters, had experience as a day laborer. Robin Cook, author of medical thrillers, is a doctor. Scott Turow, like Rusty in Presumed Innocent and Sandy in The Burden of Proof, is a lawyer. Employing your character where you yourself have worked means you know the territory. You can—and should—include details that deepen verisimilitude: the field's individual jargon, the duties, stress points, standard procedures, hazards, equipment, perks, career paths, pecking order, even insider jokes. In addition to deepening credibility, such details are often interesting to readers who have never worked in that job.
But your character can work in fields you have not. If you don't know what your protagonist's job feels like from the inside, find out. Talk to people in that line of work. Most people are flattered to be asked about their professions, and a good talker can tell you more personal details than any published source. Ask for the frustrations, glitches, problems.
For jobs that are at least partially on public display, observe carefully. How does the waitress address her boss? What tools does the locksmith use while changing your locks? What obstacles beset the taxi driver? How do the construction workers building the high-rise across from your office seem to structure their day?
Read trade periodicals, magazine interviews, memoirs. You can learn a lot from the more personal aspects of these sources. Study the ''Letters'' column. Read biographies for interesting views of jobs that celebrities held before they became famous. Playwright Moss Hart's autobiography Act One, for instance, contains unparalleled descriptions of the horrors and rewards and routines of being a summer-camp director.
This is your chance. If you always wanted to know what it would be like to be a costumer in a wax museum, sewing for effigies of Lizzie Borden and Lord Nelson and Elvis Presley, give that job to a character. Then you'll have a reason for researching costuming. How hard is it to dress wax? How authentic does the underwear have to be? Are the wax dummies anatomically correct? How do you dust a wax Count Dracula? The research books will even be tax deductible.
THE RIGHT JOB WILL SUGGEST MANY PLOT POSSIBILITIES
Once your character is gainfully employed, you have a strong tool for powering your plot in whatever direction you wish it to go.
How does this work? Suppose that the protagonist of your mystery novel is not a detective but a small-town vet. She visits a lot of farms, and a lot of smaller animals come to her clinic; she comes to know nearly everyone in town. She has scientific training. She gets called out on emergencies in the middle of the night. All these circumstances lend
But, you might ask, so what? This is a book about relationships, not about building. Why does it matter if Margo is not very convincing as an architect?
It matters because it makes Margo less convincing. In the real
world, a job is many things to a person: means of support, proof of worth, daily challenge, path to social betterment, confirmation of worldview, source of exhaustion and pride and delight and frustration and, sometimes, incredible anger. Anything that real to your character must also be made real to us. Otherwise, this person lacks a major dimension. He seems less than fully there.
GETTING IT RIGHT
The easiest way to portray a job realistically is to give your character work you've done yourself. William Styron worked as a manuscript reader; so did his character Stingo in Sophie's Choice. P.D. James, mystery writer, was an administrator in the British justice system. John Steinbeck, like so many of his characters, had experience as a day laborer. Robin Cook, author of medical thrillers, is a doctor. Scott Turow, like Rusty in Presumed Innocent and Sandy in The Burden of Proof, is a lawyer. Employing your character where you yourself have worked means you know the territory. You can—and should—include details that deepen verisimilitude: the field's individual jargon, the duties, stress points, standard procedures, hazards, equipment, perks, career paths, pecking order, even insider jokes. In addition to deepening credibility, such details are often interesting to readers who have never worked in that job.
But your character can work in fields you have not. If you don't know what your protagonist's job feels like from the inside, find out. Talk to people in that line of work. Most people are flattered to be asked about their professions, and a good talker can tell you more personal details than any published source. Ask for the frustrations, glitches, problems.
For jobs that are at least partially on public display, observe carefully. How does the waitress address her boss? What tools does the locksmith use while changing your locks? What obstacles beset the taxi driver? How do the construction workers building the high-rise across from your office seem to structure their day?
Read trade periodicals, magazine interviews, memoirs. You can learn a lot from the more personal aspects of these sources. Study the ''Letters'' column. Read biographies for interesting views of jobs that celebrities held before they became famous. Playwright Moss Hart's autobiography Act One, for instance, contains unparalleled descriptions of the horrors and rewards and routines of being a summer-camp director.
This is your chance. If you always wanted to know what it would be like to be a costumer in a wax museum, sewing for effigies of Lizzie Borden and Lord Nelson and Elvis Presley, give that job to a character. Then you'll have a reason for researching costuming. How hard is it to dress wax? How authentic does the underwear have to be? Are the wax dummies anatomically correct? How do you dust a wax Count Dracula? The research books will even be tax deductible.
THE RIGHT JOB WILL SUGGEST MANY PLOT POSSIBILITIES
Once your character is gainfully employed, you have a strong tool for powering your plot in whatever direction you wish it to go.
How does this work? Suppose that the protagonist of your mystery novel is not a detective but a small-town vet. She visits a lot of farms, and a lot of smaller animals come to her clinic; she comes to know nearly everyone in town. She has scientific training. She gets called out on emergencies in the middle of the night. All these circumstances lend
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