What Scars Does Your Character Have?

[Paul Whybrow]

We all have scars—external and visible on the skin—and internal damage that we keep hidden, but which actually has more of a profound effect on our characters.

Scars on the skin can become conversation pieces, especially between new lovers. An intimidating facial scar on a rough face warns adversaries away, with an unspoken message of surviving suffering.

The world's first billionaire author created a protagonist with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

To be a writer, Stephen King said, “The only requirement is the ability to remember every scar.” Tapping into your own scars is a useful technique for unlocking the scars in your characters.

Scarring can be done deliberately...for ornamentation and as a badge of honour. These days tattooing is common, and those with body scars sometimes opt for concealing the damage with ink. I knew a woman who had no interest in tattoos until she had a double mastectomy. Reconstructive surgery gave her breasts again, but an elaborate inked floral design helped her move forward with her new shape.

In some ways, we're becoming more tribal in our attitude to symbols, with extreme body modifications that tap into primitive roots. Raised scarring of the skin in which the bulbous cicatrices and gouged depressions form a pattern are not for everyone, but many folk pierce their ears for earrings and some have their lobes tunnelled to contain a large plug.

Going back to the 19th-century, duelling scars were viewed as proof of manhood, with some wanabees faking their sword fighting experience by slashing their cheeks with cutthroat razors.

The protagonist in my Cornish Detective series is about to turn 50. He's just fallen in love, but is going to be brought crashing to earth by being stabbed through his side with a sword stick blade. Obviously, this will leave pronounced scarring, and he'll have damage to his hand—from gripping the blade to prevent it being withdrawn and used again as he flounders on the floor trying to take out his extendable baton to strike back.

The attack will also alter his nature, making him less trusting and more aggressive. His character was shaped by losing his parents as a teenager, emotional scarring that nonetheless gave him resilience. In this way, I used a common trope in fiction...just think of the number of main characters who are orphans in literature and film; they're vulnerable with a great capacity for growth. (Harry Potter shows his scarred face again.)

Another emotional scar came from losing his beloved wife in a traffic accident, eight years before my WIP, which sent him into a couple of years of depression. Living with the black dog and counselling gave my protagonist more self-knowledge than many fictional detectives. Previous physical injuries from falling off a motorcycle as a teenager, then being kicked by a suspect during an arrest, left him with a weak back—an internal scar, which he treats with Shiatsu massage sessions.

In my last Cornish Detective novel, Sin Killers, I used a heavily scarred character, who I based on a real-life career criminal that I only saw a couple of times when I was a youthful dispatch rider in London. A veteran of Kray twins gang wars in the 1960s, he had a malign presence. A handsome man, if you only saw one side of his face, the other side was a grid-work of scarring...including a divot through his eyebrow and onto the cheek from a hatchet blow, which had darkened his iris to near black. My fictional henchman has a heavily scarred face, and he's still a violent man, but he's aware of increasing fragility from ageing and wants to retire to live aboard a boat on the river surrounded by nature. Outside he looks like death, inside he's a naturalist who prefers wildlife to people. Wild creatures don't judge him by his looks.

An earlier novel featured a couple of amputees, veterans of the Gulf Wars. The serial killer in that story used latex facial prostheses to disguise his appearance, including full head masks that imitated serious injuries—a deliberate ploy to make potential witnesses look away.

Any scar is a memento of where we've been, but it needn't affect where we're going.

How do your characters handle their scars—internal and external?

Do your characters wear tattoos?

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[Andrew Okey]

Most of my characters have huge emotional scars, but I still feel proud of this, which introduces one of my favourite characters (Misha Yadukov, a Soviet officer and cultural attache to East Berlin):

Four or five men stood around, cleaning their gear and chatting. But then I noticed another, facing away from me, tending his fire. He was crouched down beside it, lop-sided, his left sleeve flapping empty by his side. After all I had gone through I was almost beyond fear, or care. Remembering that night with my father, I roused myself and stood up right in front of them. Then, mustering all the voice left to me, I said: “Товарищи! Сотрудник социалистической приветствует вас в Берлин.”

I sensed the soldiers’ focus turning on me, but the man by the fire was sharper. In one smooth movement, too fast to quite grasp, he spun around. His head and shoulder and his one good arm flowed into alignment, into a perfect duellist’s pose, so that the pistol he held was aimed right at me.

What a gargoyle. As he turned I saw that he was missing not just his left arm but also part of the adjoining shoulder, and his left eye was gone, buried under a scarlet burn, half his face rippled and scorched and ruined.

This was Misha Yadukov, who would be my new father.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

: ( A damaged lion.

Cohen was a great poet. I didn't used to care for him, too young to know better, but now for me he knocks spots off The Dylan any day.

 

[Rick Hall]

My favorite character in my book is a 71 year-old retired Israeli soldier named Melvin Hayes. In the 1960s he married a woman with ALS, knowing she wouldn't live long. But he became convinced that a cure could be found in America, so although she wanted to live out the remainder of her life surrounded by friends and family, Melvin dragged her across the Atlantic. As the end drew near, Melvin couldn't handle it, and took to alcohol. When his wife died, he was too drunk to be supportive. She died practically alone. At one point, my protagonist, a telepath, dredges up this memory and uses it in a sort of emotional drive-by. Although Melvin is still an alcoholic and has never gotten over his past, when the protagonist comes along he sees an opportunity at redemption, and despite the near suicidal risk, opts to help.

 

[Barbara]

I agree with Kirsten (I'm assuming, Kirtsen, by psychic scars you mean psychiological scars as opposed to psychic attacks that scar the protagonists, i.e. The Shining?).

I believe it's the emotional scars that help make the characters in a story interesting and unique, hence I try to damage my characters as much as I can. I find it gives them all sorts of reasons for being, and for behaving.

These days tattooing is common

Interesting way of looking at tatoos. Pretty scars, in a sense. I recently saw someone who was big time into 'branding'. I wouldn't even do this to cattle, let alone to myself, but each to their own.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Psychic scars. It works. I like it better than psychological scars. 'Psyche/psychikos'...'of the mind, the breath, the soul'

 

[Marc Joan]

Scars indicate healing, even keloids. Psychic / psychological damage is better described as ulceration, if we want to persist with the imagery.

 

[Marc Joan]

Oh my ulcerated mind...
Pass the gin

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Heh. Marc. It's not called mother's ruin for nothing.

Makes one maudlin. Daddies too I shouldn't wonder.

How about a beer, or a nice glass of wine or a nice vodka tonic?

 

[Marc Joan]

You are very wise...

 

[Matnov]

Any and every discussion about scars in fiction have to take this scene into account...The ultimate scar discussion...

 

[Paul Whybrow]

There's a poem about scars which looks at them in an unusual way. Written by Jane Hirshfield, For What Binds Us contemplates healed wounds as being a stronger union than a 'simple, untested surface.'

For What Binds Us

There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they’ve been set down—
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There’s a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest-

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.

Jane Hirshfield

 

[Robinne Weiss]

In my dragon slayer books, many characters have physical scars--comes with the job, as you can imagine. All of them also have emotional scars, because they became dragon slayers (or members of the Dragon Defence League) after their dragon-slayer parent was killed in the line of duty. It's a MG adventure series (focused on fun), so I don't dwell a lot on these emotional scars, but they play a part in how the kids react to certain events, and the decisions they make.

 

[Amber]

I have a character with a tattoo. Tattoos can mean lots of things. They can mean, "My body is my own." Which makes it about scars only indirectly. It can mean, "This is who I am." Or, it can be a means of being marked, either as belonging to something or someone. Psychologically its kind of sort of about sadomasochism for some people, usually the repeat offenders. Then it can be like intentionally scaring yourself--saying, "This is what I endured, I won't hide it to make you comfortable."

My character's tattoo only marks him as belonging to a tribe. I'd say it's the most simplistic type of symbolism.

I have a tattoo. I find it strange when people act like its strange. It's so commonplace. On the other hand, I'd like to have it removed. But that's personal--as tattoos tend to be.

Also, tattoos aren't worn are they? That's sort of the point. They're a part of you. Words matter. They convey meaning.

I don't think there'd be a point in writing about a character without scars. Dealing with scars usually has something to do with the conflict and resolution of the story. Does how they adapted to what created the scar serve them? Will they need to learn new tricks to handle the conflict, rise above old habits? Are there good things and bad things about their scars? Stuff like that.

 

[Nikky Lee]

In some ways, we're becoming more tribal in our attitude to symbols, with extreme body modifications that tap into primitive roots. Raised scarring of the skin in which the bulbous cicatrices and gouged depressions form a pattern are not for everyone, but many folk pierce their ears for earrings and some have their lobes tunnelled to contain a large plug.

A slight deviation, but there's an interesting movement called the Transhumanist movement, which explores modifications to the human body with technology. One artist, Stelarc, has essentially grown a human ear on his arm, another woman, Moon Ribas, has an implant in her elbow that's designed to vibrate every time there's an earthquake (anywhere in the world)—she then translates what she feels into a dance. Probably the most well-known one is Neil Harbisson—the man who can hear colour.



I find it fascinating to think about how technology and body modification can change the way people experience the world. Perhaps the same could be said for tattoos and scars?

 

[Katie-Ellen]

My favorite character in my book is a 71 year-old retired Israeli soldier named Melvin Hayes. In the 1960s he married a woman with ALS, knowing she wouldn't live long. But he became convinced that a cure could be found in America, so although she wanted to live out the remainder of her life surrounded by friends and family, Melvin dragged her across the Atlantic. As the end drew near, Melvin couldn't handle it, and took to alcohol. When his wife died, he was too drunk to be supportive. She died practically alone. At one point, my protagonist, a telepath, dredges up this memory and uses it in a sort of emotional drive-by. Although Melvin is still an alcoholic and has never gotten over his past, when the protagonist comes along he sees an opportunity at redemption, and despite the near suicidal risk, opts to help.

Interesting story there. Can such a betrayal, and that was such a despicably self centred and cowardly betrayal of the wife, even be redeemed. And who says so.

 

[Rick Hall]

Can such a betrayal, and that was such a despicably self centred and cowardly betrayal of the wife, even be redeemed.

Oh, I'm sure it can't. That's why the story is so awful, and should never be published.

 

[Amber]

Interesting story there. Can such a betrayal, and that was such a despicably self centred and cowardly betrayal of the wife, even be redeemed. And who says so.

I think so.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Hang on a minute, Rick. I said there was an interesting story there.

I viewed that plot- line as a story strength. Just because, based on the above, I am disposed to immensely dislike Melvin for his cruelty, and feel whatever he does, he can never put that right. But that's a response to that character that you, the writer, have no doubt anticipated from readers, who would then be interested to find out what that character could possibly do to make them feel differently.

You created him. It triggered a response. That was my response. Every reader will bring their own. What's worse than readers reacting? Readers who remain utterly indifferent.