I’ve been working on a single story for over six years now, ever since junior high when the idea for a YA science fiction popped into my head late one night after most of my family was in bed. Eager to tell the tale, I began writing. The first things that appeared in my head were automatically “canon” to the novel for no other reason other than I needed content and a story; I wrote what I’ve since called a “word vomit.”

Seven months later, when I finished the draft, I was so proud of it. But as I took time off, learned how to write better, read more of the YA genre, I realized I was woefully unprepared for the publishing house at the eager age of fourteen. One of the things my mom told me when she read over it was that my characters needed work, and that, when I wrote the second draft, I would better learn who they were and be able to write them consistently.

Six years later, I’m still working on the same series, but this time my characters are completely different people from when I started out. I started considering them to be friends — friends I didn’t try to bend to my will, but friends that had their own personalities, beliefs, likes and dislikes. Suddenly my two main female characters weren’t carbon copies of my “good side” and “bad side,” but their own persons.

One of the ways I solved problems for underdeveloped characters is through character interviews. These are different from character journals, which I’ve been told also work, but never did well for me. Maybe because I was still pulling the strings of my character’s marionette instead of jumping into the story myself as my own character.

Here’s how to start:

1. Pick a character who needs fleshing out.

For my first interview, I picked my villain. At the time he was the typical creeper dressed in black who had a clone factory full of minions to do his dirty work. He had a mildly-upset chuckle and evil glares — and basically just lived to take over the world.

Another character I picked was my spy, a young man who acts as a double agent between the government and an active rebel cell. While he was far more developed than his evil boss, I still wanted to learn more about him.

2. Set up a location to meet them.

While some writers may think a location is unnecessary (why can’t I just fill out an online form that forces me to answer questions?) I feel as if a location sets the mood. Did your character request the location, or did you?

For my villain, I defaulted and invited him over to my house. My empty house. On a dark night. A stormy dark night. So I had several paragraphs where my avatar sat on the couch, waiting in angst for the doorbell to ring. The dark, scary mood that came with my villain was set before he even approached the doorstep.

For my spy, the mood was slightly different. The meeting place was a chilly coffee shop in the middle of town. Cold winter rain.

Where your characters agree to meet sometimes tells a lot about them. For my spy, he wanted to be in the public with lots of eyes — a safe place he knew had multiple exits for a fast getaway. My villain runs the country, so he was confident enough to meet somewhere private.

3. Write the meet-up; don’t just jump into the first question.

If this were a real interview with a real person, you wouldn’t knock on their office door and say, “I heard you were run over while crossing the intersection outside Books-A-Million. Could you explain how that affected your acting career?” No, you’d say hello, comment on the excellent array of swords on his wall, notice Lemony Snicket’s novels beside his college professor texts, note his mismatched purple and orange socks under his dress pants…. (true story; real college acting teacher).

Do the same for your characters, and write the first things that feel natural. When my spy arrived at the coffee shop, he draped his coat over the back of the chair and left me while he ordered Earl Grey tea. While he stood in line, I noticed his clothing — grey button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows — and how he favored the left side of his body. For this particular character, I may have learned more just by watching him than actually speaking with him.

4. Don’t fret about it sounding good.

This is the kind of writing that doesn’t have to be perfect. Think of it more as a controlled word vomit. When I write mine, I don’t worry about the description, the plot, or that each dialogue piece needs to have a tag or action beat somewhere; I just write. This is for you and likely won’t end up in the final novel. If anything, this might be bonus features on your novel’s website someday.

5. Let your characters do the talking.

You aren’t the one being interviewed here. This isn’t a way to flirt with your imaginary boyfriend you’ve immortalized in your novel. You’re here for straight facts. So let them talk, and talk as much as they want. Ask them if they play musical instruments (my villain plays the violin and my spy played the piano when he was ten). Ask about their childhood and what drives them. Ask about their favorite books and movies. And follow all these questions up with “Why?”

Just like you would do in a real-life interview, you’re looking for as much information as possible. You don’t want to just ask them yes or no questions that leave you little to work with. Treat it like a conversation that flows from one question to the next. If your character starts talking about his tragic past, don’t change the subject and ask him about his wardrobe. Tailor your questions to fit the subject — you’ll learn a lot more.

Here’s an example from my interview with my spy character, Reid Orill. Notice how description, action beats, and character tags are almost forgotten because I want to only focus on what Reid has to say. This piece of information was one of the most valuable pieces I gained from the interview:

“You’re ambidextrous, aren’t you?” I didn’t phrase it as a question.

“I am. I trained myself young, thinking that back then, it was what a ‘good spy’ would do. It turned out to be more helpful than I expected. To remember to be left-handed as a RED officer makes sure I remember my whole character is an act. To be left-handed is to be a spy for me. Gesturing or working with my left hand requires me to think about everything else I’m doing under the scrutiny of Andgo or Sicarus.”

“Huh,” I said. “I never thought about it affecting you like that. I have to be brief, but I want to know: your morals. You have to do a bunch of questionable things as a spy…things I don’t even fully know—”

“And I’m not going to tell you about anything you don’t already know,” he said, cutting me off firmly. “If you don’t know, then you can’t work from them. I understand you’re a writer, Jenneth, and that you’re constantly trying to make your story better, but I don’t need to tell you everything I do as a spy. No one knows that outside of the RED but me.”

Writing character interviews force you to consider your character outside of their zone. I typically imagine my villain twiddling his wicked thumbs in the futuristic Oval Office, and my spy sitting in the dark battling his inner demons of what’s right and wrong. To ask them to come out of their story, meet in a place like a coffee shop — it forces them to dress a certain way, act a certain way, that you might not have considered at first.

And because of that, I find interviews one of the most helpful tools to further develop characters.