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

“Exactly.”

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

“It’s not looking at you.”

According to Trump, Ukraine started the war. Why?

“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.”

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

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

Is Matt Gaetz qualified to be Attorney General of the United States?

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

“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.”

“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?”

What caused the stock market to crash?

“Exactly.”

“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.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

Why do creationists ask for proof of evolution and then ignore the answers?

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

“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.”

“Tart!”

Is it just me, or do we all hate Sasuke from Naruto?

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

“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.

Create a context between this character and other characters.

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Do that and you can ground your characters quite quickly.

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

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

What is the most ridiculous obviously false verse in the Bible?

“Perv.”

“I need to do laundry.”

“You need some tea!”

Who is the most dangerous or evilest person of all time?

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

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

Essentially, what you do is show the character:

Why am I not getting any atheists to debate with? Are they scared?

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?”

“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—”

“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…”

My religion teacher said that there are no atheists because in order to reject God, you must first have a concept of God, and if you have a concept of God, you are not an atheist. In what way is this true, if at all? Why?

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

“But they’re cold!”

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

Who would win in this boxing matchup between these two, Dillian Whyte or Samuel Peter?

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?”

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.

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

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“Claire! Why are you still up?”

“Nary a cute boy in sight.”

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

“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—”

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

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

“Claire, I—”

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

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

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?”

“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?”

“No way.”

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.

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

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

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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

“Cute girls?”

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