As writers, we often begin with a blueprint: a vague notion of who our characters are, what they want, and where they’re going. We craft their backstories, assign their traits, and carefully plot their journey through our narratives. We imagine the choices they will make, the obstacles they will face, and the growth they will undergo. Yet, every now and then, something magical happens. The characters we thought we controlled begin to breathe on their own. They make choices we hadn’t foreseen, speak words we hadn’t planned, and lead the story down paths we never intended. It’s in these moments that we realise they’ve taken on a secret life, and the writing process transforms from an act of creation into an act of discovery—an exploration of something larger than ourselves.
When Memories Become More
For me, this phenomenon often starts with the raw material of real-life memory. People we’ve known, moments we’ve lived, and relationships that have shaped us become the foundation. My novel, Smoke on Mosswood Fell, is a perfect example. The core group of characters in that story are based on – and aptly named after – my childhood friends from secondary school: Matty, Josh, and Paul.
When I began writing, I drew upon echoes of their personalities: Matty’s mischievous energy, Josh’s thoughtful wit, Paul’s quiet intensity. I recreated the banter we shared, the camaraderie of those formative years, the small, ordinary events that seemed insignificant at the time but now resonate with the warmth of nostalgia. The initial chapters reflected this, starting off light-hearted and steeped in the innocent fun of youth.
But as the words accumulated on the page, something shifted. The fictional world I had built began to assert itself. The characters, born from real people but now fully fictionalised, began to diverge. They developed desires, fears, and motivations that were entirely their own. Halfway through the process, the narrative took a darker turn, delving into territory that was completely fictional and far removed from our actual experiences. This wasn’t a decision I consciously plotted at the outset. Instead, it felt as though Matty, Josh, and Paul—these creations forged from memory—were whispering their own story to me, revealing a path I hadn’t seen. They demanded a different journey, pushed the boundaries of their initial cheerful depictions, and led the narrative into depths I hadn’t anticipated.
The Unpredictable Journey of Discovery
This is the profound beauty of characters writing themselves. Through the lens of memory, those we knew and loved can re-enter our lives—not just as shadows of the past, but as fully formed beings with their own desires and destinies within our stories. They become companions on an unpredictable journey, pushing us as writers to explore themes, conflicts, and emotional truths we might never have conceived alone.
It’s in these moments of surrender, when we allow our characters the freedom to guide the narrative, that the most compelling and authentic stories emerge. They remind us that writing is not always about strict control, but about collaboration with the vibrant, imaginative life that springs from our memories and takes root on the page. When we write this way, characters stop being vessels for our intentions and start being their own selves. And in listening to their secret lives, we discover not only the story we were meant to tell, but the deeper truths hidden within our own hearts.
A. R. Hurst 