Write Like a Magician: Creating the Illusion of an Unseen Character

Whenever we write a protagonist who lost someone important within their backstory, we have some heavy lifting ahead of us. That “unseen” character—a character who has died or who is simply away for one reason or another—is going to need to be developed and brought to the page somehow to deepen the emotion beneath the protagonist’s loss.

It won’t be enough that we tell the reader our character misses that person, or how that we label how the unseen character used to make the protagonist feel—good or bad. That sort of writing reduces the relationship down to what we call “emotional abstraction”—outright naming the way someone feels, rather than letting the reader experience the emotion in a firsthand way.

If the loss or separation is truly crucial to the story of your protagonist, you’ll want to create the illusion of the unseen character so it’s as if we’ve actually met them.

To better understand why developing an unseen character is worth the work, let’s look at an example based on emotional abstraction. The protagonist (Lila) has recently lost her father, and is reflecting on a memory:

Lila was happy every time she and Dad rode in his truck together.

In this example, the writer tells us Lila was happy in an outright way. Though you’d think this would be enough for us to know what she’s lost in losing her dad, it winds up falling flat. The reader knows how they should feel, but the head and the heart don’t quite connect. The difficulty with naming emotions—or emotional abstraction—is that reader doesn’t actually feel the emotion with any precision or depth. The word happy means different things to all of us, and so it’s a missed opportunity for the reader to know exactly how happy Dad made Lila. The happiness in this example isn’t Lila-shaped, or precisely Dad-induced.

Now, consider this example that seeks to avoid emotional abstraction by creating the illusion of Dad:

Lila couldn’t explain why she always preferred to sit right beside Dad whenever she rode with him in his truck. Maybe it was his warm shoulder swaying side to side alongside hers over each and every bump in the road. She never minded sitting on the big tear in the worn leather of the bench seat as long as she was next to Dad. He always gave Lila complete control of the radio, even if the music she chose made his face wrinkle up like he’d eaten a lemon. He kept a pair of drumsticks in the glove compartment so she could practice drumming on the dashboard as they made their way around town for their usual Saturday errands.

“Louder, Lils.” He’d say every time they drove past the town library. She’d grin and he’d wink back.

Dad never learned how to play the drums. But Lila would focus on his rhythm as he thumped his palms the steering wheel, and try to sync her own beats with his.

Notice how in the second example, we accomplish so much more than the first example. We have a sensory-based memory with dialogue and body language that we can picture within our own minds. We feel how it feels for Lila to sit near Dad. We hear that cringey music Dad endures because Lila loves it, or the sounds made drumming along to the music. We can imagine the emotions they likely each feel with far more precision. We can better gauge his love for her, and who he was for her based on his actions. We can even judge the way she loves him back based on the way she tries to cover up his lack of rhythm by adjusting her own rhythm.

All of these details evoke an illusion that allows us to better comprehend and feel what it must be like for Lila to have lost Dad. We have unpacked “happy,” and we’ve given it precision and depth. We’ve made it Lila-shaped and Dad-induced.

In letting us indirectly meet an unseen character, we better understand both who they were as an individual and what their relationship with your front-story character/protagonist was like. As such, we better understand the emotions the protagonist is experiencing due to whatever has put distance between them and the unseen character.

If you have a character who isn’t technically in your front story but who is crucial to your protagonist’s backstory, you’ll want to consider creating the illusion of them on the page.

Let’s pull out our writerly magic wands and talk strategies for bringing an unseen character to life:

1. Backstory/Flashback: As with the second example above, crafting vivid, punchy flashbacks that let us glimpse the relationship your protagonist had with the unseen character can be a powerful tool. Flashbacks are especially effective because they give you the chance to bring an unseen character onto the page despite their absence in your front story.
2. Front-Story Objects: You can use objects to bring an unseen character to life. If we were to step into spaces they inhabited, or to go through their belongings, what would we learn about who they were? What objects does your protagonist hold onto that they were given from the unseen character? What mementos from time spent with that lost character does your protagonist keep? What can’t your protagonist bring themselves to get rid of? Which objects—wherever the protagonist goes—evoke memories?
3. Front-Story Dialogue: What do other characters say about who the unseen character was? What do they not say about the unseen character? What does your protagonist say or not say about them? Are there characters your protagonist avoids ever since they lost the unseen character?
4. Front-Story Locations: Where does your character avoid going because it’s a painful reminder of the lost character? Where does your character linger because they can’t let go of the unseen character?
5. Front-Story Activities: What hobbies or activities does your character avoid because of losing the unseen character? Are there activities they’re especially fixated on since losing the unseen character? What are they losing out on in life because of the loss?

Creating the illusion of the unseen character is only part of the heavy-lifting, though. We have to consider why we’ve chosen to include this lost character in your protagonist’s life in the first place, and how it relates to the journey ahead.

So much of what makes an off-the-page character work is what they do to challenge the protagonist in your front story.

Consider the following questions:

What didn’t your character know about the lost character that your front story might reveal to them? How is losing that character holding your character back when we first meet them? What events might occur to provide your character aha moments about letting go? What plot points might reveal the truth about something the protagonist couldn’t see back when the other character was around?

How did losing that unseen character turn out to help your protagonist figure out what they needed all along? What is it about who your unseen character was that reveals your protagonist to us at each flashback point? What are we learning not just about the unseen character in a flashback, but about your protagonist? How do those flashbacks show us change in your protagonist? Does each flashback reveal something slightly different? Is there a truth that needs to be revealed?

Consider why this specific loss of another character in your protagonist’s backstory matters and how it relates to their needs in your front story. Why, in other words, is losing that unseen character a starting point in what your protagonist needs to do externally and how they need to grow internally? How might the unseen presence of a character slowly draw your protagonist in toward some sort of journey of discovery? How do the memories of the unseen character or new discoveries about who they were shift your protagonist? How do the memories ask them to face some sort of fear or inner truth they’ve been incapable of seeing—likely something about themselves—when the dust settles?

What type of unseen character is part of your protagonist’s backstory? How does the loss of that character give rise to the journey you have planned for your own book? Do you have favorite examples of books, movies, or films that feature an unseen character?

Happy writing!
Marissa