Khanh Ho is writing the first Vietnamese American Detective Fiction ever.  Why?  Because being the first is a power trip.  In this installment, he humorously discusses the implications of punctuation.  Like what you read? Share, comment, subscribe. 

Ed Koch (1924-2013) died the other day.  And as with all great men, almost immediately, there have arisen tributes.  One of the most moving memorials was a video interview, produced by his hometown newspaper, originally shot in 2007:  The Last Word.  Why?  Because you get to see the old man, grappling with the imminence of sure death, sum up his career.  He talked about his goals and achievements, failures and successes, enmities and deep, abiding friendships. “I want to be remembered as being a proud Jew who loved the people of New York and did his best to make their lives better.”

Ed Koch was a typically outspoken New Yorker who never pulled his punches.  He was born–a Jew–in the Bronx.  Then, he got a law degree from NYU.  He learned how to become a public speaker by literally standing on a chair at a New York street corner and exercising his freedom of speech–the God-given right to rant–among Jesus Freaks and fanatics and conspiracy-theorists.

As I watched the New York Times video of Koch answering questions, bluntly, about his life, I suddenly realized how this moment made me think of Huckleberry Finn–that scene when young Huck stages his own funeral.  There  is something in us that craves the Huckleberry Finn moment—that voyeuristic impulse to watch your own funeral:  the eulogy, weeping; the chest beating; the black, rustling gowns.  It’s probably the best episode in Huck Finn and it really is the instance when Huck becomes closest to an author:  manipulative, all-seeing—the young barefoot boy sits in the balcony above everybody and gawks at the spectacle he has contrived.  Ed Koch’s video, whether he intended it to or not, is a moving tribute video…because it feels as if it were planned with full knowledge that this would be the mayor making his own eulogy–a eulogy delivered by a man who cut his teeth on public speaking by standing on a chair and bellowing at the public.

At the end of life, when you’re forced to sum everything up, you have to be blunt.  Ed Koch is quite straightforward; he spells out all his beefs.  Rudy Giuliani was a mean-spirited man who was terrible to be around with but he was not a racist:  he was an equal opportunity hater.  On Mario Cuomo, the mayor is shaming; he always despised him for the ugly gay-baiting campaign slogan:  “Vote for Cuomo, not the Homo.”  Dinkins, his successor, was a nice guy but incompetent.  Bloomberg achieved what he never could:  racial harmony.

Few of us can be so straightforward.  We are taught, in fact, that to be straightforward is socially undesirable.  It can make you appear crude.  So we censor ourselves.  We stick duct tape our mouths and hog-tie our arms and legs.  And when we’re done with our own selves, we often move on to censor our characters.

If you’re having trouble developing a character, this exercise will get you unloose that self-censoring voice:  Spend a minute and watch the video—it’s a half hour but worth it.  Then, start off with this basic question addressed to your character.  What do you want to be remembered for?  Koch could reel these things off in a list:  1)  Getting the city out of bankruptcy 2)  Giving back spirit to the people of New York  3)  Taking politics out of the selection of judges.  “I’m the sort of person who will never get ulcers. Why? Because I say exactly what I think. I’m the sort of person who might give other people ulcers.”

So, here’s your task.  Get your character to answer the eulogy question.  Make it the entryway to the beginning of a short paragraph long monologue.  And get them to channel their inner-Koch to lay it all out in crude, straightforward, no-holds-barred language.  Get them to own up to their beefs and failures, fears and tribulations.  So what if your character is quiet, reserved and prissy and they would never talk like this.   Inside all characters is a voice that knows what it’s about—an inner Koch, ready to stand on a chair at any street corner and call people out.

Did you like this? Make Khanh’s day:  Share on Facebook.  Tweet your friends.  Leave a comment.  Here’s a question to get you started:  Do your characters say what’s on their minds?  Or are their motivations and desires forever hidden?