Maybe it was Capt. James Tiberius Kirk, commander of the starship Enterprise, who said: “Into each life a little raw sewage must fall.” At least now I know Capt. Kirk’s middle name, thanks to the mobs who descended by telephone,… READ MORE
Image courtesy of Flickr user Dennis Church by way of a Creative Commons license. https://www.flickr.com/photos/dfc_pcola/
When I want to experience nature in the flesh NATURE’S flesh, that is, not mine – I don’t hike in the woods. I go to the golf course. Such was the case the other day when Scott, my golfing accomplice,… READ MORE
Image courtesy of pxfuel.
Lately, torch-wielding mobs have been gathering at my front door, demanding to know what I want for Christmas this year. These mobs are in luck, because after thinking about last year’s very sad Christmas, when I received mere thousands of… READ MORE
In this photo the author (left) greets a visitor to the Northwest Florida Daily News' booth at a local festival. As you can see, the author is overjoyed by the warm - make that cold - greeting the visitor had to offer, which probably resulted in even more gray hairs appearing in his head. Photo courtesy of the Northwest Florida Daily News
This morning I thought we would take an intimate look at eye crud, but a vastly more important issue has since arisen: Apparently I’ve reached that point in life when, in order to continue looking young, I must give Mother… READ MORE
Image courtesy of MGM/UA.
“Pumpkinhead” Starring Lance Henriksen, Jeff East, John D’Aquino and Florence Shauffler. Directed by Stan Winston. 86 minutes. Rated R. Amazon Prime. Del’s take They had me at the cicadas. If I remember the South for anything it will be sluggish… READ MORE
Image courtesy of Quinn Dombrowski by way of a Creative Commons license. https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/
As a homeowner, I have had my eyes opened to a range of marvelous new experiences, many of them requiring the absence of money. One such experience is a clogged drain. In the halcyon days of my youth, a clogged… READ MORE
Who knew I had such deep thoughts?
Filmmakers would have you believe every hour of every day is fraught with adventure. The typical cinematic day begins with an illicit love affair followed by a mysterious telephone call, a car chase and a narrowly thwarted assassination attempt.
But life rarely imitates art. This occurred to me recently as I was standing in an office supply store. The clerk had just told me IBM manufactures a ribbon cassette that is compatible with my Royal typewriter. That made me happy – inordinately happy. And I didn’t know why.
After all, small success stories such as these are not the stuff of which entertainment is made. Had I not been taught by 25 years of watching television and movies that a person could not be truly happy unless he were realizing his most extravagant dreams?
It had been a good day, so far, and as I went over the events that had made it that kind of day, I began to remember something many of us often forget under the barrage of video and celluloid fantasies.
That morning, I finally discovered a place where our writers’ group could meet. I belong to the Redneck Riviera Writers Group. We get together twice a month and compare notes on the business of writing. We had been meeting at people’s homes, or local eateries, but it soon became obvious that if we were to expand beyond our current membership of five people, we would have to find a permanent meeting place. After a fruitless search, we found a new home at the YMCA, courtesy of Joe Lukaszewski. That made me feel good.
Something else nice happened that morning. I found a book of Ramsey Campbell short stories I hadn’t known existed. I’m a student of the short story and Campbell is a bona fide master. The book should be fascinating.
I also picked up what I think will be the perfect gift for a friend. It, too, is a book of short stories, but these are special. I had never seen the book outside of the one copy I’d been hoarding for myself. Now she can enjoy it too.
Pop artist Andy Warhol died recently. In one of his obituaries I came across a reference to a movie of his titled “Sleep.” The movie depicted a person sleeping. That’s it. Two hours of a person sleeping. The entertainment virtues of the film are less than dubious and the artistic virtues debatable, but I think I understand what Warhol might have been saying.
The small, mundane successes and failures - things that would end up on the cutting room floor – are the body and texture of life. They are what make life an endlessly fascinating experience. Spilling coffee on the living room carpet. Finding a letter from a friend in your mailbox. The thousand things that you forget a day after they’ve happened. They are what get us through accomplishments to crises.
So it was a pretty good day. Not great, but not horrible. Just something to be thankful for.
This column was published in the Sunday, January 10, 1988 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 .
Who knew I had such deep thoughts? Filmmakers would have you believe every hour of every day is fraught with adventure. The typical cinematic day begins with an illicit love affair followed by a mysterious telephone call, a car chase… READ MORE
This is the Sunday, Feb. 7, 1988 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News featuring the new name and new look. Image by Del Stone Jr.
Our newspaper, the Daily News, has embarked on an ambitious redesign project which I am overseeing, and this has given me the opportunity to investigate many important design questions, foremost among them the question of how much am I going… READ MORE
Let me bore you with the story of our trip to the Bahamas. I’ll tell it in sequence, since that’s the way it is in the police reports.
Day 1: Long road trip to Tampa. I won the “Who Can Spot the First Wild Palm Tree” contest. I saw a whole row of them growing next to a house.
Tampa International Airport. The metal detector went haywire when it spotted the case of beer in our luggage.
I anesthetized myself at the airport, so the flight to Miami was OK, as was the flight to the Bahamas.
The baggage-carrier mangled my luggage. I had to chase it around in circles, yanking on it like one of those dumb games your dog plays with the clothes on the line at night. I think I was even growling.
The rental car was a disaster. I sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racing the engine without the car ever moving. I discovered the clutch had to be let out all the way before the gears would engage. The muffler was about to fall off. The steering wheel had palsy. So did the brakes.
Day 2: I was lying by the pool, reading a book, when a Bahamian man scaled a palm tree above me. Suddenly, coconuts were thudding to the ground like artillery rounds, bouncing all around me, giving me reason to fear for my life. Dave hacked at a coconut with a knife for 30 minutes before uncovering a puny rind of meat and a squirt of juice that tasted like goat spit.
Sand and Dave took the car for a spin. The car broke down 10 miles from home. They ad to push-start it back to the rental agency. They got a new car with a muffler that was falling off, a goofy clutch – all the standard rental-car features.
Day 3: We stocked up on supplies – Captain Crunch, chocolate chip cookies, chips and dip, orange juice, etc. A case of beer cost $24.
We also stopped by a road sign that said “LITTERING IS UGLY AND STUPID” for a photo of us throwing litter on the ground.
We paid Flossy for the bread, but you’ve already heard the gory details.
Goombay Festival by the pool. The Amazing somebody did tricks with flaming sticks; we waited for her to ignite herself.
Day 4: Snorkeling on the reefs. We rode out on a big boat that swayed back and forth, back and forth, until the previous night’s gluttony threatened to make reappearance. The reefs were very beautiful; the see-through bathing suits were very beautiful.
We had a picnic on the beach. I stood on my head underwater and got salt water permanently deposited in my sinuses.
I also managed to flatter the cook and got a gigantic piece of barbecued chicken as my reward.
We went swimming afterward (No, Mom, I didn’t wait an hour after eating!). Some snorkelers nearby told us a 700-pound stingray was swimming directly below us. I decided it was time to towel off.
Next week: Losing money the Bahamian way.
This column was originally published in the Playground Daily News in 1987 and is reprinted with permission.
Let me bore you with the story of our trip to the Bahamas. I’ll tell it in sequence, since that’s the way it is in the police reports. Day 1: Long road trip to Tampa. I won the “Who Can… READ MORE
Recently, many of you were shocked and saddened to learn that I was living at my parents’ home because the newspaper publisher refuses to pay the piddling $4,000 per week necessary for me to buy a home of my own.
The outpouring of grief and sympathy was heartwarming, and I truly appreciate the thousands of letters of support I received from real estate agents.
You will be happy to learn, though, that I have finally purchased a house. Now you can go back to worrying bout other things, such as nuclear war and the trade deficit.
It was all rather sudden. In fact, I’m still not sure if I actually bought the house or will live in it as an indentured servant. At any rate, I signed many papers and learned how to repeat difficult-to-pronounce terms such as “soffit,” “escrow,” “bankrupt” and “debtor’s prison.”
Looking for a house was an exciting experience. It ranks alongside having hemorrhoids surgically removed. The problem is that no matter how nice a house you find, you are hesitant to commit yourself to 30 years of payments, especially if you are under the influence of alcohol. But I was assured everything would be fine after a week of diarrhea.
As a potential buyer, I was given vast powers. I could barge right into a house – even if the occupants were having dinner, reproducing, hiding dead bodies or planning the overthrow of the government. This experience taught me two very important lessons: (1) Many of us are slobs, and (2) do not enter a slob’s house until the dog is chained up.
Before I went looking for a house, I prepared a rigorous checklist of important features that a prospective house would have to meet:
1. Did I see roaches during my inspection?
2. Was the house constructed on an ancient Indian burial site?
3. Did the neighbors have moats or gun ports on their houses?
4. Was there any indication that devil worshipers had conducted midnight rituals involving goats on the premises?
5. Was the house within staggering distance of a pub?
Fortunately, the house of choice exhibited none of these characteristics, and even offered several pluses, such as a telephone in the utility room; so now, as suds spew from the washing machine, I can call Mom and ask, “You mean you’re not supposed to use the entire box of soap?”
When my working companions learned I had purchased a house, they wanted to know one thing: When is the party?
The party, my good friends, is when you cough up the microwave ovens and rocker-recliners and wall-to-wall bookshelves. I guess that means never.
Perhaps years from now, when my neighbors are assured that I won’t be raising llamas in the back yard or renting out the spare room to a heavy-metal guitarist, I will have a housewarming party.
But first, I have to get a couch.
This column was originally published in the May 20, 1987 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 .
Recently, many of you were shocked and saddened to learn that I was living at my parents’ home because the newspaper publisher refuses to pay the piddling $4,000 per week necessary for me to buy a home of my own…. READ MORE