Ramblings of Hazard
PH34R the times at which Ki gets out of class and has no class for another hour, but is too lazy to return home only to trek back up the hill again after a 15-minute break. Also ph34r the times during which Ki should be curled up in an isolated corner somewhere taking a nap, but is determined to be productive despite just barely having avoided falling asleep in all of her classes through the good graces of Lindor Dark Chocolate Truffles, to be taken only when the eyes cannot stay open any longer. They're like soldier pills, only they taste better.
So...as I have about forty minutes, and nothing to do with it, I have resolved to get started on my Creative Writing project for tomorrow. And subject you all to it--my first foray into realistic fiction! (That I've ever shown you, hah. Interestingly enough, everything that I can remember writing set in a realistic setting has involved a boy and his dog. Except for the Civil War one I wrote in 4th grade, which doesn't count as the historical accuracy = nil.)
So I'm having an heck of a time coming up with any original characters that do not involve anything I've previously written, or any hint at all of ninja. (I swear they've taken over my brain!) At last I'm walking home from school, straying off the sidewalk in order to crunch through the snow, and I'm thinking of the stories we've read recently (two of which involved hunters shooting other people), and of the stories I've heard of hunting accidents (my next-door neighbor was walking underneath a guy in a tree-stand when he accidentally shot the guy in the foot), and of my portrayal of AU!Kiba. Who is a quirky and interesting and realistic character, I think, but has no ties to ninja other than the name and the general idea. And then I drift off on a tangent about the history of the word we learned about in History of the English language that day, the word being hazard and its etymology being extremely interesting.
And then next moment there's a section of dialogue floating through my brain:
"I shot him, Hazard," he whispered, blood-slicked fingers dropping back to his side. "He's dead."
So I start to think about this scene, and how this nameless young man is home from college for Christmas and takes his dog out for a walk through the woods of northern Michigan--and of course he takes his .22 along too, for target-shooting at stumps and abandoned tin cans and so forth. And he's shooting at a tree when he hears a strangled cry, and he and his dog run forward and find a man lying dead in the snow...
But then, y'know, I really don't like the kind of stories where the main character does something terrible and then goes slightly insane because of it. So my nameless young man shall not be the murderer; instead he's just happened across the scene of a crime, and while he's overcome with horror at the thought that he killed the guy, his dog is sniffing around and discovers the footprints of the real murderer.
And then I'm thinking--y'know, it's all well and good for this college kid to be running around thinking he's killed someone and then realizing that someone else did and that there's a killer loose in the woods, but where's the stakes? All he has to do is call the police and explain the situation, and he's out of it and home free.
So...what if the story doesn't start with him coming home from college? What if the story starts with this young man returning from prison after having just been acquitted of a murder the court couldn't prove he committed? What if this is his first time free after months of prison and trial, and he stumbles across this murder--and now he can't just go call the police, because he's already just barely been acquitted of a murder lots of people still think he committed, and it will not be good for him to get entangled in being suspected of another murder so soon. If he can't find the real killer, it's going to be pinned on him... And his dad is dead, and his mother's farm is mortgaged for the court costs, and his dog Hazard is already on the trail...
The guy's name is Enoch Hamilton, and he's 21. Originally I was toying with Enos for a first name (because of the hunting and because I adore allusions) but it's a bit too odd, and Enoch might be slightly more familiar. (Ethan might be better, but then he'd be forever linked with the dreadful memories of 12-grade IB World Literature and Ethan Frome.)
The dog's name is Hazard, and he's 5. He's also a Siberian husky just 'cause I want one dreadfully. He's grey and white, with a blanket of grey dripping over his back and down his legs and tail, and a black mask on his head, but his face and chest and belly and paws are white. (This is simply because I'm looking at an icon of Black Hayate right now.) His eyes, however, are blue. He's a very determined, headstrong dog with all the best traits of a Siberian husky: loyal, willing, friendly, and cheerful. However, he's also very independent and doesn't always listen to Enoch (even though he's overjoyed at having him back, and thus doesn't stray very far from him.) He's not quite sure that Enoch's really here to stay, and he can be fiercely, viciously, protective. But he doesn't have a very high opinion of Enoch's ability to look after himself and make decisions for himself, and he has an extremely overdeveloped sense of adventure.
And the second POV is going to be his! (Duh...)
As I have fifteen more minutes in the lab, I shall now try your patience even more (if anyone is still reading this) by rambling about Enoch.
Enoch's a born-and-bred country boy, and he's honest, usually good-natured, and terribly blunt. He doesn't have any illusions about life, especially after his six-month ordeal in prison and court. He has shaggy brown hair that could probably bear with a good cutting; a strong, clean-featured, square-jawed face; a once-straight nose now broken and set just the tiniest bit askew; and dark grey eyes under straight dark brows. There's a small white scar on the angle of his jaw, and another at the corner of his mouth; another scar cuts through his left eyebrow, where the hair grows white instead of dark. He's left-handed, but was trained in school to right-handedness; when he's upset or not thinking he still does things instinctively with his left hand. (This was a major factor in his acquittal, as the man he was accused of murdering was stabbed as if by a right-handed man....however, Enoch'd be more likely to shoot someone than stab them, so I may need to rethink this.) He bites his nails or his lip when he's thinking or nervous, and has an annoying habit of whistling tunelessly when he's walking. About 5'10" and skinnier than he should be; in high school he wrestled and played soccer, but in prison he didn't eat much, worried himself thin, and exercised whenever he could because it was his only way to get outside. He usually tends to think things through before saying them (and then says them anyway), but when upset or angered he'll speak without thinking at all. However, he dislikes seeing other people--especially his mother and older sister--upset, and so he'll hide his own pain in order to protect them. On the day of the story, he's wearing an old and battered pair of brown corduroys, a black tee-shirt, a brown zip-up hooded sweatshirt, an olive green Army jacket that used to be his dad's and is slightly too big for him, and a pair of muddy and battered hiking boots with broken and re-knotted laces.
He has an over-developed fear of being closed up or imprisoned; he's always liked the outdoors much better than the indoors, and his months in prison did not help at all. When he's very upset, his hands start shaking, and his thoughts seem to move very slow and numbly, as if his brain is disconnected from his body and he's not quite in control of either of them. He started smoking in prison and thinks the habit is absolutely disgusting, but does it anyway. He's a very good shot, but dislikes hunting and the sight of blood.
He was acquitted the week after Christmas, and came home to the family farm to regain his feet and sort things out before he starts trying to get a job or thinks about going back to school; he's still twitchy, dislikes large groups of people, has difficulty in social settings, and can't spend more than a couple hours inside before he escapes to the woods with his dog. At the moment, he can't think of anything he'd rather do than become a hermit with a little cabin in the woods, and never see anyone but his mother or sister again. But they've got to do something about the mortgage, and his sister's working long exhausative hours in the city to keep them going, and he hates himself for not being able to support them like he should.
And now I must dash to meet with Dr. Keele before class. Hmm, this was fun!
-Ki
So...as I have about forty minutes, and nothing to do with it, I have resolved to get started on my Creative Writing project for tomorrow. And subject you all to it--my first foray into realistic fiction! (That I've ever shown you, hah. Interestingly enough, everything that I can remember writing set in a realistic setting has involved a boy and his dog. Except for the Civil War one I wrote in 4th grade, which doesn't count as the historical accuracy = nil.)
So I'm having an heck of a time coming up with any original characters that do not involve anything I've previously written, or any hint at all of ninja. (I swear they've taken over my brain!) At last I'm walking home from school, straying off the sidewalk in order to crunch through the snow, and I'm thinking of the stories we've read recently (two of which involved hunters shooting other people), and of the stories I've heard of hunting accidents (my next-door neighbor was walking underneath a guy in a tree-stand when he accidentally shot the guy in the foot), and of my portrayal of AU!Kiba. Who is a quirky and interesting and realistic character, I think, but has no ties to ninja other than the name and the general idea. And then I drift off on a tangent about the history of the word we learned about in History of the English language that day, the word being hazard and its etymology being extremely interesting.
And then next moment there's a section of dialogue floating through my brain:
"I shot him, Hazard," he whispered, blood-slicked fingers dropping back to his side. "He's dead."
So I start to think about this scene, and how this nameless young man is home from college for Christmas and takes his dog out for a walk through the woods of northern Michigan--and of course he takes his .22 along too, for target-shooting at stumps and abandoned tin cans and so forth. And he's shooting at a tree when he hears a strangled cry, and he and his dog run forward and find a man lying dead in the snow...
But then, y'know, I really don't like the kind of stories where the main character does something terrible and then goes slightly insane because of it. So my nameless young man shall not be the murderer; instead he's just happened across the scene of a crime, and while he's overcome with horror at the thought that he killed the guy, his dog is sniffing around and discovers the footprints of the real murderer.
And then I'm thinking--y'know, it's all well and good for this college kid to be running around thinking he's killed someone and then realizing that someone else did and that there's a killer loose in the woods, but where's the stakes? All he has to do is call the police and explain the situation, and he's out of it and home free.
So...what if the story doesn't start with him coming home from college? What if the story starts with this young man returning from prison after having just been acquitted of a murder the court couldn't prove he committed? What if this is his first time free after months of prison and trial, and he stumbles across this murder--and now he can't just go call the police, because he's already just barely been acquitted of a murder lots of people still think he committed, and it will not be good for him to get entangled in being suspected of another murder so soon. If he can't find the real killer, it's going to be pinned on him... And his dad is dead, and his mother's farm is mortgaged for the court costs, and his dog Hazard is already on the trail...
The guy's name is Enoch Hamilton, and he's 21. Originally I was toying with Enos for a first name (because of the hunting and because I adore allusions) but it's a bit too odd, and Enoch might be slightly more familiar. (Ethan might be better, but then he'd be forever linked with the dreadful memories of 12-grade IB World Literature and Ethan Frome.)
The dog's name is Hazard, and he's 5. He's also a Siberian husky just 'cause I want one dreadfully. He's grey and white, with a blanket of grey dripping over his back and down his legs and tail, and a black mask on his head, but his face and chest and belly and paws are white. (This is simply because I'm looking at an icon of Black Hayate right now.) His eyes, however, are blue. He's a very determined, headstrong dog with all the best traits of a Siberian husky: loyal, willing, friendly, and cheerful. However, he's also very independent and doesn't always listen to Enoch (even though he's overjoyed at having him back, and thus doesn't stray very far from him.) He's not quite sure that Enoch's really here to stay, and he can be fiercely, viciously, protective. But he doesn't have a very high opinion of Enoch's ability to look after himself and make decisions for himself, and he has an extremely overdeveloped sense of adventure.
And the second POV is going to be his! (Duh...)
As I have fifteen more minutes in the lab, I shall now try your patience even more (if anyone is still reading this) by rambling about Enoch.
Enoch's a born-and-bred country boy, and he's honest, usually good-natured, and terribly blunt. He doesn't have any illusions about life, especially after his six-month ordeal in prison and court. He has shaggy brown hair that could probably bear with a good cutting; a strong, clean-featured, square-jawed face; a once-straight nose now broken and set just the tiniest bit askew; and dark grey eyes under straight dark brows. There's a small white scar on the angle of his jaw, and another at the corner of his mouth; another scar cuts through his left eyebrow, where the hair grows white instead of dark. He's left-handed, but was trained in school to right-handedness; when he's upset or not thinking he still does things instinctively with his left hand. (This was a major factor in his acquittal, as the man he was accused of murdering was stabbed as if by a right-handed man....however, Enoch'd be more likely to shoot someone than stab them, so I may need to rethink this.) He bites his nails or his lip when he's thinking or nervous, and has an annoying habit of whistling tunelessly when he's walking. About 5'10" and skinnier than he should be; in high school he wrestled and played soccer, but in prison he didn't eat much, worried himself thin, and exercised whenever he could because it was his only way to get outside. He usually tends to think things through before saying them (and then says them anyway), but when upset or angered he'll speak without thinking at all. However, he dislikes seeing other people--especially his mother and older sister--upset, and so he'll hide his own pain in order to protect them. On the day of the story, he's wearing an old and battered pair of brown corduroys, a black tee-shirt, a brown zip-up hooded sweatshirt, an olive green Army jacket that used to be his dad's and is slightly too big for him, and a pair of muddy and battered hiking boots with broken and re-knotted laces.
He has an over-developed fear of being closed up or imprisoned; he's always liked the outdoors much better than the indoors, and his months in prison did not help at all. When he's very upset, his hands start shaking, and his thoughts seem to move very slow and numbly, as if his brain is disconnected from his body and he's not quite in control of either of them. He started smoking in prison and thinks the habit is absolutely disgusting, but does it anyway. He's a very good shot, but dislikes hunting and the sight of blood.
He was acquitted the week after Christmas, and came home to the family farm to regain his feet and sort things out before he starts trying to get a job or thinks about going back to school; he's still twitchy, dislikes large groups of people, has difficulty in social settings, and can't spend more than a couple hours inside before he escapes to the woods with his dog. At the moment, he can't think of anything he'd rather do than become a hermit with a little cabin in the woods, and never see anyone but his mother or sister again. But they've got to do something about the mortgage, and his sister's working long exhausative hours in the city to keep them going, and he hates himself for not being able to support them like he should.
And now I must dash to meet with Dr. Keele before class. Hmm, this was fun!
-Ki