[Stylist] Intro and my first entry

Fri Sep 27 06:16:16 UTC 2019

Thanks for your reply Vejas!  From your name, I would hazard a guess that English is not your native 
language, so to be a senior major in it is a real feather in your cap/mortarboard!    Do the grads 
in your college wear caps and gowns?
the story was, I am thankful to say, entirely fictitious.
I could have called Sampson's killer a lot of things, but I did not want to be shown the Stylists' 
door before I had even got across the threshold, so "a filthy apology for a human being!"  I 
reckoned was pretty telling.
You picked my spelling as being for English english, but the NZ in my address would identify me as 
being a New Zealander, or if not of that specific ethnicity, at least, resident in God's Own! 
However, I am proud  to say that I am a bred and born Kiwi:  that is:   New Zealander with my 
ancestors having originated in Cornwall, Scotland, Ireland and Normandy via the Channel Islands.

         Jewel --------------------------------------------------
From: "Vejas Vasiliauskas via Stylist" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Friday, September 27, 2019 4:29 PM
To: "Writers' Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: "Vejas Vasiliauskas" <alpineimagination at gmail.com>
Subject: Re: [Stylist] Intro and my first entry

>
> Hi Jewel,
> It's very nice to meet you. My name is Vejas and I am a college senior English major.
> If you don't mind me asking, are you from England? I love reading modern British books, and I just 
> guessed it because of your spelling.
> I really liked your story... I hope this didn't actually happen to You, though. Your use of 
> figurative language is great.
> My only critique of it, and this is probably just my own personal opinion, but when you tell the 
> shooter that he is a  "filthy apology of a human being", I feel that this is too light. It's 
> something I would imagine saying to a close friend or significant other in a teasing way.
Vejas
>
>
>
> On 26 Sep 2019, at 19:16, Jewel via Stylist <stylist at nfbnet.org> wrote:
>
> I cannot sit down and work out a story!  It is up to my subconscious brain to do that, and,
> occasionally, that is what it does, not giving the smallest clue of what it is doing in its idle
> moments.
>
> When the story is 98% complete, it will then telegraph the product of its deliberations to my
> conscious brain which will then add the final 2% in the form of polishing and addition of the 
> finer
> points.
> Having explained my writing schedule, or haphazard nature of the same, following is my 
> subconscious
> brain's last effort!  Who knows when it will put itself out again?  maybe next week, or, more
> likely, going on previous experience, NEVER!!!
> ----------------------------------
>
>             Sampson
>
>
> My guidedog  jumped forward in his harness and there came from him a sound that I had never 
> expected
> to hear from such a good-tempered animal:  a threatening and "I mean business!!" growl.
> His growl was answered by the bark of a gun.
> Sampson was hurled backwards, taking me with him,  and we both fell to the ground.
> I knew, instantly, that my beloved dog was dead.
>  I tried to jump to my feet, but before I could achieve that, a voice came out of the darkness: 
> a
> pleasant, and, I thought, rather cultured one:
> "Miss Blanch!  if you are wise, and believe me when I say that it would be in your best interests 
> to
> be so,  follow the example set by the, recently, departed, and stay, very ...  very ...  still!"
> What option did I have?  Sampson was dead, so I did as bid and stayed very ... very ... still!!!
> There was a soft chuckle, the click of a car door, the rumble of a well-maintained engine, and the
> slayer of innocent  dogs drove away.
> -----------------
> After a sleepless night, I buried Sampson in the front garden, under, what had been his favourite
> shade tree.
> I sat beside his grave, thinking back over the many happy years  we had worked together, 
> travelling
> the world, experiencing all the trials and tribulations plus many adventures that my job as an
> international journalist brought with it, and now,  picturing him running free, without any
> responsibilities, in the meadow on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.  Was he chasing
> butterflies?  that had been his favourite game when he was on this side of the bridge, and,
> occasionally, he, even, caught one, but I am convinced that for him to have been successful, the
> insect must have been very old and on the point of death, so I doubt that his rare successes had 
> any
> lasting impact on the continued survival of the genus!
> In the midst of my reverie,  from the direction of the gate,  came a voice that I knew well and
> would never forget:
> "Good morning Miss Blanch!"  and what a  lovely one it is for gardening!  I don't see that dog of
> yours, but I am sure that he is not far away!"
> "You filthy apology for a human being!  I cried:  "what harm did my Sampson ever do you?"
> "tut tut!:  Miss Blanch!    SUCH  LANGUAGE!  what harm had he ever done me?I confess that,
> personally, he had done none!  You and your like may claim dogs to be your best friends, but,
> believe me, not everyone is so deluded and I, being one of them, have taken it upon myself to rid
> the community of the vile creatures whenever the opportunity presents itself.
> If you are thinking that an examination of the bullet that brought about the animal's sudden 
> passing
> might lead to my identity, let me disabuse you;  I borrowed, for a short time, the gun from a
> stranger, without his knowledge, and now,  that firearm is back in his gunrack without him 
> realising
> that it was ever missing!   secondly, you may be thinking that you can identify me from my voice:
> you will never hear it again!  and with that, he walked away.
> ------------------
> An original story created and written by Jewel Blanch
>
>
>
>
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