Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors by Brandilyn Collins Page A

that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling—to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He’ll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again.
 
    As they seat themselves and Heathcliff fails to make conversation, Lockwood grows uncomfortable. His Action Objective then becomes: “To find an action to fill the awkward silence.” Response: He tries to pet the dog, even though it appears unfriendly.
     
I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that toward which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural snarl.
“You’d better let the dog alone,” growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with the punch of his foot. “She’s not accustomed to be spoiled—not kept for a pet.” Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, “Joseph!”
Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me vis-à-vis the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim, shaggy sheep dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements.
 
    The dogs make Lockwood even more uncomfortable. His new Action Objective: “To keep the dogs from attacking.” Response: He sits very still.
     
Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leaped on my knees.
 
    Uh-oh, now Lockwood’s really in trouble. His Action Objective: “To get away from the dog.” Response: He throws her aside and jumps behind a table.
 
I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding roused the whole hive: half-a- dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common center. I felt my heels and coatlaps peculiar subjects of assault.
     
    Completely outnumbered now, Lockwood realizes he is helpless. His Action Objective: ”To save myself from a potentially fatal attack.” Response: He calls for help.
     
Parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in reestablishing peace.
Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more dispatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying pan: and used that weapon and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene.
“What the devil is the matter?” he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could ill endure after this inhospitable treatment.
 
    Lockwood’s fear turns to anger, for the moment blotting out his initial Action Objective of wanting to please his host. His new objective: “To defend my actions to Heathcliff.” Response: He throws out accusations.
     
“What the devil, indeed!” I muttered. “The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in