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Why is it that so many protagonists have attractive hips, a strong jawline, full lips and breasts (What does that even mean? "Full breasts"? Full of what? Are they going to breast-feed someone soon? How is this helping me to understand this character's motivations?), strong arms, eyes shaped like almonds and the colour of deep mysterious pools of dark water? Why are so many protagonists either extremely attractive or passably pretty at the least? And why despite all the pretty, are they such well-rounded, humble, non-arrogant, moral people?
Will we not connect with or care for a heroine (or hero) if she has a figure like a over-ripe pear, upper arms with the jiggly bits underneath that you have to hold onto when you wave goodbye, tiny myopic eyes and unrelenting adult acne? What about if they are only of average intellegence?
I wrote in an earlier post about how I avoid writing about my protagonist's clothes. I've found that I'm just as reluctant to write physical descriptions for them too! I don't want to make them attractive and perfect, and I don't want them to be hideous so what does that leave?
"She was of average build, brown hair, with one of those faces that you recognise, not because you know her, but because so many other people have the same generic features as her uninspiring face." What's the point? I may as well say: "She's looked like a woman, ya know wha' I mean?"
Maybe it goes back to Greek mythology with Helen of Troy, beautiful goddesses and handsome gods. Their beauty, grace, powers made them awesome and facinating. Beautiful people are muses aren't they? They inspire adoration? They are the stuff of songs and sonnets.
Or maybe we just don't want our precious protagonists to be blighted with pain of having to squeeze into waist to knee control knickers or the distraction of having to comb their dense monobrows out of their eyes.
What do you think? How would you describe your protagonist? Does anyone have a supremely ugly hero/heroine?
Today an article about a British artist's (James Reynolds) who had recreated a series of last meals chosen by death row prisoners got my attention. The list of individual meals apparently include: a plate of six raw eggs, a bread roll and a cup of coffee - a single black olive - an onion and a coke - and (of course) KFC.
Clearly these are some disturbed people - as somewhere along the line a bunch of people decided that things would be a lot better if they were not around any more. "What? You want an onion as your last meal? Oh yes you definately have to go." Well, personally, I think the prisoner who selects a decandent last meal is probably more disturbed than the one who simply requests a mint and a glass of water.
Anyway, something about this concept really facinates me... in the face of imminent death, what parting pleasure would one want to indulge in? If you had a choice, what would you want the last taste in your mouth to be?
Does everything taste like ash? Or are your senses heightened, absorbing as much of the world, that you come into contact with, as you can?
Really, am I just too morbid a person? Should I stop writing at night, in a bat cave, with a bone for a pen and blood for ink?
This is my chair. My mum and I found it on the side of the road on one of our really healthy, energetic walks, where we get more out of breathe from talking than from pumping exercise.
We instantly saw it's potential (and obviously due to our "issues" as outlined in a previous post), so we power walked home immediately to get the car and rescue it!
Well finally I am in the middle of refurbishing it, finished product to be posted soon!
