Report On A Short

PROGRESS REPORT

New Words: 2800 on my first completed short story in two years, a non-speculative fiction Appalachian-set piece called "Poor Masters". It's about the all-too-rare negative consequences of stealing someone's dogs so you can train them as hunting hounds.

Total Words: 2800.

Reason For Stopping: Finished the story, though I had to get ready for work anyway.

Mammalian Assistance: None. Maybe the cats didn't want to be in the same room with me when I was writing a story sticking up for dogs.

Exercise: Walked around campus with Laurie and the pups.

Stimulants: Dr. Pepper and a fit of rage. The latter lingering from an event yesterday, our dogs being pounced on by two hunting dogs we nevertheless knew were victims of their owners and one way or another would most likely end up dead soon. That was the trigger for the story.

Today's Opening Passage(s): “Damn dogs’ve stopped hunting,” Woodie told me, and his anger at the world focused on the hounds chained around his feet awaiting a dinner that wasn’t coming. “I’ll have to do something about them. Find some new ones.”

I just listened to him rant. Though it was a strange case, especially since I reckoned the dogs themselves wasn’t all that smart or resourceful. He kept his dogs mostly starved—we all did, it made them better at hunting when they thought they were chasing after dinner. But these wasn’t hungry.

Darling Du Jour: Just a tidbit...

She looked frightened at first. Then she tipped up her chin and glared at me so hard I almost laughed. She was something, all right, but then she’d have to be to come here, especially if she knew anything about Woodie. I wasn’t kidding about the shooting. Nobody’d notice another gunshot coming from Woodie’s place. The way she looked at me reminded me of Katharine Hepburn, all spunky challenge.

When she didn’t say nothing I asked her, “What’s your name, girl?”

She didn’t answer that either, which didn’t shock me, so I gave her one. “Then I’ll call you Kate. After Hepburn.”

There was a flicker of a smile before she drowned it in her anger. She was likely as surprised a redneck knew who Hepburn was as I was a college girl nowadays did.

Non-Research / Review Books In Progress: Farmer; Bragg; Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins.