Character in Motion: Eight Ways We Roam

Some days, I roam with purpose. Other days, I drift, following my intuition, wondering what new thing I'm going to discover. Either way, I’m out there. Wandering, meandering, traipsing, perchance mooching, and calling it adventure.

Right now, one of us (Donna) is roaming Athens on her way to Santorini, and I’m envious because she's never been there and every sight, sound, and smell will be brand new. I can't wait to hear what her next screenplay is about. I'm working on a limited-location teen horror script inspired by a plaque I saw on a wall here in San Miguel. But I digress.

Language gives us an arsenal of ways to move through space. And within my current limited-location setting I’m paying particular attention to how I describe movement as it says as much about mindset as it does direction. We don’t always walk through the world. Sometimes we roam. And there’s a world of nuance in that.

Roaming, with and without a map

There’s something inherently romantic about the word roam - why do you think we integrated it into our workshop style? It feels open-ended. Free. Slightly feral. When I roam, I'm like a mobile phone - outside the range of my normal network.

Some days I wander. Like I did this past weekend in a soft drizzle, snuggled in my down hoodie. I wasn’t looking for a pastry shop, but I found one anyway, which led to afternoon tea and a cozy hour with a friend. Wandering happens when curiosity has the wheel and the destination doesn't matter.

Other times I meander. Especially through galleries and museums. Sometimes airports. Anywhere there's art, shopping, and people. Meandering equals detours. You admire art, shoes, pottery, then zigzag across the way because something shiny caught your eye. It’s not aimless. It’s just unconcerned with arrival... until they call your flight.

And then there’s rambling. Rambling is a mood. Misty Scottish moor vibes. I ramble when I’m trying to untangle something, and this week that’s horror. What’s truly scary? What’s just mean? What gets under your skin in the best possible way? Rambling doesn’t promise resolution, but it always brings movement. Emotional, structural, often both.

Roaming when tired, off-track, or between scenes

There are days I traipse. Usually after long-haul flights when my carry-on hits every uneven sidewalk, and my bag feels unnecessarily full of things I refuse to give up. Traipsing has weight. It’s less about where you’re going and more about what you're dragging with you.

Loitering is harder to explain. It’s when you just hang around. A cigarette is always a good prop. It makes you look purposeful. Otherwise it can get a bad reputation, as if you're casing the joint or stalking. For writers, it’s about observation. It’s hanging back. Watching. I lingered outside a hotel recently, spoiled for which direction to choose. The doorman asked if I needed a taxi. Now, if I'd had a cigarette, he might have offered his lighter.

And then there’s mooching. That one friend who arrives just as the wine is poured and the cheese board is Insta worthy. I’ve mooched my way through Napa Valley wine tastings and Italian kitchens, yes, but also through character dynamics, ideas, and conversation. Mooching isn’t necessarily selfish. Sometimes it’s what happens when you trust that something good is waiting, even if you didn’t bring much to the table.

So what’s the point?

Roaming isn't only how we move from A to B. It’s how we write. It’s how we shape story and explore character. Some characters move like they know where they’re going. Others meander. Some show up with a mooch’s heart, looking for something they can’t name. Some loiter in scenes they should’ve left long ago. Some traipse through pain. Some ramble through memory. How they move tells us who they are before they speak a single word. Think Christopher Walken, Daniel Day-Lewis, Francis McDormand, Javier Bardem, Heath Ledger, Al Pacino, Juliette Binoche....

So the next time you’re breaking a scene, don’t just block it. Walk it. Ask yourself what kind of roam this is. Intentional or wandering? Light or heavy? Is your character leading the story, or is the story pulling them?

And the next time someone asks where you’re going, don’t answer with a place.

Just say: I’m out to roam. And let the verb do the heavy lifting.

Bonus points for naming this iconic film. What kind of walk is this? Rambling without direction, mooching with charm, or loitering in plain sight? Share your favorite film and the way it roams.