A character becomes real the moment a reader recognises something in them — a shrug, a stubbornness, a way of changing the subject. That flash of recognition is what keeps people reading, listening, or watching. It matters as much when you are telling the story of a community project, a family business, or a volunteer who has kept a club going for thirty years as it does in a novel. The good news is that it is craft, not magic.

Begin With a Want, Not a Description

Description tells us what someone looks like. Desire tells us what they will do next. A character without a want is furniture.

• What do they want in this scene? Not for their whole life — right now, in this room.
• What do they want that they would never say aloud? Approval, revenge, permission, a second chance.
• What would they give up to get it? The answer reveals their values faster than any summary.
• What are they pretending not to want? Concealment is where tension lives.

Try this swap: instead of "Margaret is a friendly retired shopkeeper", write "Margaret wants the new tenants to ask her advice, and she is not above inventing a plumbing crisis to make it happen." Same woman, but now she has somewhere to go.

Give Them a Flaw That Costs Them Something

A flaw that never causes trouble is a quirk. A flaw that costs your character something — a friendship, a job, a night's sleep — is what makes them human and, oddly, likeable.

• Where does their best quality tip into excess? Loyalty becomes complicity; generosity becomes control.
• Who do they lie to, and about what?
• What do they do when they are tired, frightened, or caught out?

Contradiction helps too. Someone meticulous about their accounts but chaotic in their kitchen feels observed rather than invented. Let the flaw interfere with the want you gave them. That collision is your plot.

Habits Make People Feel Lived In

Real people repeat themselves. Watch anyone for an hour and you will see rituals, tics, and phrases they do not know they have. Borrow that.

• How do they enter a room — quietly, all at once, checking the exits?
• What do they do with their hands while thinking? Fiddle with a ring, straighten a tea towel.
• What do they always carry, and why?
• What is their recurring phrase, and what does it hide?
• What small superstition do they follow, and would they deny it?

Choose one or two habits and let them return. A habit repeated at three points in a story becomes a signal: readers start to notice it themselves, and they feel clever for doing so.

The Detail That Does the Heavy Lifting

Specific, ordinary detail does more work than dramatic description. A chipped mug, a coat worn shiny at the elbows, a shopping list written in two different hands — each implies a history without the author having to explain it.

Aim for details that reveal character rather than decorate it. Ask of each one: what does this tell me about how they live, what they fear, or who they miss? If the answer is nothing, cut it.

If you are working with real people — community groups, oral history projects, small business storytelling — handle detail with care. Ask permission, let people read what you have written about them, and consider composite or lightly disguised characters where a story is sensitive. Never flatten a living person into a symbol for your own message. The goal is dignity, not exposure.

Put Them Under Pressure

The quickest way to find out whether a character works is to make them want something from someone who does not want to give it. Write half a page of dialogue between them and see what happens. Most people reveal themselves in the gaps — the deflection, the too-quick answer, the pause before a yes.

Then test them:

• Could you recognise them from their voice alone, with the names removed?
• Do they want something in every scene, however small?
• Do they behave differently with their boss, their sibling, and a stranger?
• Do they change, or do they resist change? Both are stories.

A Ten-Minute Exercise for Any Group

This works in a writing circle, a staff workshop, or a community heritage session.

• Write their shopping list. What they buy, and in what order, says a great deal.
• Write a text message they would send at 11pm. Voice, punctuation, and what they leave out all appear at once.
• Interview each other in character. Ask three questions, then answer as the character. Listen for the moment an answer surprises you — that is usually the true one.
• Name one thing they would never admit. Keep it in your notes, not necessarily on the page. Knowing it will change how you write them.

Characters are not built in a single sitting. They are built by accumulation — a want here, a flaw there, a habit repeated until it feels like memory. Start with one prompt today and see who turns up.