Andrea gave the members of the “What If…” writing group a new assignment designed to make us think about how well we know our characters. The assignment itself is here.

I hate writing assignments. Truly. They drive me crazy, but then again, they’re a necessary evil. I know they are recommended for a reason, but I have enough trouble at times motivating myself to write the story I want to write. To then have to take my characters out of context to put them in an unusual situation is that much more of a motivational problem.

Then, there’s the other obvious problem for my little work in progress. I’m writing a novel about a reporter who encounters a psychic, a ghost and at least one vampire. How, exactly, do I decide what is an “unlikely” situation for this character?

Oh, well…just having finished reading a novel written by one of my colleagues that features a strip club as one of the settings, I decided I’d put my main character there. So here is my assignment:

Mark wished he’d been wearing a disguise. It was stupid of him to walk in this dive with only an illogical hope that no one would recognize him.
Glancing around the room, he was at least relieved that he recognized no one except for the girl.
She gyrated around a brass pole to music that sounded like it came from a porn soundtrack. She normally kept her eyes on the ceiling, but occasionally would glance at her admirers.
Mark took a quick sip of his drink and sunk lower in his seat when her eyes locked on his. The game was over; the secret was out.
When the music ended, she rushed off stage and reappeared a few moments later, only slightly more dressed, at Mark’s table.
“We have a lot to discuss,” he said.
“No we don’t.”
“The first thing we need to talk about,” he said, ignoring her protest, “is the man in the corner who’s staring at the both of us.”
“Please don’t ask me about him.” She sat across from him and leaned in to whisper her words. “You don’t know how much trouble I’m in.”
Reaching into his pocket, he activated the miniature tape recorder. “Tell me.”
“No. It’ll get worse for me.”
“It already is,” he answered. “You’re going to be the lead story tomorrow night at eleven.”
“You can’t! You don’t know what they’ll do to me.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Please. You can’t do this to me. They’ll kill me.”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Don’t you care?” Her hand touched his and he immediately felt his stomach turn over, not because of who she was or what she did for a living, but because of what he was doing to her.
“Excuse me for a second. I’m going to make a pit stop.” He rose and headed for the bathroom. What he really needed was fresh air.