Today’s NaJoWriMo prompt asked for a character / setting / scene sketch in a sci-fi or historical genre. Hence my total and utter loss as to what on Earth I could / should write.
After pondering and overthinking, I took to google and searched for some writing prompts or ideas that I could build on, and stumbled upon this totally crazy and amazing website that houses a number of random generators, from character quirks and motivations to town settings, fantasy horns or wings, and plot twists. Really, whatever one might need to overcome writer’s block, it’s there, served with a bow on the funny package.
So I went and played around a bit, and trying to stick with the first things that came up, here’s what my historical romantic whodunnit would look like, based on the random generators and my own additions
Ida Callingham, a middle aged, fair skinned short lady with blue eyes enlarged by her thick glasses, she has short, curly, greying brown hair and appears on the short side for a lady, often described (rather unkindly but truthfully) as “that short thin spinster in the glasses”.
Ms Callingham tries to be courteous to everyone she meets regardless of their class, and despite being a spinster, she has a nurturing side, often seen to pet stray dogs around town. She can be often too trusting and affectionate, sometimes even unconsciously flirty, although she is not one to be described as a romantic. She lacks all ambition and avoids all risks, and has been at times found to be economical with the truth. She is fairly solitary, but nevertheless she is quite observant, and has a logical disposition, which has helped her when she set out to solve her little town’s many mysteries, like who tore off all the poppies in front of the town house. The only thing that really holds her back from often finding out the truth or indeed ending her spinsterhood is her occasional emotional instability which she cannot seem to help. When anxious or upset, or indeed when being a little dishonest, Ms Callingham has been noted to fidget with her gloves and bonnet, and has the tendency to try and stir the conversation to her favourite subject, squirrels.
The Love Interest:
Jake Chattington (yes, for real) is a middle aged pale man whose short and curly locks once must have been blond but nowadays can only be described as silver if one is being kind, but it matches his grey eyes quite complimentary. His rather short physic may have been the main disadvantage when younger, and the potential reason why he never married. However, his shirt and vest hides a broad, quite muscular build that he takes pride in working on even in his late forties.
A curious and ambitious man, Mr Chattington (yes, for real) is also very affectionate and a real romantic. He flirts and compliments easily, but he is courteous and loyal to the end. At the same time, Jake has been known to lack sympathy for those less fortunate than himself, and has no understanding of altruism whatsoever, and cannot stand if things don’t line up or aren’t symmetric or parallel. A logical and observant man, Mr Chattington (yes, for real) is a man of science and facts, which made him somewhat socially awkward as he landed in an 1850’s little British mountain town during his time travelling years. With a strong lactose intolerance, Jake turns to smoking to quell his hunger, about four times an hour.
The First Meet:
Ordering her favourite sweet doughnuts, Miss Callingham reaches to fix the display at the bakers’, trying to come up with a good excuse as to why she was spotted hiding in the bushes next to the town house. She is not ready to reveal her observations regarding the regular picking of the poppies on the square, and she was really just trying out if those bushes would be good hiding places to stake out while she solves the mystery.
“Oh I just noticed these adorable squirrels, and I could not stop myself from following them…” – she babbles, but her words suddenly falter as her gloved fingers bump into a stranger’s hand. Ida’s head suddenly turns to her right as she jerks her hand away, the bodily contact with a stranger, and a man!, so alien to her, the touch burning her skin even through her lacy gloves.
“Pardon me, ma’am”, Chattington tips his hat to the small lady in front of him. He was too focused on trying to see what he could order that might not have milk in it, knowing that ‘lactose intolerant’ may be too hard a phrase for the common folk of this off the map town, when he spotted that the display on the bakers’ set up was not parallel to the table’s edges, and he could not have that.