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

“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.”

“But they’re cold!”

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

Why do people hate fat people so much, even people who aren't exactly supermodels themselves? It seems like such a deep, passionate hatred, like they're offended by fat people just existing. Fat people didn't do anything to them, so why hate them?

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?”

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

“You need some tea!”

What are some cool confidence hacks?

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

“Exactly.”

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

Do you think this Labour Party is qualified to run our country?

They both burst out laughing. “I’m right, though,” Claire went on.

“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?”

“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—”

Why is the covert narcissist actively avoiding me when they see me everyday?

“Claire, I—”

“Cute girls?”

“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.”

What is the most overrated pleasure? Why?

“Claire! Why are you still up?”

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

“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.”

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“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.

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

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

What are LGBT+ people tired of hearing?

“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.”

Essentially, what you do is show the character:

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

Why are men ridiculously delusional in the women they want/approach? I'm not a troll. This is a real question. Why does a fat, pot bellied, unkempt, balding, stupid (ergo poor) man, tell a woman above his league that she isn't hot enough for him?

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.”

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

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

“I need to do laundry.”

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

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

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

Create a context between this character and other characters.

“Perv.”

Which feels physically better for guys: vaginal sex or anal sex?

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

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

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

If you were president, how would you make America "great again?"

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?”

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

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.

What's your love story?

“Tart!”

“Nary a cute boy in sight.”

“It’s not looking at you.”

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“Exactly.”

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?”

“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.”

Do that and you can ground your characters quite quickly.

“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.”

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

“No way.”

“Damn straight. So get to it! This time next week, I want to hear some moans coming through that wall.”

“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?”

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.

“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—”

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

“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…”

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

“I’ll put the kettle on.”