The second challenge this month is aimed
at getting to know your characters a little better.
at getting to know your characters a little better.
Writing Prompt
Write a short scene featuring your character in a “typical moment.” Try to choose an activity that will allow your character to illustrate the core of his personality, as well as something that is a typical occurrence in his life. This doesn’t mean you have to choose a mundane daily routine; if your character routinely gets into scrapes, his scrape could be something wildly out of the ordinary.
Excerpt From: Weiland, K.M. “Crafting Unforgettable Characters.”
Ready?
Get set...
WRITE!
Completed Challenges:
Rory put another record on and cranked the volume. Sinking back in the pillows on the window seat she closed her eyes. The sunlight shone red through her lids and warmed her face. It glinted off her honey hair that hung wild and loose over the cushions. She felt the rhythm pulsing and immersed herself into the melody. Turning off her thoughts and focusing on the lyrics, all she wanted was to drown out her life.
She hated silence. That’s when the emptiness surfaced. It was harder to feel when the music was blasting. Grams was gone. Rory had the apartment to herself, for a few hours. She was alone. The only way she could fill the void was with sound.
The stress unwound with each rotation of the vinyl. Each song pulled her in deeper. Paradise.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Paradise shattered. Her eye snapped open at the first impact. She knew he'd come. He beat on the front door. The neighbor obviously didn’t feel the same way about music as she did.
“Turn that music down!” He shouted.
Rory sat up, reached for the volume and maxed it out. She grinned as the neighbor cursed in the hallway. It was loud, too loud even for her, but that didn’t matter. With the noise as a cover, she darted to the door and closed one eye to see through the peephole. Oh, he was mad. His stubbled jaw was sharply defined and the tendons in his neck protruded. His brown skin was reddening. As he lifted his arm to the door, she jumped aside. She certainly had his attention now.
“You turn that music off or I’ll come in and do it for you!!”
He meant it. With those bulging biceps he could do it too. Tingling with excitement and fear Rory looked through the peephole again. Tousled black hair fell over his forehead. The thin undershirt he had on stretched across the muscles of his chest. He swung his fist against the door, Rory jumped back, but then leaned in for another look. His right arm was a swirl of ink. Gears and bolts running from wrist to shoulder. His thick brows scrunched over his eyes. Rory shrank back, maybe she shouldn’t antagonize the hot neighbor guy.
“This is the last warning kid!”
She didn’t move. The record was on the last song and in a moment, would turn off on it’s own. He took a few steps back in the hallway. Was he going to kick the door in? Rory’s eyes widened as she heard the last line of the song play over, and over, and over, and- It was skipping! She flew to her bedroom, slipping on the record sleeve and crashed to the floor. The needle got over the scratch and the song faded out, too late.
The front door exploded as the neighbor burst in. Rory curled up on the floor and pulled a pillow over her head.
“I’m gonna die.”
- Rosewood, "In the Present Age"
Calla Rathbourne and her three younger siblings chased each other around their seven-acre estate, engrossed in a game of tag. She scooped up the giggling children and tickled them until they squealed.
"You'll never escape now!" she teased.
Eight-year-old Deysi wriggled out from under her older sister's arms and laughed with delight. "Haha! I did it!"
The stress unwound with each rotation of the vinyl. Each song pulled her in deeper. Paradise.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Paradise shattered. Her eye snapped open at the first impact. She knew he'd come. He beat on the front door. The neighbor obviously didn’t feel the same way about music as she did.
“Turn that music down!” He shouted.
Rory sat up, reached for the volume and maxed it out. She grinned as the neighbor cursed in the hallway. It was loud, too loud even for her, but that didn’t matter. With the noise as a cover, she darted to the door and closed one eye to see through the peephole. Oh, he was mad. His stubbled jaw was sharply defined and the tendons in his neck protruded. His brown skin was reddening. As he lifted his arm to the door, she jumped aside. She certainly had his attention now.
“You turn that music off or I’ll come in and do it for you!!”
He meant it. With those bulging biceps he could do it too. Tingling with excitement and fear Rory looked through the peephole again. Tousled black hair fell over his forehead. The thin undershirt he had on stretched across the muscles of his chest. He swung his fist against the door, Rory jumped back, but then leaned in for another look. His right arm was a swirl of ink. Gears and bolts running from wrist to shoulder. His thick brows scrunched over his eyes. Rory shrank back, maybe she shouldn’t antagonize the hot neighbor guy.
“This is the last warning kid!”
She didn’t move. The record was on the last song and in a moment, would turn off on it’s own. He took a few steps back in the hallway. Was he going to kick the door in? Rory’s eyes widened as she heard the last line of the song play over, and over, and over, and- It was skipping! She flew to her bedroom, slipping on the record sleeve and crashed to the floor. The needle got over the scratch and the song faded out, too late.
The front door exploded as the neighbor burst in. Rory curled up on the floor and pulled a pillow over her head.
“I’m gonna die.”
- Rosewood, "In the Present Age"
Calla Rathbourne and her three younger siblings chased each other around their seven-acre estate, engrossed in a game of tag. She scooped up the giggling children and tickled them until they squealed.
"You'll never escape now!" she teased.
Eight-year-old Deysi wriggled out from under her older sister's arms and laughed with delight. "Haha! I did it!"
"Help us!" the remaining two begged.
Deysi circled around to Calla's back and wrapped her arms around her sister. Calla fell back and released the two struggling boys, who proceeded to tickle her relentlessly.
"Okay, okay, I give," she protested.
"Not until you say the magic words," Angus insisted.
"Never!" Calla cried.
Thane picked up a beetle off the ground and waved it over her face.
"Oh alright. I'll bake you cookies."
"Yay!" the children chorused.
"You know," Calla said to her brothers as she rose from the grass, "You two are the most ferocious six-year-olds I've ever met."
Angus and Thane bowed mockingly. "Thank-you, kind lady," they said in unison.
Deysi and Calla giggled at the boys' gesture.
"Now," said Thane, waving an imaginary sword, "Where are my cookies?"
"I'll get to it, just as soon as I wash my hands. Look what you did to them!" she displayed her dirt-caked palms to the boys.
"I'd say we done a good job, what about you, Thane?" Angus asked.
Thane shook his head. "I'd say we did a good job."
Angus rolled his eyes and shoved his brother in the shoulder.
"Hey!" Thane protested as he plowed into his twin, sending them both sprawling across the lawn.
-Evilas Cuson
Fritjof needn't remind himself to limp, the rock in his shoe was ample enough.
The doors to the Opera reached high into the dark night. The man ahead of him gave his invitation and envelope to the guard, then entered the Opera house. Fritjof walked slowly up the stairs, using a cane to support himself.
The doorman looked closely at the letter while the guard spoke. "Mister Anthony Merry, the host said you wouldn't be coming; he said a sudden illness had struck you. I see you have recovered."
Fritjof hesitated before responding. "Yes, all I needed was a walk through the cool night air." He said in the best impersonation of English speech he could. If the guard believed him, then all that was needed was for the forged invitation to withstand scrutiny.
The doorman lifted his eyes from the letter. "Well, we're glad to have you. I'm afraid you missed the first act of the play, but fortunately your box isn't occupied yet. I'll send a servant to notify the host of your unexpected arrival-"
"No, no, there's no need for that. I'll find him myself," Fritjof interjected. His face and palms were beginning to sweat, which was shifting the delicate clay disguise on his face.
The doorman held back the door. Fritjof clapped up the stone steps uneasily, since his shoes had three inch thick soles in order to compensate for the height difference between himself and Anthony Merry, the British envoy stationed in Copenhagen.
-Signing off, Johny A. Crow
Excerpt from Peace Unattainable
Bas stood up and looked up at the desert sky. Stars sparkled across the dark expanse.He loved the beauty of the wilderness above the dome. The sand, a dull blue in the night, shifted as the young caretaker turned to oversee the dozen children in his charge.
“Form up!” He called to the youngsters. “It’s time for bed!”
The children gathered into two neat rows and removed their backpacks. Rolling out each of their sleeping bags in rows, they all slipped into the bags. They watched as he approached, his path lit by the light pylons they had set up earlier in the evening.
“Looks like you guys are ready for bed.” Bas walked to the end of the rows, and smiled. He loved kids, their natural creativity and wonder was refreshing from the rest of his dull life as an adult. Most of his teenage and young adult life, up to this point, had been filled boring academic discussions and practical training. It wasn’t until he began training as an visual arts teacher that he truly began exploring the extent to which he could take his life.
“Hey, Mr. Bas?” A youngster sat up and faced him. “Can you and Mr. Ril tell us a story?”
“Yeah!” A large figure seemed to pop out of the night shadows and crouched next to Bas.
“So, can we tell them a story, Mr. Bas?” The children giggled at their instructors.
Bas laughed. “Well, since you asked nicely, I think Mr.Ril and I can tell you a story.”
He began drawing figure and designs in the sand in front of him. This was one of his favorite parts of teaching, expressing his own creativity to a bright, imaginative audience. It was good for them to hear a story now, before he and Ril would have to leave them for the night. Tomorrow afternoon they would have to choose between the harsh desert and their comfortable, enclosed lives in the eco-dome, Under Eden.
- Dom I. Nayshun
“Good night!” Milo called over his shoulder, stepping out of the physician’s storefront onto the dark street.
“You mean good morning,” Linus called after him, “Don’t let anyone catch you on your walk home.”
Milo grinned as he glanced down at his bloodstained tunic. He would certainly need to get cleaned up before taking his master’s son to school.
As he rounded the corner he met one of the shopkeepers getting an early start in preparation for the day’s business. The burly man’s face shifted from a smile to a narrow eyed frown as Milo stepped into the light of his lantern.
“Something happen to you? Are you alright?” he said.
“No worries, it’s not my blood.”
That didn’t seem to ease the man’s mind any.
“How’s the other fellow then?”
“He’ll live. It was a nasty knife wound to the abdomen, but he’s a strong one. It would take more then that to kill him.”
“You weren’t trying to…” The man trailed off, and Milo almost laughed.
“Oh, not I. I was on the other side of things.”
“Hold it, you’re the doctor’s apprentice, aren’t you? I heard he had one, but never saw you about.”
Milo nodded, and the smile returned to the shopkeeper’s face. As Milo turned to continue on his way, the man broke into a fit of coughing, a deep, rasping cough that shuddered through his entire body. It sounded painful and set Milo’s teeth on edge.
“How long have you had that?” Milo asked, once the man straightened up.
“Cursed thing hasn’t left me alone for a month or so.”
“Have you gone to a physician? I’m sure there’s something that could be done for it.” Mentally, Milo began going through a list of herbs that would help soothe a cough.
“Those sorts can be trusted for patching up wounds and such, but not much else. I’ll be fine.”
Milo kept his mouth shut. It was the man’s decision, and though there was much he could benefit, Milo wouldn’t force him. It wasn’t his place. Sadly, the shopkeeper’s opinion was true of many doctors, but not Linus Gallius, and not the physician Milo hoped to be.
He bid the man farewell and hurried on his way. Even though he eagerly anticipated each night learning under the doctor, he sacrificed valuable sleep for it. His limp was more pronounced when he was tired, and his uneven step echoed back mockingly through the narrow stone street. The entire day lay ahead of him, and if he gave in to thinking about how weary he was, he’d be useless- a very dangerous state for a slave.
-Beatrice Ravencroft, "Mithras & Myrrh"
The mayor grasped my hand with his sweaty sausage fingers, his large handlebar mustache twitching and dancing with every word he spoke. It was very clear by the tone of his voice that he would much rather be someplace else.
We posed for a picture for the paper, and I’m pretty sure it was the only time that the mayor even smiled the whole time.
“It is with great honor and respect,” said the great white dancing mustache,” that I congratulate you here today.” The mayor rattled it off so nonchalantly that you would wonder if he was simply talking in his sleep. “And as a token of our thanks, I present you here today with a gift of gratitude, a key to the city”
The little key hung from a thin red cord, and was obviously just a random key from the side of the road that someone had picked up and colored gold with a can of cheap spray paint. The mayor threw the key around my neck, with obvious disregard for my handsome face, which he hit right in the center. There was no need for the mayor to assume any form of a civil or proper attitude, as there was really no one there except for Clarise. Heck, I wouldn't have even shown up if it weren't for her. She convinced me that needed to accept whatever “honor” it was that I was receiving, wether or not I deemed it “important”. The thing was, the city gave a key to every Bill and sally that came along, and all I did was track down a 20-something year-old who held up a convenience store.
Anyway, the ceremony was over now, and Clarise and I were walking down Main Street with some Coke and red licorice, which we were using as straws. I was trying to forget the last twenty minutes of my life, but Clarise wouldn't let it go!
“Come on Charles, if you ever want to be the great detective that you say you will, you need to be willing to accept gratitude for even the simple things.”
“But this wasn't just simple, it was easy! A two year-old could have solved it!”
“But a two year-old didn't solve it, you did. Oh wait, maybe it was a two year old!”
“Ha ha, very funny Clarise, but I mean it, I wanna do something big, get recognized for something that actually means something! I’m tired of being a nobody!”
“You're not a nobody, Charles, you're a great guy, a good detective, and you're my best friend, that’s got to count for something, right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
-Gaal Warbeck
Deysi circled around to Calla's back and wrapped her arms around her sister. Calla fell back and released the two struggling boys, who proceeded to tickle her relentlessly.
"Okay, okay, I give," she protested.
"Not until you say the magic words," Angus insisted.
"Never!" Calla cried.
Thane picked up a beetle off the ground and waved it over her face.
"Oh alright. I'll bake you cookies."
"Yay!" the children chorused.
"You know," Calla said to her brothers as she rose from the grass, "You two are the most ferocious six-year-olds I've ever met."
Angus and Thane bowed mockingly. "Thank-you, kind lady," they said in unison.
Deysi and Calla giggled at the boys' gesture.
"Now," said Thane, waving an imaginary sword, "Where are my cookies?"
"I'll get to it, just as soon as I wash my hands. Look what you did to them!" she displayed her dirt-caked palms to the boys.
"I'd say we done a good job, what about you, Thane?" Angus asked.
Thane shook his head. "I'd say we did a good job."
Angus rolled his eyes and shoved his brother in the shoulder.
"Hey!" Thane protested as he plowed into his twin, sending them both sprawling across the lawn.
-Evilas Cuson
Fritjof needn't remind himself to limp, the rock in his shoe was ample enough.
The doors to the Opera reached high into the dark night. The man ahead of him gave his invitation and envelope to the guard, then entered the Opera house. Fritjof walked slowly up the stairs, using a cane to support himself.
The doorman looked closely at the letter while the guard spoke. "Mister Anthony Merry, the host said you wouldn't be coming; he said a sudden illness had struck you. I see you have recovered."
Fritjof hesitated before responding. "Yes, all I needed was a walk through the cool night air." He said in the best impersonation of English speech he could. If the guard believed him, then all that was needed was for the forged invitation to withstand scrutiny.
The doorman lifted his eyes from the letter. "Well, we're glad to have you. I'm afraid you missed the first act of the play, but fortunately your box isn't occupied yet. I'll send a servant to notify the host of your unexpected arrival-"
"No, no, there's no need for that. I'll find him myself," Fritjof interjected. His face and palms were beginning to sweat, which was shifting the delicate clay disguise on his face.
The doorman held back the door. Fritjof clapped up the stone steps uneasily, since his shoes had three inch thick soles in order to compensate for the height difference between himself and Anthony Merry, the British envoy stationed in Copenhagen.
-Signing off, Johny A. Crow
Excerpt from Peace Unattainable
Bas stood up and looked up at the desert sky. Stars sparkled across the dark expanse.He loved the beauty of the wilderness above the dome. The sand, a dull blue in the night, shifted as the young caretaker turned to oversee the dozen children in his charge.
“Form up!” He called to the youngsters. “It’s time for bed!”
The children gathered into two neat rows and removed their backpacks. Rolling out each of their sleeping bags in rows, they all slipped into the bags. They watched as he approached, his path lit by the light pylons they had set up earlier in the evening.
“Looks like you guys are ready for bed.” Bas walked to the end of the rows, and smiled. He loved kids, their natural creativity and wonder was refreshing from the rest of his dull life as an adult. Most of his teenage and young adult life, up to this point, had been filled boring academic discussions and practical training. It wasn’t until he began training as an visual arts teacher that he truly began exploring the extent to which he could take his life.
“Hey, Mr. Bas?” A youngster sat up and faced him. “Can you and Mr. Ril tell us a story?”
“Yeah!” A large figure seemed to pop out of the night shadows and crouched next to Bas.
“So, can we tell them a story, Mr. Bas?” The children giggled at their instructors.
Bas laughed. “Well, since you asked nicely, I think Mr.Ril and I can tell you a story.”
He began drawing figure and designs in the sand in front of him. This was one of his favorite parts of teaching, expressing his own creativity to a bright, imaginative audience. It was good for them to hear a story now, before he and Ril would have to leave them for the night. Tomorrow afternoon they would have to choose between the harsh desert and their comfortable, enclosed lives in the eco-dome, Under Eden.
- Dom I. Nayshun
“Good night!” Milo called over his shoulder, stepping out of the physician’s storefront onto the dark street.
“You mean good morning,” Linus called after him, “Don’t let anyone catch you on your walk home.”
Milo grinned as he glanced down at his bloodstained tunic. He would certainly need to get cleaned up before taking his master’s son to school.
As he rounded the corner he met one of the shopkeepers getting an early start in preparation for the day’s business. The burly man’s face shifted from a smile to a narrow eyed frown as Milo stepped into the light of his lantern.
“Something happen to you? Are you alright?” he said.
“No worries, it’s not my blood.”
That didn’t seem to ease the man’s mind any.
“How’s the other fellow then?”
“He’ll live. It was a nasty knife wound to the abdomen, but he’s a strong one. It would take more then that to kill him.”
“You weren’t trying to…” The man trailed off, and Milo almost laughed.
“Oh, not I. I was on the other side of things.”
“Hold it, you’re the doctor’s apprentice, aren’t you? I heard he had one, but never saw you about.”
Milo nodded, and the smile returned to the shopkeeper’s face. As Milo turned to continue on his way, the man broke into a fit of coughing, a deep, rasping cough that shuddered through his entire body. It sounded painful and set Milo’s teeth on edge.
“How long have you had that?” Milo asked, once the man straightened up.
“Cursed thing hasn’t left me alone for a month or so.”
“Have you gone to a physician? I’m sure there’s something that could be done for it.” Mentally, Milo began going through a list of herbs that would help soothe a cough.
“Those sorts can be trusted for patching up wounds and such, but not much else. I’ll be fine.”
Milo kept his mouth shut. It was the man’s decision, and though there was much he could benefit, Milo wouldn’t force him. It wasn’t his place. Sadly, the shopkeeper’s opinion was true of many doctors, but not Linus Gallius, and not the physician Milo hoped to be.
He bid the man farewell and hurried on his way. Even though he eagerly anticipated each night learning under the doctor, he sacrificed valuable sleep for it. His limp was more pronounced when he was tired, and his uneven step echoed back mockingly through the narrow stone street. The entire day lay ahead of him, and if he gave in to thinking about how weary he was, he’d be useless- a very dangerous state for a slave.
-Beatrice Ravencroft, "Mithras & Myrrh"
The mayor grasped my hand with his sweaty sausage fingers, his large handlebar mustache twitching and dancing with every word he spoke. It was very clear by the tone of his voice that he would much rather be someplace else.
We posed for a picture for the paper, and I’m pretty sure it was the only time that the mayor even smiled the whole time.
“It is with great honor and respect,” said the great white dancing mustache,” that I congratulate you here today.” The mayor rattled it off so nonchalantly that you would wonder if he was simply talking in his sleep. “And as a token of our thanks, I present you here today with a gift of gratitude, a key to the city”
The little key hung from a thin red cord, and was obviously just a random key from the side of the road that someone had picked up and colored gold with a can of cheap spray paint. The mayor threw the key around my neck, with obvious disregard for my handsome face, which he hit right in the center. There was no need for the mayor to assume any form of a civil or proper attitude, as there was really no one there except for Clarise. Heck, I wouldn't have even shown up if it weren't for her. She convinced me that needed to accept whatever “honor” it was that I was receiving, wether or not I deemed it “important”. The thing was, the city gave a key to every Bill and sally that came along, and all I did was track down a 20-something year-old who held up a convenience store.
Anyway, the ceremony was over now, and Clarise and I were walking down Main Street with some Coke and red licorice, which we were using as straws. I was trying to forget the last twenty minutes of my life, but Clarise wouldn't let it go!
“Come on Charles, if you ever want to be the great detective that you say you will, you need to be willing to accept gratitude for even the simple things.”
“But this wasn't just simple, it was easy! A two year-old could have solved it!”
“But a two year-old didn't solve it, you did. Oh wait, maybe it was a two year old!”
“Ha ha, very funny Clarise, but I mean it, I wanna do something big, get recognized for something that actually means something! I’m tired of being a nobody!”
“You're not a nobody, Charles, you're a great guy, a good detective, and you're my best friend, that’s got to count for something, right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
-Gaal Warbeck
“Not that one, not that one either; oooooh, that one looks interesting.”
“Variina, what in the world are you mumbling about over there?”
“Hhmmm? Oh, hey Anon; I am just looking over the new list of available bounties.”
“Is there anything good?”
“Only one so far, it’s from a Twi’lek on Tatooine whose daughters were kidnapped after a pirate raid.”
“Are there any other details?”
“No, it just says to meet him at a cantina in Anchorhead. I was thinking I would leave after breakfast.”
“Mind if I join you? It’s been a while since I have had a good bounty to go after.”
“Sure, I could use the company. Shazar might want to come as well. If you go tell Dad that we are going to head-out today then I’ll see if Shazar wants to come.”
- Dido
