There are two types of characters. There are probably more, but the only two that I am ever interested in writing about are those that take nothing seriously and those that take everything way too seriously.
The former are wild cards. They will put on Groucho Marx glasses and mustaches when the occasion calls for formal wear. They will kiss the woman who hates them even if she’s the crown princess of the country their father’s tribe is at war with. They will sail the seven seas for the chance at adventure. They will risk the garlic breath of the twenty foot dragon protecting the rubies that match their pet rock.
Then there are the stoics. They are the types who will brood over their lost love in a forgotten bar. They will not set foot in their hometown because they disgraced their family’s name. They will overcome the most impossible odds merely because it’s the right thing to do. They have rules and regulations and if they break them their entire universe falls apart.
The two are chaos and order. Anarchy and fascism. Joy and Sorrow. Yin and Yang. Madness and madness.
For often the man (or woman) who takes nothing seriously is in deep cover. Every exploding cigar hides something deeper. He is one orphan with a sad face from finding meaning in life. And sometimes his counterpart, that silent oak tree, just needs a friendly smile to crack a dry joke and enjoy his place in the story he finds himself in.