Escape from LA was just so much $#@&5\% fun!
Image courtesy of Caleb George by way of a Creative Commons search. https://unsplash.com/@seemoris
They had to pry my hands off the armrest. I didn’t know which was worse: flying 2,500 turbulent miles or landing at Los Angeles International Airport.
I was a nervous wreck.
Where was my luggage? “Over there,” a security guard told me, pointing in the general direction of Tokyo. Turns out my luggage WAS in Tokyo.
Then, I couldn’t find a shuttle despite signs with 10-foot tall letters: SHUTTLE STOPS HERE. A VW minibus pulled up with I swear to God a Taco Bell Chihuahua nodding on the dashboard. “Where are you going?” the driver yelled. “Costa Mesa?” I replied meekly. He gave me a look as if I’d passed gas and roared away. Another van whipped in and I was hauled aboard.
At last. Safety. Sanity.
My vanmates consisted of an elderly couple returning from a cruise, and an editor for Scholastic Books.
They were mad at the driver. He kept circling LAX for more passengers. But they wanted to go home.
Words were exchanged. The driver fell menacingly silent as we veered onto the 405. One hour and 30 miles of 12-lane bumper-to-bumper traffic later, my vanmates had been dropped off.
It was just me and the driver.
Alone.
He turned around and glared at me and I was seeing Norman Bates.
“You ready to get the hell outta here?” he screamed.
Uh, yes. Sir.
We careened wildly down the street. He began cursing.
“Cursing” doesn’t do justice to this man’s performance. He was Scarface on speed. It was at once the angriest, most venomous tirade I’ve ever heard.
“That $#@&5\% old @&$%#! What does she mean tellin’ ME how to drive?
“That STOOOOPID &#@$&! Don’t she know a guy’s gotta make a living?
“Why would ANYONE wanna marry a woman who looked like a bulldog?”
Each spew was punctuated with a “You hear me?” to which I quickly agreed, “Damn right.” My life depended on the promptness and tone of my response, and after flying 2,500 stomach-churning miles I wasn’t about to die because an “X-Files” refugee thought I was being a snark.
“What’s the most famous person you ever picked up,” I asked, trying to change the subject.
He slapped his forehead and shouted, “That’s the STOOOOPIDEST $%#@ question I’ve ever been asked! You think anybody famous is gonna climb into this nasty-ass van?”
He strangled the steering wheel as he drove. “There’s a system, you know? You hafta be on the list, and once you’re on the list you hafta to be called. You don’t get called, you don’t get in the airport. You don’t get in the airport, you don’t make the dough. How’m I gonna make the dough to fly my girlfriend up from Rio?”
“What does your girlfriend do in Rio?” I asked, wishing all this would end.
I could swear he said, “She’s a hooker.”
Allll-righteee then. At that moment a vision of loveliness appeared in the window. The Wyndham Hotel. My destination.
As I paid the driver, he declared, “Hey, you’re OK. Not like those other #$@%&! If you wanna tour of the stars’ homes or somethin’, gimme a call.”
Sure thing, #@$%&*!
This column was originally published in the Wednesday, January 13, 1999 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image by Del Stone Jr.
Instead of New Year’s resolutions, or a madcap review of 1998, I offer this take on the upcoming 12 months.
January: In an effort to lure shoppers, downtown Fort Walton Beach merchants and chamber officials come up with a catchy new slogan: “Get drunk, get tattooed, get lost.” The CRA declares Santa Rosa Mall a “blighted” area, clearing the way for a future abandoned shopping center.
February: In an effort to lure shoppers, downtown merchants rip out pear trees growing along Main Street and replace them with marijuana plants. The town of Baker changes its name to “Cher.”
March: New improprieties about President Clinton emerge. The president responds by ordering air strikes against the NBA.
April: Citing a previous call for a vote on the convention center issue, Okaloosa County commissioners proclaim “government by referendum” to be “way too annoying” and outlaw all county elections. Instead, future commissioners will be appointed by an expert panel of merchants, developers, and pals.
May: Merchants and elected officials complain local media are not rubber-stamping their press releases and boostering their causes. They seek expert guidance in media control from former Cambodian dictator Pol Pot.
June: North Okaloosa Fire District officials seek expert guidance with their finances from Niceville High School. The CRA declares Silver Sands Factory Stores to be a “blighted” area. The town of Grayton Beach changes its name to “Xena, Warrior Princess.”
July: Okaloosa commissioners tout the need for a convention center, explaining such a facility could be used to store emergency supplies of Tourist Development Commission brochures and crates of those little chicken snacks served at every public function since 1958.
August: A consortium called 239 Disposal Inc. files permits to open a plutonium reprocessing facility in northern Okaloosa County. Merchants and landowners quack about all the jobs such a facility will bring to the area. Indeed, oncologists and morticians flock to Crestview. The town of Navarre changes its name to “Viagra Falls.”
September: In an effort to lure shoppers, downtown merchants ask lawmen to lay down metal spikes across Main Street. Angry that a Psychic Hotline poll shows his popularity falling below that of Abraham Lincoln’s, President Clinton orders air strikes against Mount Rushmore.
October: The CRA designates all of Santa Rosa County a “blighted” area, clearing the way for concrete yard gnome dealerships, ostrich obedience schools and UFO landing pads.
November: In an effort to lure shoppers, downtown merchants call on Gov. Jeb Bush to muster National Guard troops to forcibly halt and remove motorists from their cars. If a convention center is built, county officials promise to honor Okaloosa Island’s indelible link to the sea by naming the facility “Flipper.”
December: Downtown merchants celebrate the millennium with “First Strike,” an artillery barrage on factory outlet stores in Foley, Ala. South Walton changes its name to “Margaritaville” and secedes from the planet. The Y2K bug strikes and the entire world shuts down except the North Okaloosa Fire District.
This column was originally published on Wednesday, Jan. 6, 1999 in the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
This Christmas I received many, many newsletter updates about my friends, their families and their lives.
I enjoy these epistles, but I come away from them feeling inadequate, which is a nice way of saying I come away from them feeling like an abject failure. My life is only a pale shadow of their exciting travels and accomplishments.
Therefore, next year I will send a newsletter of my own. This is what it will say:
“Greetings from Stockholm, where I am receiving the Nobel Prize for chemistry. I thought to invite you, but only people with IQs above 185 are allowed.
I not only conquered my fear of flying but received my commercial airline pilot’s license, which enabled me to ferry the president and his concubine aboard the Concorde on a fact-finding tour of various South Pacific tropical paradises.
And that little weight problem I grappled with last year? Not only did I get back into shape, I recently posed for the Mr. November foldout of the Under Gear catalog. Good thing my washboard abs were honed to a glistening edge by personal trainer, Arnold Schwarzenegger.
My goal for the coming year is to occupy the top 10 positions on the New York Times best seller list – simultaneously.
My wife, Carolyn Murphy the supermodel, finished that show in Milan and came home to complete her doctorate’s – magna cum laude of course – in cosmology. She will complete her Grand Unification Theory aboard the International Space Station, once she’s finished carving that sculpture of the president into Mount Rushmore.
Our daughter, Zelda, recently won the best actress Academy Award for her portrayal of Juliet Capulet in James Cameron’s new movie, “Shakespeare vs. The Terminator,” which grossed over $2 billion in worldwide ticket receipts. Now it’s back to Oxford – assuming they grant her tenure. If not, she’s been asked to serve a term as prime minister of Japan.
Meanwhile, our son Abercrombie defeated the Russian Federation representative for the world chess crown and recently established radio contact with the Antareans, a race of superbeings who inhabit a distant planet and have promised to share their secrets of immortality and galactic peace with humanity. He’s a clever scamp. Now if I could only get him to make his bed.
Even the family dog, Clytemnestra, has news. She received a presidential citation for leading the passengers and crew of a grounded cruise liner to safety, and recently disarmed a gang of thugs she discovered in the house trying to make off with the Spode. If you see her story on “60 Minutes,” pay close attention to the tile in the entryway – it’s Tuscany, and I quarried, cut, polished and laid it myself (with a little help from Bob Vila).
Lastly, our house has been declared a national sanctuary by federal wildlife officials after a rare orchid, thought to have been extinct 100 million years ago, was discovered growing in our back yard amidst the kiwi grove.
Well, enough about me and my family. How was our tawdry, hollow shell of an existence for the year?”
This column was published in the Dec. 30, 1998 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Shannon Holman. https://www.flickr.com/photos/shannonholman/
They came by email and they came by telephone and they came by fax and even good old Uncle Sam’s snail mail.
And almost to a man and woman they cried: Kick the flickers.
You folks really hate people who flick their cigarette butts out car windows. Sheesh. And judging by your comments, you’d take vicarious delight in watching the offenders skewered on the sword of public exposure.
Here’s a sampling of your comments:
One man wrote to say he’d seen “a big fat guy in a big red Caddy” roll down his window and toss out a cigarette. Our correspondent got out of his car.
“I knocked on his window. After he rolled it down, I asked him if he was aware that he (had) just accidentally dropped his cigarette. He simply said, ‘Yup’ and quickly rolled up his window and took off.”
An auto mechanic who lives in Navarre revealed a problem with butt-flicking I hadn’t considered.
“By also working on cars, and the newer model cars – the ones with today’s high-tech plastic, I have come across places under the car, the engine compartment, front bumper area, moldings outside and even inside that have burn marks on them where undoubtedly a cigarette was thrown from another vehicle.”
He also said that once, he’d repaired a car’s AC system – to the tune of $150 – after a tossed butt burned a hole through a hose.
A lady reported that as she’d been driving on a local thoroughfare, a burning cigarette flung from the car ahead flew through her open window and landed in the back seat. Good thing she didn’t have a child strapped in back there.
Sheriff’s deputies and Fort Walton Beach policemen called to remind everybody that there are laws against littering – and flicked cigarettes qualify as litter.
On the flip side of this coin, I received several notes from people who warned I’d probably end up with a fat lip – or a lawsuit – if I published people’s license plate numbers.
The fat lip I can’t speak to (although I’m shopping for a hockey mask!). But a lawsuit, I’m told, is not an option, because I would not be identifying a person per se, but only a car the anonymous perp was driving.
Others wrote to say that I would not publish their license plate numbers. They left it at that.
So, what do I do?
Well … unless somebody can point out to me a compelling reason not to do it, I’ll be driving with a notepad at the ready.
Traffic bozos beware!
More local signings: Crestview retired military man and author Col. Don Carmichael has scheduled several signings for his book “A Trumpet for Freedom: (The Legacy: Lost Heritage and War).”
Carmichael describes his book as a look at our culture and its most recent wars – World War II, Korea, and the good, bad and ugly of Vietnam.
Signings are Friday at Destin’s Books-A-Million from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. and at Bayou Books in Niceville from 3 to 5 p.m.; Saturday at the Eglin base exchange from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.; and Sunday, Pensacola’s Books-A-Million from 1 to 3 p.m.
Remember: Stop and talk to the author!
This column was originally published in the Wednesday, Dec. 16, 1998 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
This photo has been largely agreed upon as having been taken at the Palm Theater in Fort Walton Beach, although some doubt remains. I was unable to find the name of the photographer. If anybody knows the identity of the photographer, please let me know. I'll be happy to include a credit or remove the photo, if the photographer would prefer. I found it under a Creative Commons license and it appears to be available for use.
First they closed the Stardust. Now, the old Palm Theater has burned to the ground.
Ashes to dust.
For me, the Palm, called The Picture Show these past few years, had assumed a warm and comfortable place in memory, like a favorite song, that first love or one of life’s essential awakenings.
The Palm was the venue for my first “date.” I was 12 and she was 11. My mother dropped us off; her mother picked us up. The feature was Disney’s “Snow White.” I accidentally kicked over the bottle of Coke I’d smuggled into the theater. It clanked loudly all the way to the front of the auditorium.
And – ahem – there was no kissing (Yuck).
That first date notwithstanding, the Palm is where I traveled from childhood to adolescence. The occasion was “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service,” a James Bond movie, which for years my parents had forbidden me to see, the reason being sex, not violence. I knew that when James Bond became OK, something important about me had changed. I was growing up.
It is also where a friend and I sat through all five “Planet of the Apes” movies. We began this marathon by crouching on the floor in front of the screen, as every mother in town had spotted this rare opportunity to get rid of the kids for a day and the theater was overrun with fidgety 8-year-olds. Luckily, we found an empty seat next to a boy who was willing to let his little brother sit in his lap, so we moved back a few rows, preventing permanent damage to our necks, eyes and spines.
The Palm had a balcony – prime real estate for vandalous little boys with half foot-long gherkins ripe with bright green juice to be squirted onto an unsuspecting audience.
And the staff did not roust you from the theater after each movie showing. You could stay as long as you wanted. I watched “You Only Live Twice” three times in a row.
The Palm had terrific air-conditioning, and on a hot summer afternoon a bratty little kid could lie about his age, get in for 50 cents, and spend two wonderful hours ensconced within the balm of dry, cool, delicious darkness, mesmerized by what have become genre classics: “2001: A Space Odyssey,” “The Other” and “Omega Man.”
Alas, the Palm fell victim to the multiplexes – a shame because moviegoers today are deprived of a unique experience: sitting in a spacious theater, where curtains roll back to reveal a screen as wide as a prairie, and where the synergy of picture and audience reaches a critical mass that cannot be duplicated in the sticky little boxes that pass for theaters these days.
I miss the Palm. It didn’t have fancy sound systems or cup holders in the seats, but it did have grandeur and a sense of excitement that made going to the movies a big deal in a little kid’s life.
Maybe one day theaters will go back to what the Palm was. I think we could all use that small touch of class.
This column was published in the October 1998 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of NOAA.
—
As the dark clouds and the muddy waters swirl, let us pause to express our gratitude.
It could have been worse. Much worse.
The hurricane could have been named “Monica,” leaving bashful journalists deprived of verbs. How do you describe a windstorm without using the word “blow”?
Ah, but there’s no sexual connotation to that word – not according to the Clintonites, who want to move along because they’re “tired” of hearing about the lies/scandals/hypocrisy. Once again, the flatulent, huffing-their-own-gases segment of the population votes with its comfort level.
Not so for the shell-shocked denizens of the Gulf Coast, who remain glassy-eyed from the near-continuous barrage of hurricane coverage. I should be more grateful, but my eyes are still rolling in the sockets, following the leathery hand of The Weather Channel’s John Hope as he traces swirly motions over the infrared/radar/satellite image of what could be a hurricane or could be the White House after hours. It’s all a disaster looking.
Once Georges lurched ashore, it dropped brimming buckets of rain, creating an instant market for anybody who knows how to fix a leaky roof … or refloat a house.
FEMA knows how to refloat a house, especially if it’s a mansion build on a sandbar. They’ve been doing it for years, and guess whose pockets they pluck to do it. I’ll bet if the FEMA boys dug through their files, they could find a policy for Atlantis.
If the FEMAtics really want to help, give every man, woman and child in Northwest Florida his own liquor license. I’m feeling empowered already!
But I doubt the feds will cooperate. Instead, we’ll get McCarthy-era macaroni, forms in triplicate to jam under the doors, and a visit from a high-ranking official, maybe even Linda Tripp!
So let’s look on the private-sector bright side: The trend is downward for hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, as reported in the July 23 Daily News in a story about GLOBAL WARMING. Maybe storms Charley, Early, Francis and Georges didn’t catch that part. They got to the words GLOBAL WARMING and tuned out, the way MONICA LEWINSKY affects the fashionably flawed.
But let’s not carp about GLOBAL WARMING. It’s been debunked by editorial writers everywhere, same as the infamous OZONE HOLE. Except the ozone hole is real. Oops.
Nevertheless, be of good cheer. The wet got wetter, but with luck we won’t be one of them, and even if we are, the benevolent hand of somebody – the media, the government, maybe President Bill himself – will lift us up, or at least tell us they did.
And that’s what matters: the appearance, not the substance, of a thing.
So don’t worry. When Hurricane Monica forms, it won’t come into the gulf. And if it does, macaroni is only a stack of forms in triplicate away!
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Freepik.
If this column leaves you steaming, don’t call me to complain.
I’m not here. In fact, I’m on vacation. I intentionally waited until I was far, far away before publishing this column, because I am a gutless weenie. You’ll see why.
This week, my complaint is with bad driver. Not just any old bad driver.
I’ve been driving since 1972 (often through hip-deep snow … your parents have told you about it). And I’ve driven everywhere, from the eight-lane shooting galleries of Los Angeles to the perilous, two lane left-side-of-the-road back roads of the Bahamas.
With all this experience, you’d think I’d have a pretty good idea of who can handle a vehicle and who can’t. Actually, I do.
Most people would single out elderly drivers, or teen-age boys, as the most serious road menaces.
It’s true that elderly people sometimes create hazardous driving conditions because they can’t see as well, or react as quickly, as we younger folks.
And yes, teen-age boys with access to a healthy dose of cubic inches under the hood present a serious hazard to other drivers’ existence.
But a far greater threat exists. That threat is:
The single white female, aged 18 to 22.
All my observations tell me that this group of drivers is the most seriously deficient in driving skills and judgment. Come upon an accident and chances are, a single white female, aged 18 to 22, will have been involved.
The single white female usually drives a compact imported car, like a Nissan, a Toyota or a Honda, “drive” being a figurative word – the single white female whips the dickens out of those hapless four-cylinder beasts. What began its mechanical life as a sedate econobox becomes a ragged-out Indy racer under the well-muscled gas-pedal foot of the single white female.
They blast away from stoplights as if the clearance sale at The Gap were in its dying moments, and screech to a stop at the next light as if they’d spotted a pair of Wayfarers lying in the road.
They do this rain or shine, because the single white female has no comprehension of the laws of physics. “Why can’t I tailgate the car ahead of me at 40 mph in a driving rainstorm?” she asks. “Friction? What’s that?”
But of course, they never see any of these things happening, because they are too busy (a) applying makeup as they fly down Eglin Parkway at 58 mph, (b) blabbing on cellular telephones as they apply makeup with the other hand and steer with their elbows, and (c) yanking strands of hair from their cell phones and makeup applicators.
OK, so 90 percent of this is exaggeration, and 8 percent is just me trying to aggravate a heretofore neglected segment of the population. Still, there’s that 2 percent of truth. …
The solution to this problem is simple: Require all girls of this age group to drive Geo Metros, or Ford Aspires. Don’t give them any real horsepower until they’re a cranky old geezer like me.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Gage Skidmore, Wikimedia Commons. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bill_Clinton_by_Gage_Skidmore_(1).jpg
Like many of you, I watched television Monday night as President Clinton admitted to the nation that he is a liar.
Unlike many of you, I am not ready to forgive and move along.
I have not written about any of this sorry business with the president because I have not felt qualified to do so – every pundit and politician in the country has expressed an opinion on the subject, and who cares what I think?
But Monday night, the president made me mad. He’s lied in the past and asked for forgiveness. Once bitten, twice shy, I say.
The heart of this issue is leadership, an elusive creature that must be groomed before it is ridden. You lead by earning the trust and respect of your subordinates, who follow you because they want to follow you.
Leadership cannot be inherited, legislated or mandated. It is a natural outgrowth of honesty and character.
We have all experienced poor leadership. The person in charge uses a different set of standards for himself than he does for everyone else. He “misleads” people. He demands respect but does not give it.
Similarly, we have all experienced good leadership. The person in charge works just as hard as everyone else. He gives himself no special treatment. He tells it like it is.
Which person would you trust? Which person would you follow?
I cannot trust a man who has no self-restraint. Nor can I trust a man who lies.
And I cannot follow a man I don’t trust.
I suspect a great many people feel the same way. Americans are lambasted for making demands of their president they would not make of themselves. The president is human, Americans are told. The president makes mistakes.
Well, yes and no.
While it is true the president is a human being, he‘s a very special human being. He’s the leader of our country. He inspires us through his example, and helps set the tone of our way of life. We hire him to be better than we are.
He leads.
It is sad enough that our president cheated on his wife and lied about it under oath (which, by the way, is a crime).
But he has the gall to attack those who exposed his lies, and to demand that we forget about the whole thing and move on?
I won’t vouch for the objectivity of the special prosecutor’s investigation, but Clinton insults us. He insults the office. He insults the people who are struggling to maintain a semblance of decency in the way we live.
When Clinton made the decision to run for office, he consciously accepted the risks, the demands, and the unfairness of public life.
And when Clinton made the decision to engage in an illicit affair, and then when he made the decision to lie about it during testimony, he was influenced by nothing other than his lack of character, and conscience.
Is this the kind of person you’d follow?
If so, we have a bigger problem than a liar for a president.
This column was published in the Northwest Florida Daily News on Aug. 19, 1998 and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
The author poses with a scrub jay in this photo that was taken in the 1970s during a Stone family vacation. Image courtesy of Delmar S. Stone Sr.
Every time I speak against the rising swell of pollution, congestion and destruction that is overwhelming the Asphalt Coast, quivering snouts emerge from the quagmire to squeal for pearls.
“Show us the numbers,” they demand, and then they cast forth their own numbers – of new slave-labor jobs created, of new taco-burger-pizza stands thrown together, of cubic yards of earth scabbed by asphalt, as if these cold calculations were the sum of all things.
Thank God they are not.
In reality, the finest things are those which cannot be enumerated by the appraiser’s cool eye: beauty, serenity, peace of mind.
These are priceless, and to demand that a monetary value be stamped upon them, as if they were plastic widgets fished from the clearance bin at a discount store, is to murder them all the other intangibles that make life worth living.
A bird, for instance. In central Florida, you stroll through oak hammocks and bird called a scrub jay will swoop down and perch on your hand and look you in the eye.
Wild birds that are unafraid of man. Isn’t that something?
Scrub jays are close to extinction now, because the oak hammocks have been paved over with strip shopping centers to house more out-of-business video stores.
Is it so all-fired important that you be able to rent “Naked Bimbos from Uranus” at every street corner? Is a video store worth the loss of a bird?
Or a fish – have you seen the water froth as feeding blues slash through schools of frenzied alewife, a scene bathed in the ruddy glow of a distant thunderstorm illuminated by the sailor’s delight of a setting sun?
Now, the murky water carries an oily sheen, and the froth is caused by personal watercraft screaming across its surface.
How much does a fish cost? How much does a pretty scene fetch on the open market?
What is the price of silence? I’ve stood in the forest, where you can hear the nodding of trees, the clouds sailing overhead, the ocean of air. This is the sound of sanity, where dreams are born. How much do you pay for your dreams?
To the privileged few, these things are no more important than what they can be sold for. Such are the wages of “growth.” If it puts money in their pockets it’s good, even if it takes away from everything else.
Most people would call that arrogance. We don’t need arrogance.
What we do need is a less practical but more useful emotion.
On cloudless nights I have gone out and looked up and understood without a word that I am a small thing in a very big universe. The humility is like coming home.
That’s what we need.
To understand the only true measure of prosperity is happiness. Any person, or any thing, which measures its prosperity by “growth” is doomed.
Zelda Fitzgerald said that no one, not even poets, has measured how much a heart can hold.
Yet the squealing for pearls goes on.
How awful, that these shallow and dreamless creatures would rule the world.
This column was originally published in the Northwest Florida Daily News on May 6, 1998 and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Life goes on, even when it has nowhere to go.
Last Tuesday was a dog day to be sure. The heat pressed down on Racetrack Road in shimmering waves that seemed to liquefy the asphalt, and torrid devils of oxygen-starved wind trailed the cars, trucks and vans making their way from one side of town to the other.
At the west entrance ramp to the parking lot at Choctawhatchee High School, four tiny birds stood on the baking concrete, pondering a dilemma:
How to get across the road.
They were no bigger than sandpipers, with pipe-straw legs and tweezer-like beaks and sequined black eyes. They stood in tight formation.
Across the road, on the curb of the median, stood a single, larger version of the tiny birds. A killdeer.
The tableau became evident: Mother bird, separated from her babies by two lanes of traffic, wanted them to follow her across. For whatever reason, they hadn’t done that.
The killdeer is not a small bird. It grows to about 10 inches in length. A favorite of farmers, it lives off the bugs that ruin crops, and is protected by game laws.
Racetrack was uncharacteristically empty. But in the distance, at the traffic light in front of the school, a pack of cars waited, engines racing.
He tiny birds darted into the road, their tiny legs working comically. They stopped about halfway across and stared indecisively. After an agonizing moment, they turned and scurried back.
The light in front of Choctaw turned green.
The birds dashed back into the road. One brave fellow ran about three-quarters of the way across. The others were strung out in a ragged line behind him.
Then the lead bird lost his courage, turned and ran back, and the others ran back, too.
Traffic was approaching, a wall of metal and glass and noise bearing down on the tiny creatures. The birds stood on the entrance ramp, gazing across at their mother.
It looked like they were waiting for the traffic to go by, the way schoolchildren bunch up at a crosswalk behind the protective flag of a crossing guard.
But at the last moment, they darted en masse into the road again. Three of them sprinted for the other side.
One tiny fellow lagged behind, looking even smaller as a beat-up van bore down on him.
That’s when Momma bird flew into the rescue.
She whipped in beside him, a whirlwind of black-and-white wings, and hustled him out of harm’s way. He dashed safely for the other side.
And then, as the mother bird tried to save herself, the van caught her in mid-air and blasted her into a cloud of feathers.
She flew a short distance then lay down in the road to die. A woman in a station wagon finished the job.
It was sickening, utterly sickening.
The man in the van drove on.
He could have slowed down. A couple of foot pounds of pressure on the brake pedal is all it would have taken.
Instead, four tiny birds fled into the bushes by Racetrack Road with nowhere to go and no one to take them there.
Life, we hope, goes on.
This column was originally published in the Wednesday, July 1, 1998 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .