It’s not about saving the Earth; it’s about saving ourselves
My post yesterday about global warming and natural variability inspired an interesting conversation about climate change and the future of Earth, one I’d like to follow up on.
So what’s the big deal about global warming?
First, a few facts about the sun.
Katina mentioned the sun would become a supernova, blasting away the solar system in a convulsion of fusion fury. Many people believe that, but there’s no need for concern. The sun doesn’t have the mass to become a supernova. Right now the sun is spinning through space, happily fusing hydrogen into helium. One day the sun will run out of hydrogen and its core will contract, raising internal pressures sufficient to fuse helium. The outer layer of the sun will expand, perhaps overtaking Earth’s orbit. But when a sufficient amount of the helium is fused (into carbon) the sun will collapse into what astronomers call a white dwarf.
A supernova, on the other hand, requires a star much more massive than the sun. When such a star burns up its helium, the core contracts and pressures rise sufficiently to “burn” carbon, transforming the star into an onion made up of layers of other elements with iron at its core. If the pressure maintaining these shells fails, the star collapses into itself, usually in a couple of seconds, generating a tremendous concentration of pressure that results in the explosion we associate with a supernova. But again, such an event requires much more mass than what our sun possesses.
Nova or supernova is a moot issue, as life on Earth should become impossible in about 800 million years, some astronomers estimate. As the sun uses up its hydrogen and starts burning helium, it will shine brighter and expand. The Earth will become too hot and too saturated with radiation for life to exist. So use your time wisely – that 800 million years will be here before you know it!
As for global warming, the issue isn’t about “saving the planet.” The Earth will roll along just fine, with or without us. The planet has been through worse disasters than a bit of a rise in atmospheric CO2.
As other folks pointed out, sea level, atmospheric carbon dioxide and mean global temperatures have been higher many times in the past. Much of that was the result of variability in solar output, vulcanism, asteroid collisions, slight changes in the Earth’s axis of rotation, and even perturbations in the Earth’s orbit. Oh, and life itself can affect climate. So it’s not as if we haven’t seen this before.
This time, however, it’s happening much faster than it should. In fact, if natural variability were taken into account, Earth should be cooling, not heating.
Also, it’s a documented fact that atmospheric greenhouse gases are increasing, and scientists can look at the isotopic signatures of those gases to see where they’re coming from. They are coming from us.
So while it’s not ironclad, there’s pretty good reason to believe human activity, from the burning of fossil fuels to deforestation, is the major culprit behind global warming.
As I said, come what may the Earth will roll along just fine no matter happens. So the issue is not about “saving the Earth.”
It’s about saving ourselves.
Right now we enjoy a standard of living unparalleled in the past. You may not believe that, but it’s true. But that standard of living is supported by an incredibly fragile infrastructure of energy, technology, transportation, and, at the heart of it, climate. Will that standard of living change as a result of global warming?
Think about. Many of our major centers of commerce are located on coastlines. Will rising sea levels imperil those centers, disrupting the economies of First World nations, which then disrupts the global economy?
Will changing climate shift the zone of arable land to other parts of the world? Right now the U.S. is self-sufficient in its production of food. If that changes, and we must start importing food, will we find nations or regimes willing to sell us what they grow?
Will we have access to fresh water? There’s good reason to believe the disaster in Syria is nothing more than a “water war.” Will nations fight over access to water? Will refugees from arid nations overwhelm those that aren’t?
Will the oceans become so acidic the food chain is disrupted, leaving a significant portion of humanity without food?
Will extreme weather events destroy the insurance industry? Stop and think: Two bad hurricane years caused insurors to leave Florida. If it’s happening everywhere, and all the time, what will the insurance industry do? And what will we do without insurance?
Will invasive species head north? Already here in Fort Walton Beach we’ve seen several new kinds of plants, birds and reptiles which in some cases have outcompeted native species. Some of them arrived naturally; others didn’t. And by “species” I don’t limit this migration to more sophisticated, vascular organisms. What about bacteria and viruses? How will the Southeast fare with malaria running rampant?
The bottom line: There are any number of social, economic, political and security reasons to be concerned about global warming.
It isn’t just about politics. I understand the conservative reluctance to embrace global warming – it sounds like baloney spouted by extremist environmental organizations, movie stars and leftist politicians.
Except the folks talking about warming are scientists, not just extremists and movie stars. And scientists have been talking about global warming and its connection to human activity since the late 1800s. Sure, sure, there were predictions of a new ice age, but in every conversation somebody takes a contrarian view. For what it’s worth, Dr. Jeff Masters of The Weather Underground went back and tallied the number of peer-reviewed papers about climate change presented in the 20th century and discovered that even during the so-called ice age scare, the vast majority of papers warned of warming, not cooling.
So these are some of the issues people need to think about when the subject of global warming comes up. It’s a complicated problem that could affect every aspect of our lives.
Scientists are often wrong, but the beauty of science is it’s self-correcting. One scientist says the sky is orange; another scientist proves it’s blue. And our body of knowledge advances.
I would rather put my faith in science than a shrill, left-leaning movie star … or a right-leaning mope who just doesn’t like movie stars.
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 courtesy of Universal Pictures.
“The Fate of the Furious” Starring Vin Diesel, Dwayne Johnson, Michelle Rodriguez, Jason Statham, Ludacris, Tyrese Gibson, Charlize Theron, Kurt Russell, Scott Eastwood. Directed by F. Gary Gray. 136 minutes. Rated PG-13.
Del’s take
“The Fate of the Furious” is like that big dumb dog you loved as a kid. It didn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain, and chased its tail until it got sick and threw up. But it was loyal to a fault and would have protected you from the end of the world.
After watching this spectacle unfold before our eyes, Dusty commented that he could not believe a simple movie about street racing had grown into a monster franchise where globe-trotting villains threatened to bring about that very event your childhood mongrel would have protected you from.
Yet that’s what it has become, however improbable, and like that dog we loved, we remain faithful to the franchise. Worldwide “Fate” has already raked in almost $1 billion, more than earning back its $250 million production cost.
Does that mean “Fate” is a good movie? I don’t know. What’s your definition of “good”? If you’re looking for depth, metaphor and nuance, you should probably stay out of American movie theaters.
But if silly escapist action movies are your bag, “Fate” isn’t bad. If you can turn off your brain and accept the plot holes big enough to drive a turbocharged Mack truck through, avert your eyes to the impossible physics, and appreciate the reality that the good guys never miss and they never die, “Fate” will reward you with two hours of solid movie entertainment.
Otherwise you’ll need to move to France.
The story kicks off in Havana where Dom (Vin Diesel) and Letty (Michelle Rodriguez) are enjoying their honeymoon and making new street-racing friends when an unwelcome intruder, Cipher (Charlize Theron), shows him something on a phone that compels him to turn on his team during their next job, that of stealing an electronics-killing EMP device. The EMP theft is only the first of a series of jobs Cipher has in mind for Dom, all of them leading to the theft of … well, let’s just say if the theft is successfully carried out, the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Isn’t that always the case?
Dom’s team is called in to track down their now rogue ex-boss and thwart Cipher’s scheme, which takes them around the world driving any and all manner of sexy (and costly) vehicles, shooting big guns, and trading very funny quips.
The plot is less “The Fast and the Furious” and more “Thunderball,” which I suppose is what the series was doomed to become when each installment was required to surpass the previous. I wonder what’s next – hotrods in outer space?
The action was itself fast and furious, and the carnage epic. I for one cringed at the thought of Bentleys and Lamborghinis meeting the wrecking ball, but Dusty assured me the cars were being destroyed in CGI so I got over it.
All the old characters are along for the ride and they gamely soldier on. Newcomer Scott Eastwood did an OK job but did not quite pull off the comically bumbling understudy to Kurt Russell’s Mr. Nobody. Paul Walker’s absence did seem to leave a hole in the cast and perhaps affected the group dynamic, but other relationships rose in Walker’s absence, including a hilarious feud between Jason Statham’s Deckard and Dwayne Johnson’s Hobbs. Theron’s Cipher was not as cool, slick, and organically evil as, say, an Ernst Blofeld or Hans Gruber.
Overall the movie thunders toward its predictable conclusion amid a cloud of operatic destruction and comically over the top action, which is not a bad thing if you’re looking to kill 2 hours of a Saturday afternoon with a fuel-injected dose of turbocharged fun.
But “Fate,” like that dumb old dog, has not learned any new tricks, so don’t be disappointed if you come out of the theater feeling you’ve seen it all before.
I would grade this movie a B-.
Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
Image by Alex Wild, University of Texas at Austin, Creative Commons license.
With all the troubles facing the world, isn’t it nice that we can enjoy these weekly interludes discussing the issues that really matter, such as cockroaches crawling up the inside of your jeans leg.
Yes, that really happened. Our newest reporter, Heather Osbourne, who is eager to see her stories given away for free online because she has no bills or other financial obligations, told the story one day as I related a tale from a Facebook friend about a cockroach that turned up on her pillow. Which would you like to hear first?
Before she made the serious mistake of entering journalism, Heather worked as a physical therapist. One day as she was attending to a patient, she felt what she described as a tickling sensation on her leg, inside her jeans. The sensation became so persistent she went into another room to see what was causing it – and discovered a large cockroach crawling up her leg. Naturally, she screamed, which disturbed the patients and irritated the staff.
Scream?
Had it been I, the entire room would have been flamethrowered and salted with plutonium.
But that isn’t as horrible as the poor woman on Facebook who woke up and sensed that something was crawling on her pillow. When she turned on a light, she saw a large cockroach skitter away. She too screamed, as I would have, and put her husband to work killing the intruder as she stripped the bed of linens. I assume she washed them. I would have sent them on the next probe to Mars.
You’re sensing I don’t like cockroaches. Very perceptive.
My hatred started with an awful night spent trying to kill a six-legged unwelcome immigrant that invaded my bedroom and terrorized me for several hours. He was a frisky cuss that liked to fly — unnerving when he plopped on the hot metal lamp hood 6 inches above my face.
I sprayed Mr. Roach with insecticide and the thing went crazy, performing poison-induced acrobatics as it zinged around the room, sometimes on foot, sometimes in the air, at least once flying directly toward me. At one point I actually ran out of the room and slammed the door, gasping for breath, like every victim in every monster movie who is scheduled to die in the next frame.
At last the thing crawled into a box containing the pieces to a jigsaw puzzle (I think) and I slammed the lid shut, then listened to it scratch against the cardboard all night. I never opened that box again. I threw it in the garbage.
I think if one of the things touched me I might actually keel over dead – wait a minute! That actually happened (not the death part). I was opening the laundry room door when a cockroach dropped off the ceiling and fell down the back of my shirt. You talk about agile. I was doing the chicken dance all over the laundry room while screeching, “Ew, ew, ew!” and pawing at myself.
And, of course, there was the time Mom almost killed us. We were in our car, a ’68 Ford Torino, driving down Brooks Street when Mom felt something crawl across her gas pedal foot. She glanced down and saw a large bull cockroach on her foot. We nearly ran off the road while she tried to get the thing off her, and we did pull over to banish it from the car.
I was reminded of all this just yesterday. I walked into my bathroom, flicked on the light and instantly detected that something was amiss. It took a moment for my sleep-addled brain to register that a dark spot had appeared on the wall, and it was moving.
I keep a can of Raid in that bathroom because it seems to be the Ellis Island of cockroaches entering my house. For laughs you should see me reach for the air freshener and grab the can of bug spray instead.
I gave the roach a spritz of Raid – not air freshener – then ran for the door in the likely event the roach took to the air. It actually did fan its wings once or twice but ultimately fell into the bathtub with a wet, slapping sound, as if somebody had dumped a 48-pound cobia on the bathmat.
Living in Florida means coexisting with cockroaches and palmetto bugs, a source of never-ending fear for folks with katsaridaphobia. It’s like taking seriously the threat levels issued by the Department of Homeland Security.
But as they say, you should do one thing every day that scares the dickens out of you.
This column was originally published in the April 9, 2017 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 courtesy of Columbia Pictures.
“Life” Starring Jake Gyllenhaal, Rebecca Ferguson, and Ryan Reynolds. Directed by Daniel Espinosa. 104 Minutes. Rated R.
Del’s take
If you come away from “Life” with a strong sense of déjà vu, be not afraid. You’ve seen it before.
You saw it with “Alien.” You saw it with “Gravity.” You even saw it with “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” “Life” is a 1950s-style science fiction B movie with 21st century special effects and a top-shelf budget and roster of actors. But despite the qualities and resources working in its favor, “Life” fails to generate much heat at the launch pad.
The story is standard-fare sci-fi/horror: A probe delivers soil samples from Mars to a crew aboard the International Space Station. An exobiologist discovers a protozoan-like organism in one of the samples and unwisely revives it. Then, as we have learned from countless sci-fi/horror films, the exobiologist unwisely feeds the organism and watches it grow until the day it abruptly decides glucose solution isn’t very appetizing and something heartier that will stick to its translucent ribs would be a better choice of menus.
There are no McRib sandwiches in outer space.
From there the movie becomes a grim struggle for survival as the astronauts match wits with the strangely resourceful and intelligent “Calvin,” as a schoolgirl has named it in a contest. To say anything about what happens next would spoil the movie for you, so I’ll fall back on my opening line. “You’ve seen it before.”
“Life” falls a smidge below the eye-catching and stomach-churning special effects of “Gravity,” but they’re still darned impressive, from soaring panaromas of the Earth and its landscape circling below to the weirdly unique environment of zero gravity inside the space station. (We even get a short tutorial on pooping in space. That toilet looked mighty small.)
Characters are thinly sketched as the monster mayhem ensues not long out of the gate. Jake Gyllenhaal is Dr. David Jordan, the station physician who seems slightly unhinged by his near record-setting time in space and does not want to return to Earth because a bad experience in Syria soured him on mankind. That moment of revelation is one of the few glimpses we receive of the man behind the doctor’s jumpsuit – and that’s more than what the other characters are given to bare except for station engineer Sho Murakami (Hiroyuki Sanada), who watches the birth of his child back on Earth via tablet.
Where the movie could have profited from its “Alien” DNA is in tension-building. Because the characters aren’t sufficiently developed and the action hurried onto the screen, it’s hard to care if they live or die. Director Espinosa should have followed Ridley Scott’s example and let us get to know these folks before exposing them to peril.
Some might interpret “Life” as a cautionary tale regarding the hubris of science, and they’d have plenty of ammunition. Again and again, science is portrayed as the rogue operator in this struggle of man vs. nature. But the movie never pursues that metaphor with any gusto. The missteps seem nothing more than means to achieve ends. Otherwise, there’d be no story.
“Life” deserves to be seen in a movie theater for its eye-popping special effects. The story itself is nothing special, and there are fewer thrills and chills than the trailers suggest.
Overall I would give it a grade of B-.
Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
Image courtesy of Warner Brothers.
“Kong Skull Island” Starring Tom Hiddleston, Samuel L. Jackson, Brie Larson. Directed by Jordan Vogt-Roberts. 1 hour, 58 minutes. Rated PG-13.
Del’s take
King Kong really needs to find a Mrs. Kong, if you know what I mean.
That poor, besotten beast, trapped all alone on Skull Island without the company of a female, has developed a frightening case of blue –
Cough cough cough. Ahem! Sorry about that. I momentarily forgot about this review’s PG rating.
Suffice it to say that in many of the Kong iterations we see a lonely ape the size of the federal deficit pining for a tiny but beautiful human woman, which ultimately leads to his demise, usually at the trigger finger of a sympathetic but competitive human male who has no intention of sharing his tiny but beautiful human woman with a giant ape, even if the giant ape is a movie star.
You don’t see that in many Plenty of Fish profiles.
In “Kong: Skull Island,” the eighth outing for the sexually frustrated mega-simian, movie fans receive a rehashing of many of the Kong tropes with a few new wrinkles that don’t add anything to the canon. But then the movie’s purpose is not to tread new ground but pave old ground for a sequel.
In “Skull Island” Bill Randa (John Goodman), a functionary in the Monarch organization (which figured into another recent giant creature movie), convinces a senator to fund a trip to Skull Island to look for, well, whatever is there – oil, uranium, or monsters.
Oh, and he needs a military escort.
That brings Lt. Col. Preston Packard (Samuel L. Jackson) into the picture, along with his unit of cannon fodder and one young non-com comedian (Thomas Mann). They’re joined by pacifist war photographer Mason Weaver (Brie Larson) and noted tracker Loki, er, James Conrad (Tom Hiddleston) to complete the lineup.
The group arrives aboard a fleet of helicopters that, after traversing some seriously bad weather that would have folks like you and me clutching air sickness bags like rosaries, reaches the jungle-infested canyons and scenic vistas of Skull Island. Hell immediately breaks lose and does not stop until about a hundred minutes later when the credits roll.
Pacing was off. My impression during the movie was that plot development was moving along too quickly, as if director Vogt-Roberts had taken input from an efficiency expert. Characters were hurriedly sketched, given only a short scene to establish their bonafides and histories, and then it was off to the races.
The script struck me as strangely flat. While the movie offered many funny lines, it missed what I thought were better opportunities for funnier lines. The actors had little to sink their teeth into.
John Goodman’s and Samuel L. Jackson’s characters were straight out of central casting, and as a result their particular branches of the conflict were similarly hackneyed. In fact the Jackson conceit, that of a military fanatic bent on destroying Kong, struck me as unrealistic and at times stupid.
Hiddleston and Larson were good despite the flat script, and Mann, as always, finds a way to inject life into his roles. John C. Reilly was excellent as World War II vet Hank Marlow, and his character provides the only watery-eye potential in the entire movie. Stay to the very end for that.
Many movies these days throw in an Easter egg after the credits, and you’ll need to sit through the entire run-through of credits for “Skull Island” to see which giant monster may figure into the sequel.
Overall I would grade “Skull Island” with a C+. I’ll give it high marks for a decent fight scene and monster mayhem, but low marks for clichéd characters, skimpy characterization, a threadbare script and hurried pacing.
Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
Dear President Trump,
I am one of your “worst people in the world,” an “enemy of the people” as you put it. A member of the media.
I take it I am worse than Adolf Hitler or Joseph Stalin.
Worse than the man who kidnapped an 11-year-old boy, raped him repeatedly and then shot him in the head.
Worse than the sick individual murdering women on Long Island.
Or the trifling sinners, such as the former local sheriff who stole thousands of taxpayer dollars from his own employees.
Or even the guy who runs the red light.
As such an awful person, I wish to repent. They say confession is good for the soul. Hear my confession, Mr. President. Listen to what I, as an enemy of the people, did with my day today, and explain to me my evil so that I may cleanse myself of whatever it is you say possesses me.
“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” a proverb attributed to Benjamin Franklin, who I assume fits your definition of a good American. I went to bed at 9:15 p.m. Friday night, and got out of bed at 4:25 a.m. Saturday morning. Evil is not an early riser, Mr. President.
I made my bed, an old trick I learned to discourage myself from getting back into it. I separated laundry and started the wash, because even enemies of the people need clean underwear, Mr. President.
And then I washed dinner dishes from the night before. What did you have for dinner, Mr. President? Something with lobster, I’ll bet, or something pronounced in French. I had hot dogs. Being an enemy of the people doesn’t pay as well as being president.
I made a pot of coffee using Starbucks beans I bought with a Christmas gift certificate.
Then I went for a walk. I find it soothing to my soul, those early morning walks, when only the stars and I are awake. As an enemy of the people my soul is often troubled, but those walks are restorative. Sometimes I pick up litter. Sometimes I help a turtle cross the road. But mostly I just walk and plan my day, or review the previous day, and wonder how I can make the world a better place for you Mr.President.
I am, after all, an enemy of the people.
Upon my return I enjoyed a cup of coffee, tossed clothes into the dryer, and did some work on my books. Did you know I sell ebooks to make extra money, Mr. President? The enemy-of-the-people business isn’t what it once was, and I need every extra buck I can lay my hands on. Sometimes that money pays my water bill. Sometimes it puts gas in my 11-year-old car. Sometimes it’s enough to buy a bowl of chili at Wendy’s.
Once I put away the laundry and wrapped up my bookwork, I drove a load of donations to the SOCKS thrift shop. What is SOCKS, you ask? No, it is not a leftist media elite think tank designed to bring down a paranoid, schizophrenic oligarchy.
It’s a cat shelter.
Save Our Cats and Kittens. I volunteered for SOCKS in the 1990s, scooping cat shit and scrubbing pee from plastic litter boxes. It was hard, dirty work, but as an enemy of the people I deserved no less. These days I’m on the board of directors, and while I don’t do a lot for the organization, I do donate a TON of supplies and thrift shop items. Today it was plastic bags, newspapers, shirts and disc golf discs recruited from my fellow enemies at the office. SOCKS can use these items to sell in their thrift shop, earning income to continue their mission to provide for the homeless cats and kittens of Okaloosa County.
During my day I stopped at a convenience store to buy a Diet Pepsi, where I held the door open for an elderly man struggling with a walker. It was a calculated move on my part, Mr. President, a link in the overall objective to woo the public with acts of kindness to deflect our real intent – to subjugate America with our leftist media elite values and principles. I also thanked a woman who let me move in line ahead of her when they opened a new cash register. My gratitude was sincere but could have been interpreted as a sly move on my part to ingratiate myself to an innocent supporter of YOUR presidency for purposes that, well, are better left unspoken.
Then it was off to my elderly mother’s residence, where I planted tomatoes in her front yard, planted a kalanchoe in a terra cotta container, filled in a hole with a bag of sand, washed the lawm mower ( I know – WHO in his right mind washes a lawn mower but a leftist media elite stooge ) after replacing the spark plug and air filter, and then prepped her deck for a water sealant treatment. I know. It all sounds very innocent, Mr. President. But believe me, there’s an ulterior motive to all this.
And that motive is:
To live life.
And that life, Mr. President, while very different from your own, is virtually no different than the lives of the people who elected you. It is the life of an ordinary American, one who has worked hard, obeyed the laws, turned the other cheek, and participated in the American dream. It is the life of a good American who is angry that you have demonized him as an “enemy of the people” and among the “worst people in the world,” all because he believes people should know the truth, and you do not want people to know the truth, at least as it applies to you.
You want the best for America, Mr. President. I believe that. But you are going about it all wrong. You think you can bully your way into getting what you want, and browbeat anybody who opposes you. That may be how it works behind the scenes at Trump Towers, but that is NOT how it works at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Maybe you should have bothered to look into that before you ran for president.
Go back to your life of dinners with lobster that are pronounced in French, Mr. President.
I will eat hot dogs, and beg people to buy my books so I can put gas in my car, while you fly to your mansion on the taxpayers’ dime and tell them I am an “enemy of the people.”
Gosh, Mr. President. I think we both know who the real enemy is.
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 courtesy of a Creative Commons license.
I just had an interesting conversation with the manager of a local grocery outlet over the store’s policy that it scan my driver’s license for the purchase of beer.
The manager explained the store sold alcohol to a minor last year, and corporate instituted a policy whereby all alcohol purchases are verified by a license scan. If the store sells alcohol to a minor within a year of the last incident, it could “lose its license,” whatever that means.
She added that it hadn’t caused any problems except for one guy, an “87-year-old man” who became agitated and took his business elsewhere (the implication being that because he was old, he was a technophobe. Having had my personal information subjected to cyberattack three times in the past 10 years, I sympathize with his point of view).
I asked her what information is extracted from the scan. She said none, except the age. Then she said their systems can’t extract or store information, that they’re just screens. They even don’t have local access to information on the store discount cards.
That’s horseshit. They routinely run credit cards through those scanners. Information is extracted and sent to a server somewhere in the world, where the account’s credit is validated.
Then she said something that irritated me. She said – and I paraphrase here – that “they” (meaning the bad guys) are going to get your information anyway, so why worry about a grocery store scanning your license?
That’s an absurd line of reasoning. It’s like saying, “Oh well, I’ll probably die of cancer so I might as well start smoking.” I have no way of knowing, or stopping, a hacker from stealing my information – except to keep it as safe as possible. But I can say no to Giant Faceless Corporation when it asks for the keys to my digital kingdom.
I wonder which would be worse: a hacker stealing a few bucks from my checking account, or a faceless corporation using my personal information to influence my spending habits, buying choices, and other lifestyle issues? Or worse, selling that information to another corporation so that they could do the same.
Ultimately she sold me the beer without the scan because she had the power to override. But I couldn’t help but wonder about the absurdity of it all – me, an obviously legal-age individual having to quibble with a store manager over a license scan.
When people hear the expression “big brother” they think of government, but big brother can be any large, immovable entity that exerts control over you. More and more these days, corporations are looking like Big Brother.
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 PickPic, Creative Commons license
On Sunday, Mom and I went to a garage sale at the Murder House.
“Murder House” is how the neighborhood describes the residence at 11 Pryor Road in Fort Walton Beach. Last month, William Butler snapped and stabbed his wife to death, then loaded a shotgun and killed his son and daughter. Another son managed to escape by climbing out a bedroom window and fleeing to a neighbor’s house.
I don’t know what compelled me to go there, because I have felt nothing but horror over those awful events, and pity for the 17-year-old who is now an orphan. I am not the kind of person to gawk at car accidents and I have no interest in the terrible things that sometime happen in our midst.
Still, there I was, feeling shitty at looking over their stuff … but looking nonetheless. This is what I saw.
At least one member of the Butler family was an avid fisherman. Leaning against the side of the house was a corn stack of fishing rods and reels, surrounded by tackle boxes with every kind of fishing lure you can imagine, the hooks all rusted, suggestive of salt water, not fresh water. Bluefish and speckled trout, not bream and bigmouth bass.
One table featured heaps of camouflaged clothing, which to me said: paintball. But it wasn’t paintball, because there were no masks or “markers” (i.e. guns). Instead, sitting on the ground next to camo table were two sets of archery equipment. Maybe a family member was into bowhunting.
I saw a lot of old technology, including boxes that contained reel-to-reel tape. Old movie soundtracks, music from the ‘50s and ‘60s. In some cases the tapes fluttered from the boxes like old, brittle streamers. Who listens to that stuff anymore? Where do you even find a reel-to-reel tape recorder/player? Ebay?
There were several laptops, and I could tell without looking too closely they were old. How? Because they were thick, with lots of ports for peripherals that probably no longer existed. One tablet had a shattered screen.
Another box contained hundreds of vinyl records. I could imagine collectors snapping up those LPs. I did not even look at them because I have nothing that will play a 33, but I could have bought something there that did. I saw numerous hi-fi’s and record players of varying sophistication.
There were other things – clothes, knick-knacks, candleholders, computer parts, and a paperback book with the cover ripped off.
Then, in one box, I found the item that sent me and Mom on our way.
A yearbook. From Meigs Middle School. Belonging to Katelyn Butler, who was only 14 years old when the world ended. Signed by her friends. Testimonials about their friendship, her future, the usual stuff. Notes tucked into the pages, in envelopes I didn’t open. Color photos.
Her short life, captured in a few glossy pages.
So we left.
I didn’t buy anything. I felt like a ghoul for even being there.
And now I feel even more horrible for a family I didn’t know, but one that, through their tragedy, brought a little more meaning to my life.
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 .
[ Cover image by Eugene Kim. ]
This is a short story, and it is short even for that. I say up front because I don’t want you to think you’ve been tricked out of your money (pardon the seasonal pun). At 99 cents, “Trick-or-Treat” is priced the lowest Amazon allows. If you don’t think a story of that length is worth a buck, please don’t buy this book.
Now, about “Trick-or-Treat”: I wrote the story back in the ’80s, and you’ll notice dated references to corded telephones and so forth. True story: The first cordless phone I ever saw was in the film “Terms of Endearment.” I remember thinking it was a trendy piece of technology I would never be able to afford, but a few years later I would own, and cherish, a Sony cordless phone.
I present to you the story as I wrote it, warts and all. I have not rewritten it or revised it in any way except to correct typos and misspellings.
Of the story I remember it was my first Halloween away from my parents. I had bought an old house across town and was a little nervous about being a homeowner. Suddenly I was responsible for a monster debt – $45,000 – and a huge obligation of repairs and maintenance. It meant I could not quit my job, nor could I suddenly up and leave for a job in another state. I was home “bound.”
The genesis of the story itself, I’m unsure of. The protagonist, Clifton, bears no resemblance to anyone I know either physically or spiritually. I have never experienced his kind of anger – I wouldn’t want to.
The story is set in the living room of that old house, and when I envision the activities taking place, they are framed by that house and neighborhood. I can see the yellowish door with the diamond-shaped window. I can see the tan shag carpeting, the sloped driveway, the buggy carport and the paint peeling from the frame.
I can even see Clifton standing in the living room during the climax that, to this day, shocks me and makes me wonder what the heck is wrong with a person who could think of a resolution so diabolical.
If you gave me your 99 cents (of which I get to keep 35; Amazon collects the rest), then I thank you and hope you enjoy “Trick-or-Treat.”
Think of it this coming Halloween.
Order a copy of “Trick-or-Treat” by following this link:
[ Cover image by Eugene Kim. ]
From Amazon
“While short enough to be called flash fiction, this story delivers the impact of a good horror story. Concise with no wasted words. Excellent read for Halloween.”
– Richard A. Bamberg, author of “The Hunters: Monster Hunting 101”
Trick-or-Treat: Revised, updated and enhanced with additional content, this micro-story punches far above its weight.
Clifton’s girlfriend Lisa has told him goodbye and he is not happy about it.
Not happy at all.
She said she needed space, and time. Clifton has no need of space or time, and now that Halloween is here, with all those happy kids ringing his doorbell and demanding candy, Clifton is ever reminded of his girlfriend, and her class of fourth-graders, and her young daughter, all of them gone now … or maybe not.
Because this Halloween, Clifton has a surprise for Lisa, and all the children in her life.
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 .
About this book:
“Trick-or-Treat” is a 756-word short story. It has never been published before.
The book’s total length is 3,516 words.
The author went to the Choctaw-Fort Walton Beach game in 2022 and snapped this photo as the Indians came onto the field. Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
I haven’t been to a high school football game in years. I don’t remember who won. I don’t remember caring.
I know people hereabouts take their high school football seriously, and that’s fine. I take my NFL football seriously, despite the fact it’s looking more and more like professional wrestling every day.
I haven’t kept up with the local prep sports scene. I know Niceville is a powerhouse, Choctaw is so-so and Fort Walton Beach is weak. I don’t know the whys and hows of all that. Apparently it’s complicated and immune to generalizations, but it has something to do with geography, coaches and the ability to transfer to a school that isn’t zoned for your area.
Whatever. As they say, I have no dog in this hunt.
But I can appreciate that some people do care, especially the parents of boys and girls who compete on the field. Now that college has become as expensive as a waterfront mansion, it’s important that kids earn scholarships. One of the clearest avenues to a scholarship is high school sports.
Some of those kids are walking away with full rides to play football for schools like Alabama and Florida State. And if they excel in college sports, then we’re talking the possibility of a stint in the pros, where unheard of riches await the talented athlete.
The price of things, the job market and the state of the economy are such that without a scholarship, kids may not have a college option. That’s too bad because these days we need the smartest, best-educated and most talented people running the country, not these schleps we’re being asked to vote for now.
I hear the football scene at Fort Walton Beach High School is unsettled. Their athletic director had to leave after he failed teacher certification requirements. I can sympathize; about five years ago I studied for the GRE and was amazed to discover I had forgotten much of what I learned in high school, never mind college.
Another blow: Fort Walton Beach’s quarterback, Brady Ooten, transferred to rival Choctawhatchee.
I don’t have an opinion on that. It’s none of my business. Obviously he and his parents felt it was best for his future that he make the switch. Apparently he’s a talented kid and has a chance at making it in college. With so much at stake, a transfer was probably in his best interests.
What did surprise me, and what I do have an opinion about, is the reaction Ooten’s story received on the Daily News’ Facebook page.
Predictably, some folks felt he was thinking only of himself. Others backed his decision, pointing to some of the issues I’ve raised.
What shocked me was how many people dismissed the notion of loyalty.
To them, loyalty was an outmoded, antiquated concept that had no place in today’s world of high-dollar, high-stakes high school sports. One person asked, “Being loyal to a high school team will get him where in life?”
To that person I would say: Loyalty to a high school team will get you everywhere in life.
Loyalty is a trait sadly lacking in our culture. Corporations are no longer loyal to their customers or employees. Family members aren’t loyal to each other. Yet loyalty has an instructional value that far surpasses its downsides.
Loyalty will teach you lessons that cannot be learned from any book, about how to succeed when you are surrounded by failure, and how to persevere when circumstances are lined up against you. It will teach you that some things in life are worth making sacrifices for, and nothing is gained without hard work and sometimes pain. It will also teach you that sometimes you must rely on help from others, and sometimes you must help others to succeed.
In the end, you may not win. But in losing you learn so much.
These are character-building experiences, and while they abound in our daily lives, people seem reluctant to experience them because they’re hard, and painful. The result is a generation of people who don’t see the value of loyalty.
I am not criticizing young Mr. Ooten or his parents.
But I am criticizing people who say loyalty to a losing cause has no value.
It does have value, and the fact that so many people don’t recognize that speaks volumes about their character.
This column appeared in the July 3, 2016 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 .