Stupid Alpha Male

And here is where being a pantser is no fun.

I need to connect with, Connor, one of my characters. Unfortunately, he is too alpha by half. The problem with these strong, silent types is that they tend to be. . . well. . . silent. We've been having a little battle of wills lately that goes something like this:

Me: Gee, Connor, how do you really feel about what just happened?

Connor shrugs and pretends an interest in something out the window. Oh-KAY. He's not really a touchie, feelie kind of dude. Maybe I can approach this another way.

Me: So, Connor, tell me about your family. Where did you grow up?

Connor: Isn't this in my character worksheet?

Me: You know I never fill those things out. Anyway, how can I finish it if you won't talk to me?

Connor: I talk.

Me: Sure you do. So, do you have any brothers or sisters?

(Connor doesn't move a muscle, but I think an eyelid might have twitched)

Me: Well?

Connor: Is this relevant?

Me: I don't know, you tell me. Is it relevant.

Connor: No.

Me: Then what is relevant?

Connor: It's your story, how should I know?

Me (shuffling papers): Actually, I have a character worksheet right here. It says you work for the royal family. Can we talk about that?

Connor: Of course. What do you want to know?

Me: What's it like, working for Darragh?

Connor: Good. It's a good job.

Me: That's it? Good?

Connor (impatient): Yeah, it's a good job. See? You ask; I tell.

Me (frustratated): You've got to have more to say than "good".

Connor: Like what?

Me: Well, you've known him a long time. What's the Prince like?

Connor: Great, Darragh is great. He's got, you know, lots of integrity, moral convictions, shit like that. He's a good ruler. And smart. He's really smart.

Me: Wow. More than two words strung together. What a testimonial. You've been with him a long time?

Connor: His whole life.

Me (consulting notes): And Darragh is. . .let's see. . . how old. . . . Huh, obviously a typo. But you grew up together?

Connor: No. I'm older. I've taken care of him all his life.

Me: You don't look that old. How old are you?

Connor: Isn't it on your worksheet?

Me: You know damn well it isn't. You've been deliberately vague about it.

Connor: Have I?

Me: Fine. Be that way. Let's do some of the easy ones. What color are your eyes?

Connor: Brown.

Me: Light brown? Dark brown?

Connor: Just brown.

Me: Sit still and let me look.

Me: Wow, Connor. You have beautiful eyes. Not really brown, more of a rich amber. . . .Wait, tilt your head. Is that the sun reflecting in them? In this light, they look almost like they're glowing. . . .


Connor: I should get back to work now.

Me (weakly) : Yeah, maybe you should. I think I'll work on this at my desk. Maybe I can just email you any other questions I think of. . . .