Hiding, Finding Easter Eggs by Andy Scheer

Readers in the know will smile.

Last week I found an Easter egg. Not the type that gets hidden in the spring, but the kind some authors place in books.

In Death on a Vineyard Beach, Philip R. Craig needed a detective on Cape Cod. So on page 72, he writes the client had hired “a man named Aristotle Socarides.”

For most readers, that’s just another name. But for those in the know, “Soc” is the protagonist of a Cape Cod detective series by fellow New Englander Paul Kemprecos.

In the course of a novel, you need many supporting characters. So why not include some people you know?

When he was learning the craft, now-bestselling author Steve Berry met regularly with a writers group. Two of its members were Nancy Pridgen and Daiva Woodworth. In Steve’s second published novel, The Romanov Prophecy, his protagonist works for an international law firm: Pridgen & Woodworth.

For years, thriller writer Jack Du Brul has known book collector Wayne Valero. When Jack needed a name in Corsair for an Undersecretary of State for Mideast Affairs, the assignment went to Wayne’s wife, Cristie. Though Wayne knows all the co-writers for thriller grandmaster, Clive Cussler, he’s still waiting to find his own name in a novel.

That could be a good thing. There’s a well-known quote attributed to Mary Higgins Clark: “When someone is mean to me, I just make them a victim in my next book.”

The prize for the most-included name may go to Leigh Hunt. In a dozen or more of his Dirk Pitt novels, Cussler included his friend—often as a character who got killed in the prologue.

Or you could even include yourself in your own books, much the way Alfred Hitchock gave himself cameos in many of his movies. If you want a precedent for this, look again to Clive Cussler.

I was typing a description of Pitt and a classic car he was exhibiting at a concours meet. In the scene, he walks over and extends his hand to the old white-haired, bearded man who was exhibiting the car next to him. I wrote, “Hello, my name is Dirk Pitt.” The old fellow shook his hand and said, “I’m Clive Cussler.”

I immediately thought, Why did I do that? I meant to change the name, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed fun to leave it in. ... Now readers wait for me to show up.

You might not want to go that far, but your novel does have room for quite a few names. As long as you don’t defame someone, why not?

What Makes Your Characters Special? by Andy Scheer

Unless they’re memorable, why should readers care?

The contest organizers didn’t include this criteria to derail entries. In every fiction contest I’ve judged, I’ve been asked to weigh in on the characters. Yet as I reflect on the eleven novels I just evaluated, this category proved especially daunting:

Characterization:

● Did you find the characters interesting? 

● Were they skillfully developed and multi-dimensional?

● Were they distinct or could any character have said another's words or complete their actions?

● Did you empathize with the hero/heroine and maybe even the villain?

● Could you tell what motivated them?

● Were the motivations believable, even for this genre?

I was judging adventure novels, which put much of their stock in the plot. But plot is just one reason I’ve read so many stories featuring Dirk Pitt, Cotton Malone, Philip Mercer, and Gray Pierce. As these characters face world-threatening challenges, I’ve come to know them—especially their quirks.

Pitt doesn’t just save the world, he collects antique cars. For his day job, Malone runs a rare bookstore. Mercer remodeled his Alexandria, Virginia, town house—and relaxes by polishing old railroad ties. When not on a secret mission, Pierce struggles in his dealings with his father, in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. These characters have lives outside the plot. They have unusual interests. Much like real people.

I think of one friend, who keeps a world-class book collection. Or another, who builds beehives. Or another, who displays a fanatic devotion to the Chicago Bears – and the Detroit Redwings. Or another, whose hair, makeup, and clothing are always perfect.

Each threatens the norm in some aspect of their personality and interests. That’s one measure of what sets them apart—that makes them interesting.

Sadly, most of the contest entrants hadn’t gotten that message. They filled their pages with stock characters (with the obligatory weird names): the usual straight-arrow good guys and twisted bad guys.

If these characters had any quirks, they didn’t show up in the early going—where I was evaluating if the story would be worth my time.

A couple weeks ago I discovered Philip R. Craig’s series of Martha’s Vineyard mysteries—and got to know J.W. Jackson. Unlike Jackson, I’m not an ex-cop, don’t know the best tide conditions for catching bluefish, and have never made paté with fish I’ve smoked. But I sure like spending 250 pages with him.

Or consider my recent friend Bernie Little from Phoenix. Unlike him, I’ve never seen the attraction of driving fast in early Porsche convertibles, especially while listening to trumpet player Roy Eldridge. But Bernie does, and as long as I’m going to help him catch the perps, I’ll respect the quirks that make him Bernie.

Just like the people who read your novels will show at least a polite interest—or even a secret fascination—with your main character’s distinctive clothing, diet, makeup, hobbies, music, pets, phobias, allergies, sleep habits—something!