[stylist] Halloween Story

Mon Oct 24 18:23:10 UTC 2011

Jackie

I never saw Soilent Green, but I heard about it.  I'd classify it as dystopian SF of the overpopulation type.  The '60s and '70s seemed to have a lot more dystopian stuff than the current age.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jacqueline Williams
Sent: Monday, October 24, 2011 2:16 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] Halloween Story

Wow,
These surprise endings are great.
Somehow, this made me think of the movie, "Soilent Green" I'm not sure what
genre it would be called, but certainly set in the future. Let us hope it is
not our future.
Jackie 

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Cheryl Orgas & William Meeker
Sent: Wednesday, October 19, 2011 11:44 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] Halloween Story

Hi Shawn,

Nice Halloween story.  I liked your setting the story at a convention, since
you will be reading it at one.  And nice interweaving the story and
real-time events.

I found seasonal stories to be a good stimulus for ideas.  And the season,
or holiday also served as a deadline for me.

Here is one I wrote for a writer's group years ago.  Maybe others would care
to post halloween stories; just for fun.

Bill Meeker

Trick or Treat

As discretely as the semi rumbled through the residential neighborhood, it
still seemed out of place.

"Marshall Casket Company" read the eight year old boy aloud to his dad.

"It must have been making a delivery to the Lugubrio Brothers funeral home
on East Capital Drive" said his dad as they walked, trick-or-treat bag in
hand toward their modest Milwaukee bungalow.

"Do they make deliveries at night?" asked his son

"Eight O'clock is still early evening son.  I'd wonder though if this was
midnight." He chuckled.

The man and the boy each thought his own thoughts about the experience.

"What a bizarre coincidence-that going down our street on Halloween" thought
the dad.

Tired, mind buzzy with the candy he had eaten the boy's thoughts of the
truck mixed with thoughts of the neighborhood ice cream parlor, "Casket
Robbers 31 Flavors" 

Behind the wheel of the "Marshall Casket company" 18 wheeler, the burley,
volpine driver consulted his manifest.

"That takes care of this side of town" he said through his thick beard to
his helper.

"What about the two for South Milwaukee?" asked the helper, a sallow, ruby
lipped man of sharp features and indeterminate age.  "Why they need any down
there is beyond me."  He grumbled.

"doesn't matter what you think" said the driver.  "All we need to do is
deliver them in good condition.  And we've gotta hustle.  We can get away
with driving around like this on Halloween-people think it's a joke, if they
think anything at all."

Exactly six months later, Wallpurgis Night-May Eve, saw a lid lifting on a
lozenge shaped object under the porch of a modest Milwaukee bungalow.  What
came out was  something between a solid, a liquid, and a gas.  It penetrated
the front wall of the house under the porch and separated into three
cornucopia shaped masses.  Inside, the shapes became solid enough to display
in-pointing spirals of needle sharp teeth that devoured the sleeping family
of three who barely had time to scream, since the things consumed them head
first.  The devouring things then settled motionless to the floor.

Similar scenes were enacted at various locations throughout the Milwaukee
metropolitan area that night.

May Day found a family of three talking over cereal and toast in their
modest Milwaukee Bungalow.

"Be sure to finish all your cereal, Bruce" said the Mom to her son.

"But Mom, it tastes weird."

"You'll get used to it.  You want to grow up big and strong, don't you?"

"Don't be too hard on the boy Myra" said the Dad.  If his cereal is anything
like this toast, I know what he means."

"I work hard to feed you two" she said.

"Its not your fault Mom, said the boy, licking his small, sharp teeth.

The doorbell rang.

"That must be Keith and Justin-see you later Mom"

"Have a good day at school Son" said his dad.  "Its about time for me to
head for the office."

"Have a great day dear" said his wife.  "And remember, save enough energy to
clean that junk out from under the porch after work tonight."

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Jacobson, Shawn D
Sent: Tuesday, October 18, 2011 10:01 AM
To: Jacobson, Shawn D; 'newmanrl at cox.net'; 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] A Haiku I Wrote This Morning

Here's a little story, about 650 words, that I plan to read at the state
convention talent show.  I trust it will fit the Halloween theme.

Shawn

The Fear of Rejection
by Shawn Jacobson

I looked down over the balcony railing at the hotel's swimming pool.
Drained and deserted in the October chill, its tiled surface collected the
light from the full moon.  The editor pulled my thoughts back to the
business at hand.
"You'd be surprised how many stories we reject are for very basic reasons
obvious lapses in science, inconsistent characters, poor grammar, things
like that.  The form rejection letter actually covers most reasons for
rejecting a story yours included"
I looked at the form letter for my latest story, but any of the myriad such
letters I'd received would have done.  "I'm not sure what basic think I
missed though.   Is it that the story has been done many times before?"
"Well" said the editor "we do see a lot of stories about aliens in human
form that eat people, but you had some interesting twists, the one about the
aliens breathing fire like dragons to cook their food was a nice point.
Even man-eating reptile-looking aliens don't want to mess with food
poisoning.  In fact, the scene where the alien bad guy lures people out on
the hotel balcony to be eaten was rather well done.  You do look cold, are
you OK?"
"Yes" I replied "just a little chilly, but the cold doesn't bother me much".
In fact, I would rather have been in the hospitality suite where it was warm
grazing off the snack table and doing damage to my diet, but the chance to
talk to the famous editor about my work was just too good an opportunity to
pass up.
I continued looking down the bullets of the form letter by the ghostly lunar
light.  "I know you like happy endings in the stories you publish and the
story ends happily for the hero even if a lot of the other characters get
lunched."
"Nothing wrong with the ending either" the editor said "in fact a lot of the
aliens had a happy ending to.  It was nice that you pointed that out.  Most
authors I run into wouldn't have bothered with what happened to the aliens;
you kind of stand out that way.  In fact, it's one reason I'm talking to you
and not all the other folks whose stories I reject.  You'd be surprised how
voracious a reader you have to be in my job.  You also need a cast-iron
stomach to deal with the stories that are hard to swallow."
"And I read that you want strong characters and extraordinary challenges; I
thought my characters were strong and quite interesting."
"Yes, yes," the editor continued, and the challenges were difficult to
surmount.' Meanwhile someone in the room said "gee it's getting chilly in
here, how about I shut the balcony door;" as the door slid shut, the raucous
conversation from within was muted.  "As I said, the characters were great,
delectable as a matter of fact; it's just that one basic thing that makes
your story wrong for us."
"What could that be?" I asked as a cloud scudded across the moon darkening
the scene.  Across the way, another couple returned to the warmth of their
room leaving us alone in the night.  Suddenly, the stars seemed somehow
closer than they really were.
"I thank there's one bullet on the letter you haven't discussed; in fact,
it's the first bullet if I'm not mistaken."
I looked down trying to read the letter in the uncertain light from within
the hotel room, a light repeatedly blocked by conventioneers moving about.
My bafflement  grew as I strove to read threw the shadows.  How could my
story, the precious work of my imagination, have failed this test.  As I was
about to vent my frustration, I heard a ripping sound and looked up.
"You see" said the editor as he pealed the skin from his face "we only
publish science fiction."

-----Original Message-----
From: Jacobson, Shawn D
Sent: Monday, October 17, 2011 1:19 PM
To: 'newmanrl at cox.net'; 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: RE: [stylist] A Haiku I Wrote This Morning

Robert

Thanks for asking, but I think I need to take care of this myself.

I'm getting ready to perform my treasurer duties at State convention
(October 28th through 30th in Ocean City); I've also been asked to do a
short reading during the Friday evening talent show/story telling contest.

I took my son to the local science fiction convention over the weekend but
had to leave early Saturday to help at the scholarship fundraiser that
evening.  And around all that I had to work laundry, mowing the lawn etc.

Anyway, I hope to get more active (with a story or two) once the smoke
clears.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Robert Leslie Newman
Sent: Monday, October 17, 2011 11:02 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] A Haiku I Wrote This Morning

Gee, Shawn! Anything we can help with?

(Good poem, I could follow it.)

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Jacobson, Shawn D
Sent: Monday, October 17, 2011 9:16 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] A Haiku I Wrote This Morning

And here's a haiku that kind-of explains my absence from the list of late.

Mighty flood of life
That sweeps me to the future
In vain I struggle.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Homme, James
Sent: Friday, October 14, 2011 4:03 PM
To: Homme, James
Subject: [stylist] A Haiku I Wrote This Morning

Harvest

How many layers
in my onion? pealing prompts
pain, pleasure, my core.

Jim

Jim Homme,
Usability Services,
Phone: 412-544-1810.

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