Inhospitable Exercise

You write about the terrain being inhospitable. Rather you mention it in an overview fashion, yet do not really write about it. That you write it in mention but not about it, must leave me wanting, because you jump off to an easy trail of pointless dialogue. Nothing about why the terrain is inhospitable. Nor for whom the terrain is inhospitable. I can appreciate your desire to play the part of the free unfettered stylist, but I have a hard time understanding why you pass up an opportunity to get your hands dirty or possibly bloody, or in other words, make me feel what is inhospitable about the terrain. I beseech you to spend fifteen hundred words that might place me as close to the elements as is possible from the comfort of this office chair.

Well it seems obvious the terrain is inhospitable to human beings, or most human beings; human beings accustomed to comfort. Wouldn't be inhospitable to flora and fauna already native or resident. Would it be inhospitable to early human beings? Right, right, must get to the terrain itself. The terrain itself. Well terrain is land, land itself, so it seems the way to start is consider how level or not level this terrain is. Probably leans more steep than flat. However, a flatland might be inhospitable if it featured bogs and tall grass; swarms of mosquitoes, granted mosquitoes would not have direct connection to the terrain; because the word is Terrain and not critters, wildlife, pestilence, and such. One is forced to guess that the word Climate is also out. But would not climate play a heavy hand on the terrain?

Sigh. Very well. No recourse to talking about the weather. Only the terrain and what makes it inhospitable, in this case for human beings. Or human beings unaccustomed to this terrain, whatever it ends up being. But now comes the question: is it inhospitable to any particular human ambition or purpose? There was no discussion as to thesaurus allowance, as in checking a thesaurus, as in synonyms for Inhospitable. Well a brief look did occur; looking brief enough to remember the word Desolate, and no other word. Desolate of what? Suppose the terrain features steep granite gradient. Suppose much of the granite has broken down into smaller rocks, if not pebbles, and suppose the average human in that situation finds difficulty in gripping, so slippage is an ever-present possibility.

Now the temptation sashays again, daring to bare the word Climate; surely if the season be betwixt equinoxes, even the steep grades of earth heavy in the rockiness might host a mullein or two; dandelion; wild daisy. Maybe in a lower vale bloom lupine families. So the terrain in this case becomes not as inhospitable as it might were the season set in the winter solstice. Yes, those details about solstices and equinoxes are far off the mark for the critic in an extra persnickety mood. The internal mechanics driving the cognitive energies are quite aware that the referenced divisions of equinoxes and solstices are inaccurate. Leniency is requested due to the attractive allure those words, Equinox and Solstice, present.

Lesson acknowledged. Must focus on inhospitable terrain for another thousand words and then look at the climate. How would be terrain remain inhospitable despite whether the climate be working during an equinox or a solstice? Let it be near the Equator or let it be near the polar caps.

The notion of rocks reappeared, and then the word Volcanic. Volcanic. Volcanic might be an even better word than Equinox or Solstice. Then again, if a certain body of back-seat neurons would at least attempt to settle down, all three could come together as a linguistic little party. Sunshine, equality, and the spewing of hot lava from the planet's belly chambers.

Question worthy of consideration could ask if or to what degree volcanic lands might or might not be hospitable or inhospitable for human flourishing. Or not even flourishing but existing, or not even existing but passing through, like on hike or hunt. Obviously this means the given volcano's post-climactic event; perhaps an age or eon or three, equinox or solstice irrelevant.

But does the word Volcanic still apply? And speaking of Volcanic, the obvious oversight was failure to remember Eruption. Instead of the spewing of hot lava from the planet's belly chambers, the word Eruption ably sufficed. Then again, in the context of an inhospitable terrain, or determining how inhospitable or hospitable might be a given terrain, does it really matter if it is said hot lava spewing or spitting or even ejaculating from a planetary chamber or if it is said to be the generic variety of an eruption?

Part of the point this examination attempts to get to regards knowledge that volcanoes or volcanic activity are not dependent on specific geographical components. From equatorial tropical islands to ice-dominant arctic waters, volcanic spewing or spitting or ejaculation of molten... an example entering remembrance would be the Icelandic Surtsey. Volcanic activity in the seas surrounding Iceland formed a new island. Now this island would probably present suitable illustration of a terrain inhospitable to human flourishing.

Is the supposed inhospitable terrain setting of the supposedly budding story set in Iceland? Honestly Iceland was not in consideration, in fact no specifically named land was in consideration. But it isn't a bad land for consideration. The initial thought wandered off several paragraphs ago, but it was probably interested in putting characters in a terrain inhospitable to humans, meaning these would be humans contending with obstacles. Are not humans in stories supposed to contend with obstacles?

The number of humans was not yet determined. Neural recesses were probably assuming a number between five and a dozen. Again accepting or preparing to accept rebuttal or correction for threatening to venture beyond the concept of an inhospitable terrain, the number of humans must be as relevant as climate. A single human offers plenty of suspense potential, in the omnipresent risk of being swallowed up by the terrain. A multitude is too much to bother with. Nope. It is not to be a multitude in the wilderness.

Lips pursing for the purpose of spewing a sputter to indicate fatigue, he who sought to satisfy an unidentified persona - he might call it an inner critic, while the same persona might prefer self-referential term like Inner Coach - anyway, the sputter did spew forth, and those lips did flap as though he meant to mimic a balloon losing air.

"I'm lost. Don't mind admitting it. Over my head. Out of my league. For fuck's sake I just threw out the words Inhospitable Terrain to get my imagery muscles out in the fresh air, working on a project. Wasn't paying attention. Has to be it. Not paying attention to thought-lines, thought-waves; summoned You-Know-Who. Yeah sure the critic or coach or whoever... not wrong, but it is obviously time to send another message, asking for reprieve or relief. For fuck's sake I just wanted to set up a challenging situation for a made-up character or ten. But I don't see why I devote an afternoon to this kind of self-torture, when I could be soaking up that long-awaited, waiting outside, sunshine, as the time comes to finally touch the latch which is to open into... ah, oh yeah, the Vernal Equinox."

Though the external perspective exposed nothing out of the ordinary, in the ethereal layer a bank of buttons and switches popped up and the would-be writer searched with eye and dancing finger for the contact button, noticing the red for HotLine. A new feature? Just for the would-be writer? About time. Hit the red HotLine. No answer.

Frowning face went nearly as red as the red HotLine button. "Great. No answer on the red HotLine button. Great." Remembered the last words: the comfort of this office chair. "So comfortable as to not worry about answering a call from the HotLine button. Well you know what? If my critic or coach will not answer, I think that means I can call it a day. Start over tomorrow. Start something new. Nothing about an inhospitable terrain. Hospitable. I know hospitable and all shall be hospitable."

Pushed away from the wording machine. If evening was his favorite time for a beer, afternoon like this was next best; especially after wasting it on following the advice of an inner critic - even if the inner critic offered gentle suggestion of being more inner coach than critic.

Beer in hand and resolve in heart, now came the blessed step through the back door which meant the back yard, which meant no hounding by critic or coach.

"Huh? Where did that come from? No way."

Ground shook. Beer in his hand shook. Suds sloshed over his hand, spattering the ground which yet shook. Had little choice but slurp as much as he could, else he have no beer at all.

"But we don't have mountains here - that is no mountain - well it is a mountain but... smoke? I fucking created a fucking volcano?"

The quaking ground and his hastened steps to the door were indistinguishable. What was most distinct was that the door did not open. Yanked, pulled, pounded, began to shout. Shout turned to screaming.

"I know what inhospitable is! I know! Okay? Someone! Someone!"

Shouts resounding in the distance. Alarms declaring public emergency.

Voice from the other side of the door.

"Have you made progress on your exercise?"

"Huh?! Yeah! Volcano! Inhospitable terrain! Volcanoes! Volcano country!"

"Hm. Not bad. Volcanic volcanoes can make highly inhospitable terrain."