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

“Nary a cute boy in sight.”

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

“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…”

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“Exactly.”

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

“Tart!”

Can I fix a fridge leak myself, or should I call a pro?

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

“I need to do laundry.”

“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?”

Why do I feel like I want to suck a big dick after injecting meth?

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

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

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

Why do flat earthers exist?

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?”

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

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

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Create a context between this character and other characters.

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

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

What do you think of a parent telling their adult child to “keep their personal life to themselves” in relation to talking to them? No reason they should say that it was mean what should I do?

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?”

“Exactly.”

“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.”

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“Claire, I—”

“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.”

Do that and you can ground your characters quite quickly.

What is the best/cute/funny/playful chat/conversation between brother and sister?

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?”

“It’s not looking at you.”

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

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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.

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

Is Replika conscious?

“No way.”

“Cute girls?”

“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.

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“You need some tea!”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

“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?”

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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.”

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

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.

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

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

“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.”

“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—”

“But they’re cold!”

“Claire! Why are you still up?”

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

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

“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.”

“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—”

“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:

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

“Perv.”

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

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

“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.”

“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.”