I can only speak for me, but the how of it is complicated. The why is not the slightest bit complicated.
Life presents me with riches in various forms, which spin into a character or plot.
For instance, gazing into an old photo of a lost, but dearly loved, relative...my mind drifts into her time of glamour and from there I build a character.
Sometimes a character is formed and I find them fascinating, but they don't make it into the final book. They just don't fit, but I stash them, hold them for another story at another time.
As I scribble notes for Primitive Palmer, I create new characters to join the usual suspects, Addison, Ludi and Palmer. Based on people I know, or total fiction? If they are solid, it doesn't matter, but they must be compelling to me.
Some of my characters I don't like, at all. Oh, I like, very much, what they bring to the story. They are developed to dislike and I hope readers will deeply dislike some of them.
Staring at a photo of a solemn and beautiful young woman, I am inspired. That photo has a certain emotion to it...she was strong. I like that in life and in fiction.
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