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While watching my wildlife gorge on peanuts, bread, almonds, dates, and raisins one morning, an impressive male bluejay caught my attention. Tall, well-built, and mysterious. The moment he landed on the food table in front of my window, the scarring on his face came into focus, and I wondered what happened to him.
Scars tell a story, an undeniable truth of the past. Perhaps “Scar” had a run-in with a hawk in his youth. The scars looked old, as though they’d formed during his development years or changed him as a young adult. The feathers atop the usual bluejay markings were much darker — midnight black — the skin obviously disrupted by a traumatic experience.
What was Scar’s wounding event? Did he fight this battle alone? Or did a predator kill his entire family in the nest?
I can only speculate. The answers died long ago.
All in all, Scar is a happy little dude, but also more cautious than the others, which adds some validity to my hypothesis as to how he received the scars. I’m intrigued by Scar, and pray a human didn’t hurt him. He piques my interest. Keeps me guessing about his past.
If Scar was a character in a novel, I could never stop flipping pages until I’d unraveled the mystery behind his scars. The author would have hooked me simply by showing me his face. What seems like a minor detail like a scar adds to the hero’s characterization. And you can bet an emotional scar lurks behind the physical disruption. All species, including humans, are affected by past events.
Not Scar. I cannot photograph him while we’re building trust.
Take Scar, for example. He waits for others to sample the food before he takes a bite. He watches how I interact with the other bluejays before he approaches.
He’s careful.
Reserved.
Suspicious of humans or new food sources.
The rest of the party (my favorite collective noun for a group of bluejays) scream with excitement and joy.
Not Scar. He’s quiet. Hangs back. Learns. Only after he’s gathered enough intel to satisfy his inquisitive mind does he feel safe enough to fly closer. I admire that about him. It shows he’s intelligent.
As writers, we’re told to include emotional scars but we also shouldn’t avoid physical scars. And not only for villains. Heroes wear scars, too.
Tattoos are often reminders of a special time in one’s life or symbolize what the wearer loves, embodies, or believes in. They can also help the wearer regain control over a trauma or cover, even enhance, a physical scar.
Years ago, I knew a young woman who was born with a cleft palate and left with scars from the corrective surgery. She never felt beautiful. All she could see were her scars. But she was beautiful, inside and out. Since few could make her see herself through their eyes, she turned to drugs and alcohol and eventually lost her life.
Some say, it’s more difficult for women to deal with facial scars than men. I know from personal experience that isn’t necessarily true. Both men and women try to hide scars public. It’s easier than having to retell — or relive — the story behind them.
Back in 1995, I was involved in a car accident that threw me into the windshield. Half conscious, I opened my eyes while stuck in the glass and tried to break free. The movement tore off my left eyebrow, eyelashes, upper eyelid, a chunk of my nose, split open my upper lip, and cracked all my teeth. The hospital called in a plastic surgeon to repair the damage to the left side of my face. Doctors told me I’d never regrow my eyebrow or eyelashes. For a girl in her twenties, it was devastating news.
I’ve never been one to follow the norm, or listen to doctors who think they can predict the future. Instead, I prayed for a miracle. Little by little, as I picked glass shards out of both eyes for several weeks, tiny hairs filled in my eyebrow and my lashes sprouted new growth. The doctors couldn’t believe it. My progress from the accident to full eyebrow and lashes is now in medical journals.
The emergency plastic surgery left me with scars on my eyelid, nose, and above my left upper lip. If you and I met in person, you might never notice. I only allow those closest to me to see my scars without makeup. When I’m tired, they pop right out. Not sure why scars get more visible then, but I’m not alone…
A dear friend for the last 30+ years got badly injured on a motorcycle when his gas tank exploded. The melted skin covering his right armpit looks like it belongs to Freddy Kruger. And the deep scarring on his forehead and zipper-like indent in his skull are still prominent 40 years after the accident. I love his scars. He wouldn’t be the same man without them.
Not only are scars reminders of past trauma but how one dealt with the injury and pain, then and now.
Like me, my friend also covers his scars in public. Only those closest to him are allowed to see the extent of his old injuries (2nd dimension of character = the person family and friends know). Neither of us regret our scars. They remind us that we’re lucky to be alive, along with all our other physical scars. Doesn’t mean we want to share them with the world (1st dimension of character = one’s public face).
See how a detail like a scar can inform one’s character? Keep it in mind while crafting your hero or secondary characters. Just remember to note them in your story bible, so a scar on the left cheek doesn’t move to the right in subsequent chapters and/or books. LOL
Would anyone like to share their scars and the story behind them? Have you ever seen a scarred bluejay or other backyard bird? I don’t dare photograph Scar until he gets to know me better, or the trust we’ve built may crumble.
Sue, what good insights into the different possible attitudes that people/characters have about their scars. Running the emotional gamut from shame to pride. Thanks also for the link back the three dimensions of character post. Always a helpful refresher.
For several years, a scarred squirrel hung around our patio. One eye was opaque and blind. Part of his tail had been lost, evidently in the same fight. That affected his speed and balance so he couldn’t dart up a fence to escape danger. Like your jay, he was wary and timid. He’d wait until the other squirrels had satisfied their initial hunger before he approached the peanuts on the stoop. After a while, he’d take the nut from my hand.
Sometimes he disappeared for a few days and I always worried he’d met up with a cat or other predator. When he returned, I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d survived another day. Days turned into years and he visibly slowed down. Finally he never showed up again. He lasted far longer than expected considering his injuries.
I know you’ll make sure your scarred jay gets extra rations 😉
Aww, love the story about your scarred squirrel, Debbie. It must’ve been difficult when he didn’t return.
Oh, yeah, Scar can have anything he wants. I’m hoping to train him to land on my arm. Need the help of warmer weather first. 😉
A profound rumnation, Sue. It brought to mind one of my favorite movies, Moonstruck. I vividly recall the first time I saw it and the early scene where Loretta (Cher) goes down to the bakery ovens to make peace with her fiance’s brother Ronny (Nicolas Cage). Ronny goes into an operatic rant about his torment, revealing that he has a fake hand, made of wood, because of an incident in the past involving his brother, and the emotional scar it left when his fiance left him because of the wound..That scene completely hooked me into the story.
Jim, I have not seen that scene in years and still remember it like I re-watched the movie last week. Powerful moment.
And what about the movie “Mask” with Cher.
One of my favorite movies of all time, Terry!
My newest scar is now a month old. It will take a few years to heal completely. Like many of my contemporaries, I now have a titanium knee, well half a knee. With it is a scar down my right knee.
In 1994 someone tried to drive through my car while I was still in it. I learned quite a bit about auto safety and crash test dummies. My hip was dislocated. You have probably laughed at Bugs Bunny being in traction. It isn’t nearly as funny in real life. In my left leg there are a pair of round scars. That is where the threaded rod was screwed through my leg to anchor the traction clamps. I did know know that Black and Decker made a surgical line. I do now.
For the record, I’ve known too many friends who endured the torture of traction to ever find it funny. I didn’t realize Black and Decker made a surgical line, Alan. It makes sense in a strange way.
Chances are there is a tattoo shop near you that will fix/cover/make beautiful scars from past mistakes. I met a woman with an interesting butterfly tattoo. The body of the butterfly covers where her ex hit her with an axe. Most places will take care of these at no charge.
I had an ex-husband who sounds similar to the man who hurt the woman with the butterfly tattoo, only I would never cover those scars. They remind me that I won; he couldn’t break me.
This is such a powerful post, Sue. Like Debbie, I also liked the three dimensions of character refresher. Recently, I started reading “My Story Can Beat Up Your Story.” The author sets for the idea that our hero actually has three goals in a movie (this book is about screenwriting but I think there’s a lot of meat here for we novelists).
Those goals are physical (which affects many people), emotional (which affects the hero and those closest to them), and spiritual (which affects the hero alone). Could it be that this spiritual goal is the one most affected by a character’s scar/wound?
Hope you have a wonderful week, my friend.
Yes, I would agree with that assessment, Dale. Scars/wounds nestle deep in one’s soul. Even writing this post dug up long-buried memories.
Thank you. Wishing the same for you, my friend. <3
Thank you, too. I had a wonderful time at my annual writer’s retreat at Lake Quinault last week, but returned home under the weather. I’d picked up a nasty bug. Send healing thoughts STAT 🙂
Along with the writing, and giving a talk on self-publishing (“Publish Yourself”), I enjoyed the endless parade of waterfowl there. The stately fleet of Canadian Geese. The energetic flotilla of loons diving to hunt for fish. One time, the whole line of a dozen or more loons dove at once. Then there were the duos and trios of Mergansers, a Great Blue Heron, and of course, a few ducks. A couple of nights it cleared off for a bit and the glory of the winter stars filled the sky.
Sounds like heaven, Dale. I love the call of loons. There’s nothing else quite like it. We’re lucky to have many mating pairs in New Hampshire.
Thank you for this very powerful post, Sue, and for the one on the three dimensions of character. Together they are a master class on characterization.
I don’t recall that I’ve used physical scars to help tell the story in any of my books, but one of my characters deals with an emotional scar from having been deeply humiliated as a young woman. It has affected her relationships with others, much like your bluejay.
Thanks, Kay. Glad you enjoyed both posts.
Emotional scars from humiliation can run deep. Now imagine if she had a physical reminder, as well?
Thank you for this great craft post on characters and the link to the the original one. Somehow I missed it.
When I was 2, I caught my hand in a wringer washer that pulled my arm all the way to the armpit. While it didn’t break any bones, it left a terrible scar on the inside of my arm from my elbow to armpit. As a teenager, I was very self-conscious of it, and can only imagine how it might be if the scar was on someone’s face.
A show that highlights this is “Irrational” with the main character living with scars on his face in the aftermath of a church bombing when he was much younger. If you haven’t watched it, it’s a great study in how public and private scars affect people. He talks freely about the scars on his face, but doesn’t let anyone see the scars on his body. He’s also exploring new technology that removes the scars and struggling with whether to do it or not.
“Irrational” sounds like a fantastic show, Patricia. Thank you! I’ll add it to my to-watch list.
Your injury sounds traumatic. I bet the scar was difficult for a teenage girl. After all, young girls aren’t supposed to have visible scars, according to societal norms back in the day. Small-minded way of thinking.
Sue, your accident sounds horrific, and extremely traumatic. I’m glad your eyebrows and eyelashes grew back — it helps to be a medical anomaly sometimes!
I have a scar across my neck from having my thyroid removed because of thyroid cancer over a decade ago. I had a great surgeon and he made the incision where my skin naturally folds if I bend my neck. It’s not that visible in ordinary life (because it looks like a wrinkle line — great) but in photos it leaps out. I hate it so much and cannot bring myself to see it as a “survivor” mark, perhaps because it was the start of an awful period of years of other medical issues and family deaths. I like what you wrote here: “Neither of us regret our scars. They remind us that we’re lucky to be alive, along with all our other physical scars.”
Wear that scar proudly, Janet. You’re a survivor, though I do understand why you hate it. Many don’t realize how much emotional scarring lies beneath physical reminders.
Wonderful post, Sue. As to scars, I am of the generation when sliding boards were tall and made of metal, playgrounds were finished in gravel, and stitches were reserved for wounds that revealed deeper anatomy. I don’t understand why some scars remained while most healed, but I’ve got a bunch of those. Plus, there are a few surgical scars.
The most ironic injury caused the most minor scar with the longest-lasting damage. When our beloved Kimber was a tiny 4-pound pup, I was playing the hand game with her when one of those needle-like canine milk teeth caught the pad of my left pinky and tore it open from knuckle to fingertip, nearly to the bone. It bothered me that the doctor recorded it as a “dog bite.” That was three years ago and I still have no feeling in that finger. Yep, she caught the nerve.
We’re of the same generation, John. Those metal slides burned in the sun! Why the backs of our legs aren’t all scarred up remains a mystery. LOL
The pinky injury sounds painful. I wouldn’t classify it as a dog bite, either, more of an unfortunate accident and proof of a doggy father’s devotion to his pup. It reminds me of a scar down my spine. When my brother and I were kids (under 10 years old), we were playing horsey in the living room. He reared up and bucked me off his back, and I fell into a ceramic umbrella strand that shattered on impact.
Funny thing is, I have only fond memories of that day. Not the blood nor the panic on my mother’s face when doctors told her if the ceramic shard dug in centimeters deeper, my brother would’ve paralyzed me that day.
Those metal slides were the best! You could rub wax paper on them (remember wax paper that wrapped our sandwiches?) and it made the slides extra slippery…
I still use wax paper when I make almond biscotti. 😁
Scars are always interesting – any deviation from ‘average’ is. You reminded me of a favorite section. My main male character is an actor with a wide range – and one of my female main characters used to be a physician and now writes novels:
—–
…She stepped out of the Jacuzzi, reached for her navy terrycloth robe, and enveloped herself under Andrew’s watchful gaze. “I mean it. The off switch—”
“Here, let me get it.” He rose like the cat he was, stepped over the edge.
She handed him one of the thick striped pool towels.
“What?”
“I’m sorry—” And I’m staring at your chest… “but you’ve got an interesting collection of repairs there.” She stared at a scar several inches long much too close to where his liver was, a vertical line which started an inch above his waist… brought her gaze up to the largest, a jagged line on his upper chest.
“That one? Me own damn fault. Josh warned me to keep me shield up. I swear I dropped me guard but for an instant—he lunged.”
“Unfair. But I supposed that means he expected you to react more quickly. It’s a compliment, really.”
He laughed. “And he got in so much trouble for trusting me not to be a bloody fool.” He shook his head. “No matter what I said to defend him—and of course everything comes to a rip-roaring halt while the medics swarm everywhere.”
“Defend him?”
“I didn’t do me job. Cardinal sin. Ye can’t coddle yer actors and make them any good.” He shrugged. “Josh was better’n me. He shouldn’t have had to hold back, not at that stage, not with cameras rolling.” His eyes narrowed. “It didn’t happen again.”
“On a real battlefield they wouldn’t have done such a tidy job. It might have gotten infected, needed cauterizing… It would strike terror in all your opponents because you survived.”
He threw his head back and roared. “It hurt like bloody hell!”
“Big baby. And now you sport this lovely scar to remember by. May I?”
He watched her with an expression of vast amusement.
She ran her finger along the edge of his right pectoral. “That must have hurt. Too bad it’s so pretty.”
“Come again?”
“See? It’s a clean thin line…”
“So yer interest is purely professional? Haven’t ye seen plenty of wounds and scars?”
“Well, yes—but not for a while, and I need—” She followed the scar toward his side, feeling the collagen thickening where the stitches must have been.
“Ye need a fresh wound because ye’re writing a fight scene?” He stuck a thumb in the waistband by the vertical scar. “Good God, Kary, do ye want to see the rest? Maybe ye’ll like one of the others better? I haven’t been stabbed in the back much.”
…
Ehrhardt, Alicia Butcher. PRIDE’S CHILDREN: PURGATORY (Book 1 of the Trilogy) (Function). Kindle Edition.
Love it, Alicia! Sounds like something I’d do. A good scar on a man is sexy, especially the ones no one else gets to touch. 😉