When I was in seventh grade, my teacher told the class that when writing a persuasive paper, it’s often easier to argue the opposite of your beliefs or opinions. That idea stuck with me, and over the years, I’ve used it many times. It remains one of the most helpful writing tips I’ve ever received. Fast forward many years, and I’ve started wondering if that same concept—writing the opposite of what I think or believe—could apply to character development. I thought: Can I write what I’m not? Could it actually be easier to write an extroverted character than someone who shares my own quiet, introverted tendencies? But then I thought—maybe it could be fun to try. What if I explored how I perceive an extrovert from my own perspective?

Full disclosure: I do have moments where I am more extroverted and have even been told I seem like one. But deep down, I know I’m not. I crave solitude, recharge in quiet, and prefer one-on-one conversations over crowds. Still, maybe that contrast gives me the insight I need to write a believable extrovert—someone whose instincts differ from mine, but aren’t entirely foreign. My dad, for example, is the epitome of an extrovert, and I grew up watching him fill rooms with energy. So, with his extroverted tendencies in mind, I decided to give it a try and write a character with a bold, outgoing personality. I also thought about the other extroverted people I’ve known over the years and began by jotting down some common traits. Extroverts tend to be outgoing, often very talkative (and perfectly comfortable with small talk), and usually enjoy being the center of attention. They’re the ones who speak up first during meetings or group discussions, thrive in social settings, and seem to prefer being surrounded by people rather than spending time alone. Many are naturally charismatic, with a presence that draws others in effortlessly, and some even move through the world without a care for who’s watching.

With all that in mind, I thought I’d start with some specific character development. Since I spend most of my time around children, I chose to write about a five- or six-year-old character. Should they be a girl or a boy? That question alone opens up possibilities—would a loud, energetic boy be seen as confident and playful, while a girl with the same traits might be described as sassy or bossy? How would I show those differences without falling into stereotypes? I also started brainstorming names that sound vibrant and full of life—maybe something like Max, Leo, or Charlie for a boy, or Ruby, Tessa, or Harper for a girl. I want the name to carry the energy of the character—to feel as outgoing as the voice I’m trying to write.

After considering all that, I went with a girl named Harper. She’s five years old, ready to start kindergarten, full of imagination, and treats every day like a chance to perform. She narrates everything she does—sometimes to an audience, or just to herself—and can turn even the walk into her new school into a show. She’s the first to volunteer and talk in group settings, and she never hesitates to ask questions, even if it means interrupting. She loves glitter, thrives on praise, and sometimes talks with such animation that her words tumble over each other. She charms adults with her chatter, confidently leads her group of friends, and even finds ways to turn mundane tasks into performances. Silence, to Harper, is just a gap waiting to be filled. Writing her was both exhilarating and slightly exhausting—but in the best way. I found myself smiling as I wrote her lines for a book about her first day of kindergarten, because her energy pulled me in, even as I stayed rooted in my quieter world.

I even learned a few things about creating an extroverted character, as an introvert, thanks to Harper. First, it helped me watch the extroverts in my life with curiosity, rather than trying to “figure them out.” I noticed how they moved through rooms, spoke with their hands, and filled silences without hesitation. Second, I permitted myself to exaggerate in early drafts, as extroverts often communicate with big gestures and bold choices. Letting go of my instinct to “tone it down” made Harper feel more authentic. Finally, I learned not to mistake extroversion for simplicity. Extroverted characters have just as much depth as introverted ones—their vulnerability is expressed differently. For other introverted writers, my advice is this: lean into what feels unfamiliar. You might be surprised by how much you understand when you stop trying to relate and start trying to listen. While I’m still not sure it’s easier for me to write an extroverted character, I do know I can write what I’m not.