Character Portrait

This task was to create a 250-300-word self-portrait of one of your characters, or to describe them through the eyes of another character (a narrator). I chose the latter method.

I chose to elaborate on the character of Will Masterson, who was developed here. He's described by an older rancher who lives nearby.

Will Masterson is a good man. His life hasn’t been easy, losing his mother when he was not much more than a toddler and his paternal grandmother a decade later, but his granny brought him up properly and instilled in him a respect for family and a love of the land. His father, Hank, and his older brother, Charlie, didn’t have either, and did their best to gamble away everything. Will’s father and brother mortgaged the Rocking M to get a stake for a big poker game, then lost their shirts and would have lost the ranch, if Will and me hadn’t barged in and told the other participants that Hank and Charlie did not own the ranch they’d staked on the final hand. Hank and Charlie didn’t learn their lesson: they continued gambling with money they didn’t have and eventually were killed in a dark alley. Will has worked hard to pay off that damned mortgage since before he was old enough to shave.

Will’s wife, Shelby, was a bitch, plain and simple. She could look a person in the face and lie to them; she repeatedly broke her marriage vows, and when she left, she stole a bundle of money from Will. He’s never said how much, but it must’ve been nearly all the ranch’s reserves. The past few years, he’s worked harder than ever, his determination to keep the ranch his great-great-great-grandfather and great-great-great-uncle homesteaded driving him like a locomotive.

My wife says Will needs a helpmeet, but she tends to think people belong in pairs. In Will’s case, she might be right. An understanding, supportive wife could make a world of difference in his life—and if she had a little money to help with the mortgage payment each month, so much the better. 

Developing Plot

Today's assignment to develop your plot by asking yourself questions about why the character was in a particular place, why s/he looked the way s/he did, where s/he was going, etc. This assignment had no length restrictions, so no excessive cutting was required (as it was in the last assignment).

I chose to continue the story with the rancher, linking him with the little girl I created last week. I chose to develop the plot through the eyes of another person, who will be one of the main characters in the story.


Jenna Dunlevy had admired the view when Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous climbed out of the fire engine red subcompact and settled his hat just so. But now that he was inside and wearing that horror-stricken expression, he didn’t look quite as handsome. Still sexy enough to stop traffic with those long legs clad in form-fitting blue jeans—and it was a form well worth a second look, or a sixth—but definitely shell-shocked, his wild-eyed gaze pinging from Frank Quiggley to her to little Maggie.

Maggie, who was holding Jenna’s hand like her life depended on it, skootched so close she might as well’ve been plastered to Jenna’s side, and asked again, “Wh-who are you?”

Cowboy Bob swiped off his hat, hunkered down in front of Maggie, and attempted a smile. “I’m Will Masterson. Who are you?”

Maggie’s gaze ponged from him to her to Frank Quiggley and back. “Margaret Elizabeth,” she whispered, then buried her face against Jenna’s side.

Will Masterson extended a hand, which Maggie didn’t see because she was busy trying to tunnel through Jenna’s ribs, then sorta sighed and pulled it back. “Pleased to meet you, Margaret Elizabeth.”

Jenna was impressed, but Maggie wasn’t buying. The poor kid wasn’t even window shopping, which was more—a lot more—than Jenna could say. She was definitely looking, and the display was…very fine indeed. Eye-catching. And sexy as hell, among other things, none of which she should be thinking about with a seven-year-old try to burrow under her skin. But since looking and admiring were all she could do—she’d sworn off men several years ago—Jenna intended to enjoy the view. Strangers, handsome or otherwise, were rare in Noblesville. Who is this guy?

Then he leveled those gorgeous but still slightly shell-shocked violet-blue eyes at her, and a little voice inside her shouted, Sexy as hell doesn’t begin to cover it, girlfriend! Not unless hell is the size of North and South America, with China—or maybe Africa—thrown in to balance things out.

“Ma'am.” Still hunkered down in front of her and Maggie, he nodded, but apparently didn't expect an introduction—which was a good thing because Jenna wasn’t sure she could speak without panting or squeaking or sumthin’ equally embarrassing. “Did you and Margaret Elizabeth also receive bequests from Shelby?”

Frank, who had been avidly watching the proceedings while pretending to sort through some papers, leaned back against his desk. “Maggie is your legacy, Mr. Masterson. Your daughter.”

Cowboy Bob—or rather Cowboy Will—fell on his very fine ass. Maggie burst into tears. And Jenna had to grip the lumpy leather sofa with the hand that wasn’t cuddling Maggie to keep from leaping like a hurdler over the downed cowboy and strangling Frank Quiggley.

Generate Something New

Task: Generate something new. Limit of 350 words.

I created a character to pair with the little girl I wrote last week. I have an idea for a novel in which they will be two of the three main characters. I had to edit down what I originally wrote because it exceeded the word limit by about 50 words, but I think the man's character is still apparent.


Will Masterson was an expert in the art of making commitments.

He made commitments to himself. To his family. To the people he worked with.

He’d commit his time, his money, and his energy to worthy projects.

But he did not make commitments to women. No sir, no way, no how.

He’d been there, done that, and had the scars to prove it, and he would never return.

Which begged the question of why he’d traveled halfway across the country to receive, in person as demanded, whatever the heck his ex-wife had bequeathed him.

Since she couldn’t lie to him, or cheat on him, or steal from him again, he figured she couldn’t hurt him again, so he’d agreed to come. But unless she left him a letter of abject apology and a check, he intended to throw the bequest back in Franklin J. Quiggley the Third’s face. The attorney could do whatever he damn well pleased with whatever the hell it was.

Spotting Quiggley's office, Will pulled over and parked. As he uncoiled his lanky frame from the rental car and clapped on his Stetson, he reminded himself that Shelby and all her problems were behind him now. Seven years, eleven months, and thirteen days behind him.

And yeah, he’d been counting.

A wise man learned from his mistakes and held fast to his principles. Will had been slow to wise up, but he’d nailed the learn-from-your-mistakes part on the first attempt. But since it was better to be safe than sorry, he mentally girded his loins as he yanked open the door of Quiggley’s office.

Dead silence greeted his entrance. Then he heard a little girl say, “Wh-who are you?”

Even as he wondered what a kid was doing in a lawyer’s office on a Thursday afternoon, Will’s gaze snagged on a pair of tear-drenched blue eyes—the same navy-rimmed violet-blue eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.

Will’s rule about commitment reared up and bit him in the ass. And he swore he could hear Shelby laughing.

Ideas for a Story

Task: Turn on the radio and take note of the first thing that is mentioned. Use it as the basis for either the start of a story or an entire story---whichever, it should be no more than 500 words.

(The first thing I heard, on the radio in a hotel room with the station chosen by a previous guest, was three curse words in the middle of a rap song.)

Maggie glanced up when the man said three bad words. He didn’t say ’em real loud and he hadn’t perxactly said three of them, just one. But he’d said it three times. Funny thing was, though, Miss Jenna and Mr. Quiggley—who was stupid, even if he was an adult—didn’t yell at him for sayin’ a bad word, like the teachers at school always did when kids said words like that on the playground, or threaten to wash his mouth out with soap if he said it again, like Jimmy Albertson’s mother was forever doin’. But you could bet that if she’d said that word, Miss Jenna and Mr. Quiggley would’ve had plenty to say to her.

That just didn’t seem fair, but Maggie was learning that sometimes life wasn’t fair.

Maybe Miss Jenna and Mr. Quiggley didn’t fuss at the man—Will Somethin’-or-Other—because he was so big. He was as big as the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, but he didn’t look mean. He didn’t look very happy, either, and since Maggie was pretty unhappy herself, she wondered if maybe they could feel bad together. She had to do sumthin’ while they waited for her dad—which was whole ’nuther dose of unfair, ’cuz her mom’d said he was mean and hated her, and dads weren’t s’posed to hate their kids. But since there was nuthin’ else to do, and since Miss Jenna had been telling her all week that things didn’t seem as bad if you talked about ’em, Maggie pushed off the couch and walked over and stood in front of the man. But not too close. He was a stranger, and kids had to be careful around strangers.

She couldn’t ask him why he was unhappy—that would be pryin’ and pryin’ was rude—so instead she said, “Are you a cowboy?” She thought he might be; he kinda looked like the ones on TV.

Will Whatever-His-Name-Was stopped shoving his fingers through his hair, which was really mussed up now, with little curls sproinging up all over the place, long enough to look at her and smile. “Not exactly. I’m a rancher and a horse breeder, but I do have a lot of cows.”

He had a nice smile. Smiling put little crinkles at the corner of his eyes—which were purplish-blue, just like hers—but it was kinda hard to see the crinkles unless you were looking close ’cuz his skin was real suntanned, like he’d just gotten back from vacation in Florida or sumplace like that.

Maggie wondered if there were ranches in Florida, but before she could ask, his smile disappeared like it’d never been there. He looked over at Mr. Quiggley and asked, “What next?”