The strip is on schedule. We’re really into the story now. Our hero is ambulatory. The fourth wall is fighting back, almost like it’s another character.

Okay, maybe not. Definitely not. But we hear that a lot, don’t we? “The music is like a separate character in the movie.” “The fantasy world is its own character in the novel.” What does that even mean? Sometimes I think it’s a sly insult to the actual people in the story. “The spaceship is as much a character as the lesbian catgirl turbolaser-symbiotes.” Well, yeah. I’ve got plumbing problems with more character than a lot of protagonists. I’m not sure that’s the point, though.

What is a character? “The haunted castle itself is an integral character.” Are we talking about anything that acts in the story? Anything with motivations? Or with a distinct personality? I suspect that’s the key. A character is an anthropomorphic fiction. Something you relate to. Which means we have recognizable segments of the population who relate to swords or pop songs or ocean liners on an intimate, human level.

Now, I don’t consider myself a judgmental person. If you spend more time pleasing your WoW guild than your spouse, or believe your cats are the metaphysical synthesis of Buddha, Madam Blavatsky and Jackie Chan, that’s your own bowl of gumbo. Season to taste, my friend. I’m not here to call your oysters fishy. But it is my job as a (humble - most humble) writer to inspire thought and reflection. So I offer to you this modest exercise: The next time someone comments that a city or a landscape or a color is like its own character, ask yourself what it reveals about that person. “Hopper’s use of light is a character in itself.” “The boobs in DOA are like individual characters.” The analogy reflects more about a person than they know.

Almost like the analogy itself is a distinct narrative element robust and subtle enough to challenge the fundamentally impersonal nature of the world.