When writing a novel, how can a character be developed well, but QUICKLY?

“Well, maybe if you’d wear more clothes, they wouldn’t feel so cold. Hussy!”

“You know what? Never mind,” May said. “I am way, way too drunk to be having this conversation.”

Here’s how we presented the character Claire when she was introduced, which the agent particularly singled out:

What are some signs he is deeply in love with you?

“Tart!”

Engaging in conversation that also shows something about their intelligence, personality, wit (or lack thereof); and

After Eunice and I finished London Under Veil, I entered the first chapter in a contest at a convention where you could submit something and have it critiqued by a professional book agent.

Where did Noah build the Ark? Was it in a desert or near water?

“No way.”

“Fine.” May collapsed into the warm spot Claire had just vacated.

“I know! That’s why I’m putting them under you!”

Why do I sweat (mostly on face) when I eat usually spicy food?

“Claire! Why are you still up?”

May pushed Claire’s feet away. Claire rose to peer out the window. “Huh. It’s still there.”

Create a context between this character and other characters.

Are you happy with your life?

May yelped. “Hey! Your feet are cold!”

“May! You’re home late! Early, I mean. Well, I mean, it’s early in the morning, but you’re home before I expected. Er, after. Before?”

Do that and you can ground your characters quite quickly.

I am skinny, I have been doing 100 pushups a day for more than a month and am seeing very few results, everything is so unfair, I workout more than anyone I know and am still skinny, why cant I build muscle?

“Exactly.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend all day reading—” May prodded the book with its garishly-coloured cover with her foot. “Bizarre comic book porn…”

“Yuuna and the Haunted Hot Springs!” Claire turned the book around.

What are the psychological reasons behind an extreme obsession with another human being?

“No, about the cat. You don’t need a cat. You remember what happened to your spider plant, right?”

They both burst out laughing. “I’m right, though,” Claire went on.

The agent had only one bad thing to say (the synopsis was crap; writing synopses is hard!), but praised the characterization and particularly how well we introduced a character’s personality quickly.

How exactly do things get smuggled into prison? Does the sender hide it inside something else very well? Does someone put it in their butt? Do the prisoners make deals with the officers?

“You need some tea!”

“None of those either. Look upon the wasteland that is my sex life, and see that it is barren. Naught but a moggie followed me home.”

“I’m glad my sex life is so entertaining.”

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“It’s a cat. All cats are weird.” May sipped from her mug, inhaling the warmth. She closed her eyes. The room spun. She opened them again. “Ugh. I think I drank too much.”

“Yep!” Claire chirped. “There’s this schoolboy, see, and he’s homeless, so he lives in this boarding house that used to be a hot springs bathhouse, which is cheap because it’s haunted, so he decides—”

“So you didn’t meet any cute boys at the club tonight?” Claire called as she bustled about the small kitchen.

Can we trust the Bible when Constantine and the First Council of Nicaea took out many books of the Bible and altered existing translation by removing things?

“I try not to, but thank you for reminding me. I know I don’t need a cat. I don’t want a cat. What would I do with a cat?”

“About wearing more clothes? How am I supposed to catch any fish if I don’t show off the bait?”

“Perv.”

Do you think a lot of sociopaths' parents kill themselves for having brought such disgusting evil into the world? How much shame and disgust must they carry?

“Claire, I—”

“Exactly.”

Claire sat back down, legs tucked elegantly beneath her. “You are looking a bit sloppy,” she said, inspecting May through narrowed eyes.

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

“It’s not looking at you.”

“Why is that always your first suggestion? I do not need some tea. It’s three o’clock in the morning! If I have tea, I’ll never get to sleep.”

Claire, one of May’s three flatmates, former university roommate, and best friend in all the world, shrugged expansively. “It’s a Saturday night. What else would I be doing?”

“Nary a cute boy in sight.”

“They are! He broke the rules of the boarding house by petting this character while she was in cat form, so they invoke the ancient rules of single combat via ping-pong, and—”

“I’m serious!” Claire said. “It’s staring straight at me.” She let the curtain fall. “Weird.”

“I’m just a fan of your catch and release program.”

“From the look of you, if you try to sleep now, you’ll spend the next three hours hanging onto your bed trying to stop the world spinning. Since you’re not going to sleep anyway, you might as well keep me company.”

“But they’re cold!”

May studied the black and white comic panels. “Oh, my. She looks…anatomically implausible. What is she doing to that poor man? Wait, are those cat ears?”

“Hang on, are they playing ping-pong?”

“Number one, it’s not porn, it’s ecchi, and number two, why would I waste a perfectly good Saturday doing anything else?” Claire pulled at her tea and sighed. “The only thing that could make this day better is if you'd come home with some cute boy, so that after you kicked him out tomorrow I could live vicariously through you.”

“Cute girls?”

“I don’t know. Partying. Going to a pub. Anything besides sitting on the couch reading…” She squinted. “What the hell are you reading?”

“I need to do laundry.”

“Damn straight. So get to it! This time next week, I want to hear some moans coming through that wall.”

Essentially, what you do is show the character:

“Nope, I mean a cat followed me home. A black cat, to be exact. All the way from the club. Probably still out there, for all I know.”

“Yes way. It’s washing itself under the street light. Uh-oh, I think it spotted me. It knows I’m watching it. I swear it’s looking at me.”

Doing something they enjoy, that expresses their personality, and that is in some way unusual or noteworthy;

In the kitchen, Claire set out a battered pair of mugs: May’s black, with “PEBKAC: Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair” in white letters; Claire’s white, with “This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays” in dark blue. She carried both mugs into the living room. “A moggie followed you home? Is this some weird Internet slang I’m not current on?”

“Thanks. You’re looking pretty ratty yourself. Have you been in that bathrobe all day?”

“You don’t need a cat. You can’t take care of a cat. You can’t take care of a ficus.” Claire flopped on the other side of the sofa and wriggled her feet beneath May.