The Faces We Imagine: How Books Paint Characters in Our Minds

Have you ever been completely absorbed in a book, building a character so perfectly in your mind that you can almost see them standing in front of you… and then you stumble across a real photo or illustration of them and think:

“Wait. That’s not them. Not even close.” 🤯

It’s such an oddly personal moment — as though someone has quietly replaced the person you thought you knew. Your imaginary companion suddenly has a new face, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

That exact thing happened to me with The Frontier Quill.

When I first met George Hawthorne, I had a vivid picture of him from the very first chapter: a rugged young blacksmith working in the heart of 1850s Cornwall — broad-shouldered, soot-dusted, steady-handed, and determined to forge his own future one hammer strike at a time. He felt familiar, almost like someone I’d known for years but could never quite place.

Then I saw the real historical figure who inspired him…

And he looked nothing like the George I’d imagined.

Not a little different.
Not slightly off.
Completely different.

It stopped me for a moment and sparked a question I’ve been thinking about ever since:

Where do the characters in our minds actually come from?

Is it the author’s words?
Our own memories?
Someone we once knew?
A favourite actor?
Or do they simply appear — shaped by emotion, tone, atmosphere, and instinct more than description?

Sometimes a character arrives fully formed in your imagination. Other times, they grow slowly as the story evolves — a shifting composite of ideas and impressions.

But when we finally see the “true” version — whether it’s the inspiration behind the story, an illustration, or even a TV adaptation — something interesting happens:

We suddenly realise how much of that character’s identity we had built ourselves.

And that’s the magic of reading.

Reading is a collaboration between author and reader

An author gives you the blueprint:
a few carefully placed details, a way of speaking, a certain posture or expression.

But the rest?
That’s entirely yours.

Your imagination fills in their features.
Your memories shape their personalities.
Your emotions decide whether they feel warm, cold, trustworthy, mischievous, or magnetic.

So when you see someone else’s version — whether that’s the writer’s inspiration or an illustrator’s interpretation — it almost feels like an intrusion. As though someone has altered your own private creation.

Does it change your attachment to the character?
Does it shift how you see them?
Or does your original mental portrait remain unchanged?

There’s no right answer. Every reader reacts differently — and that’s what makes stories so personal.

The Frontier Quill brings this to life beautifully

Within the pages of The Frontier Quill, George and Elizabeth step into a world shaped by hardship, hope, resilience, and love. But the way you picture them is uniquely yours.

Your George might be different from mine.
Your Elizabeth might carry a softer expression or a fiercer gaze.
Your Cornwall might be lighter, darker, stormier, or more hopeful.

That’s the beauty of the story — you’re not just reading it.
You’re building it.

And once you see the real historical inspirations behind the characters, you might find your mental images shifting… or you might cling to your original version even more fiercely.

Either way, the experience becomes richer.

So here’s my question to you…

When you read a book, do you imagine characters based on:

someone you know?
someone famous?
or does your mind conjure them from scratch?

And when you’re finally shown the “real” version, does it change anything?

Because for me, discovering the real face behind George Hawthorne didn’t diminish the character in my head — it simply reminded me how wonderfully imaginative the reading experience is.

So tell me… who do you see when you read — someone familiar, someone famous, or someone only your imagination could create? I'd love to hear your thoughts on how faces and people are created in our imagination.

When Fiction Becomes Flesh: Seeing Characters Come to Life

There’s a curious magic that happens when you open a book.

The moment you read those first few lines, the author hands you a handful of words and invites you to build a whole world inside your mind. Settings take shape, voices emerge, and, most intriguingly, characters come alive.

For me, that’s one of the greatest pleasures of reading — creating the people who live between the pages.

When I first met George Hawthorne in The Frontier Quill, he appeared vividly in my imagination: broad-shouldered from years at the forge, hands roughened by honest work, his expression a mixture of stubbornness and hope. I could hear the weight of his Cornish accent, see the determination in his eyes as he dreamed of more than the life laid out for him.

I’d built George piece by piece, drawing not only from the descriptions in the book but from somewhere deep inside my own memories. Maybe he looked a little like a man I’d seen in an old family photo, or a fleeting face from a movie I once watched. I couldn’t say for sure — only that he felt real.

Then, one day, I saw a photo of the man who inspired George.

And he looked… nothing like the man in my head.

My George had been rugged but quietly handsome, with dark hair and an unshakable presence. The real George? Well, he carried the same strength, but his features were different, his eyes telling a story I hadn’t imagined. It was a strange jolt, like meeting someone you’ve only ever spoken to on the phone and realising they don’t look at all how you pictured.

It made me wonder: where do these imagined versions come from?

Sometimes, I think they’re stitched together from the people we’ve known — a father’s smile, a friend’s laugh, a teacher’s stern brow. Other times, they borrow traits from celebrities, or even from strangers we’ve passed on the street. And occasionally, a character seems to emerge entirely from nowhere, like a face we’ve never seen but instantly recognise.

But here’s the real question: does seeing the “real” version change how we feel about them?

For me, it didn’t ruin George. If anything, it deepened my connection to the story. Now, when I read about him standing at his forge, hammer striking hot iron, I see both versions — the imagined George and the man who inspired him — blending together into something richer.

The same thing happened with Beth, whose courage and quiet strength carried her across oceans and hardships. In my mind, she was delicate yet resilient, a woman who could be blown over by a strong wind but would rise again, unbroken. The image I’d built didn’t perfectly match the real one, but it didn’t need to. Because at its heart, the beauty of storytelling lies in that dance between imagination and reality.

Books invite us to co-create with the author.

The words on the page are just the beginning. We, as readers, bring our own experiences, memories, and visions to fill in the blanks. And maybe that’s why no two readers ever see a character exactly the same way.

So the next time you see a photograph of a character you’ve carried in your head, don’t be disappointed if they don’t match. Think of it instead as meeting an old friend in a new light. Because whether they look like you imagined or not, the truth is this:
the version you built in your mind is yours — and it’s just as real as the one in the photograph.

Philip Monckton

September 2025

I have been asked "So why now ?"

Writing has always been a quiet passion of mine—one that lived in the background, patiently waiting while life took centre stage.

Between the demands of work, raising children, and the daily responsibilities that come with building a life, there was little space left for creative pursuit.

But now, in this new season of life, I’ve found the time to truly dedicate myself to the craft—to research, to plan, and to shape stories with care and intention.

Technology, especially the internet and the emergence of AI, has transformed the writing landscape. It has become easier than ever to draft, refine, and prepare work for publication.

Yet, at its heart, storytelling still begins with the spark of an idea. The structure, emotion, and rhythm of a good story can’t be automated—they must come from within.

When we write, we invite others into a world of our making, offering them a few precious hours of escape, wonder, and connection. And in doing so, we pass the torch to a new generation of storytellers—equipped with powerful tools, but grounded in the timeless art of imagination.

Philip Monckton

August 2025

Coming soon from the Frontier Quill

Get in touch at philmonckton@thefrontierquill.co.uk

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