The thing about editing...

I know, I know-- I talk about editing a lot. Could be because I'm an editor, could be because it's so important. I fully acknowledge that I'm OCD about it. I cannot turn off the inner editor and too many times that ruins what might be a perfectly fine story for me. Little things like a miss-used word, too many adverbs or a lack of "flow" send me into howls of despair. And more often than not, result in me not finishing the story or book or novella. I just can't do it. I like to think I'm not the only one who has this problem. It might be genetic because my sister and my kids pick up on it too.

But I'm fully ready to admit that I do not know everything. (Well, no one KNOWS everything, even those who like to think they do.) And I too, can benefit from editing. I know this. My critique partner points it out. And if I hadn't already know it, it was recently proven to me. A facebook friend took my Friday flash, "A Whore Named Josie" and edited it for me. He managed to cut out those 150 words that I thought were absolutely essential. Did I agree with all of it? No, of course not. But I did agree with most of it and even learned a thing or three. He did what good editors do-- he took my story and made it shine. I liked it so much that I sent him another story of mine to edit and he sent me one of his. (Because the writing world should totally operate on a bartering for services basis, if you ask me.) This time? I liked most of it, rewrote the story and we were both happy with the outcome.

That's how your relationship with a good editor should work. They aren't out to rewrite your story themselves (hell, I do NOT have time for that!), they want to make suggestions and help you rewrite your story into one you are both proud to have worked on. They will find your diamond in the rough and help you polish it. Please remember this when hiring or dealing with an editor.

Sure I know that's money you could spend on other things. But working with an editor before you publish should not be optional. I just told you that even editors (who are trained to catch mistakes, plot holes and sloppy writing) need editors. No one can catch all of their own mistakes. And beta readers are great, but they are not a substitute for an editor. I'm always amazed at the things that beta readers did not catch. Publishing your book with a clean, mistake free, polished manuscript will gain you respect from your readers and other writers. Hurriedly putting something out just because you can too often results in your book not being all that it can be. You will lose readers and respect. No one wants that. And no one wants that for you.

So barter the services, spend the money or beg-- but get that book, story, novella-- edited. Because you're worth it. And so is your manuscript.

♥Stacey

PS- if an editor sends you a request for a rewrite on a submission or suggested editorial changes, try to realize that we are doing our job, not judging your work or being mean or insulting you. We want the same thing you do-- for your work to shine.

Meet Sam Williams

I met Sam Williams through email. I edited his new short story collection, Tales from The Swollen Corpse. It was a great experience. Sam was easy to work with and he's very talented. You can read my review of his book over at See Spot Read. For those of you who enjoy short story collections I highly recommend this one. And it's currently priced at 99 cents. So worth it!

Now, about Sam~

1.)    How long have you been writing?
A long time but only the last two years seriously with the desire to put it out there for everyone to see.

2.)    Do you write full time or do you have another job? If so, what is it?
I wish. During my 9 to5 I work in customer service/sales for a major prosthetic manufacturer, specializing in lower limb prosthesis. Also my wife and I are the proud parents of a rambunctious three year old, which is a full time job in itself.

3.)    Is this your first published collection?
Yes and hopefully not the last.

4.)    What made you decide to go the Indie route?
A few things: Short stories have the limited market of genre mags and anthologies with multiple authors. I have had some luck getting into both but wanted my own collection and to be a no name and have a collection you pretty much need to go indy. Also I am big fan of the indy movement. The abundance of new fresh voices was what converted me from the closed minded (if it’s not paper it’s not a book) person I used to be. Now I understand (and preach) eBooks are an addition to your reading diet and any good diet should have variety. And like the indy music stores I spent so much time in in my youth, if your are up for the task of digging you’re bound to find something that blows your mind.

5.)     What is it you like about writing short stories? What would you say the challenges with this form are?
I like the freedom, the freedom to be more abstract and leave a little more to the imagination, which is very important to horror. The challenges like conveying a lot with little, is part of the fun for me.

6.)    What scares you personally? Do you have any silly phobias?
Anything that would jeopardize the health or safety of my son. I think becoming a parent puts priorities and fears in a broader selfless prospective.

7.)    What is your writing routine?
Late at night in front of my old desk top, door closed, kid in bed and headphones on listening to two songs (always the same two) on repeat.

8.)    Have you always been a fan of horror?
Oh yeah and that’s where the love for it comes from, it’s a form of nostalgia. Horror at its core is about fear. As an adult you know real fears and they are not entertainment. But in a scary story you are trying to recapture those feelings you got watching the midnight movie as a kid, that weird mix of excitement and mystery. 

9.)    What other authors inspire you?
The guys that everyone mentions (and deserve it so): King, Barker, Lovecraft. I also love and read a lot of horror comics from writers like Steve Niles. And I love cult classic lit like Hunter Thompson and Jack Kerouac.  A huge inspiration from childhood are the stories and are in the three original “Scary stories to tell in the dark” by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell.

10.) What advice would you give to newbie writers out there?
Always appreciate criticism it’s invaluable. But be aware of where it comes from. It should be a tool for improvement but criticism that’s negative for the sake of being negative as well as overly positive is useless.
Oh and get a good editor.

BIO:

A little back-story on me and TSC
I grew up reading and watching the creature feature. I loved reading things like Scary stories to tell after dark, the old EC/creepy comics, and magazines like Monsters Attack. Of course my tastes grew as I did but I never lost love for these types of stories.
In October 2010 after having a hard time (outside of comics) finding the pulp horror stories I craved, I started writing my own. I created a blog called Theswollencorpse.blogspot.com
 The stories found in it are for grownups and range from lighthearted to very dark. 
Tales from the swollen corpse can be found at:
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005BE43RQ

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tales-from-the-swollen-corpse-sam-williams/1104270029

Paperback: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/tales-from-the-swollen-corpse/16350940

And on iTunes.

Blog http://theswollencorpse.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Swollen-Corpse/111357002276607

Hope you enjoyed meeting Sam as much as I have.
♥Stacey

Meet S. Alini

I met author S. Alini through email. And I decided to review his Young Adult fiction book, The Strange Journal of the Boy Henry. You can read my review over at See Spot Read. Please do. I can wait...

Back? Awesome. You totally want to read it now, don't you? You should. You'll enjoy it! Okay, on with the questions because enquiring minds want to know, right?


1)How long have you been writing novels?

Hard to say because I’ve also done cartoons and screenplays over the past seventeen years.But I think I’ve written children’s books for eight years now.

2.)   Do you write full time or do you have a day job?

I trade stocks when I’m sufficiently foolish and gullible.

3.)   Is this your first published novel?

No,I’ve published four others:

Aaaack the Duck
Tired of mistreatment by humans, a feisty little duckling named Aaaack decides he’s going to become a Lawyer so he can set things right.

Aaaack in School: Book2
In this, the second in the series, Aaaack makes his way to school to fulfill his dream.

Effie the Magician
Seven year old Effie just can’t keep from getting into trouble. When she finds herGrandmother’s Secret Book of Magic and a Wand, things really get nutty.

SuperBurger
Eight year old Isaac saves up and buys a SuperBurger. Then goes to incredible lengths to hide it so he doesn’t have to share with his family.


4.)   What made you decide to go the Indie route?

I realized, early on, that I was too good for the big traditional publishers. I kid. No, they decided they were too good for me. Actually I came real close twice. Editors at Random and Harper got excited about two different books. Then each found reason to decline. But I’m glad now, because I get a bigger percentage of sales and I own all rights.

5.)   What made you decide to write middle grade novels?

I’m passionate about kids reading, and felt it was important to write stories that amuse and entertain them.

6.)   What scares you personally? Do you have any silly phobias?

Snakes. Sshhhhhh… they might be listening.

7.)   What is your writing routine?

I have no routine. I write when I feel passionate about a particular story or situation. I don’t force it because I don’t like the result when it’s forced.

8.)   What genre would you classify your writing?

Not sure. My writing is generally humorous. Even in The Strange Journal of The Boy Henry, which is a suspenseful, scary kind of story, I have funny characters.

9.)   What other authors inspire you?

JudyBlume, Louis Sachar, Mark Twain, Akhil Sharma, Irvine Welsh.

10.)What advice would you give to newbie writers out there?

You’re never gonna make it so just quit. I don’t need the competition. No, I’d say keep at it. Electronic publishing has opened up the world for writers. We can reach readers another timezone away. The possibilities are endless. So keep reading and keep writing.

Bio

I live in Atlanta, Ga. I like it because it’s the greenest (as in trees and grass) city I’ve ever been in. Also it seems to have cultural activities every weekend. I’ve written various things for many years. Started off with short stories, moved to cartoons, then screenplays (which got me an agent), then eventually children’s books. I spend my time swimming, playing soccer or watching independent films.

Blog: www.alinibooks.blogspot.com
Twitter: @SanAlini
Facebook: San Alini

The Strange Journal of the Boy Henry can be purchased on the Amazon Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/Strange-Journal-Boy-Henry-ebook/dp/B004XJ5ZNG/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_2

Hope you enjoyed meeting San Alini. I did. And look forward to more books in the future!

♥Stacey

#Friday Flash- The Hidden Door

Hey! It's that time again- time for #Friday Flash. This week's Vamplit Blog's prompt was "hidden places". Hope you'll enjoy my entry and stop by the Vamplit Blog to read all the other entries as well!

The Hidden Door

Sam winced as the door creaked. He paused and listened to see if he could hear footsteps of any kind. Nothing. He was just about to resume his pressure on the door when Jeff pushed past him, rudely shoving the door inward. The resulting squeal of the hinges seemed to explode in Sam’s eardrums.

“What the hell?” he said, as loudly as he dared. “We’re breaking and entering here, in case you’d forgotten. We need to be quiet.”

Jeff shrugged. “I told you no one was here. I watched the old couple leave an hour ago. They don’t come back till morning. And the stores on either side are closed up tight too. Nobody’s gonna hear us. Quit being a pansy ass.”

Sam bit his tongue to keep from responding to Jeff’s taunts. Man, he was sick of him. Soon as he had enough dough, he was skipping town. This little Podunk town was weird as hell and he didn’t want to be here. Jeff was a native and while he was a jerk and about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, so far he’d been good at finding places to rob and knew the comings and goings of half the town. So he’d put up with him a bit longer.

Looking around, Sam asked, “What the hell kind of store is this?”

“Antiques.” Jeff answered. “You know, old valuable shit.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sam asked, staring at a taxidermied monkey leg. He didn’t see anything valuable. Everything he saw was creepy.

 

“Nope. Not kidding.” Jeff replied, picking up a glass jar filled with a clear liquid. Sloshing around inside were what appeared to be several eyeballs.

Sam shook his head in disgust and sighed. “Alright, I’ll look over here and you start on the other side of the room. Fill your pack with small things, anything you think we can fence.”

An hour later Sam had grabbed a few things; a gold locket, a silver brush & mirror set and gold pocket watch. He was ready to blow this gig. He’d felt nervous from the time they broke in and it was getting worse. Plus he was hot and sweaty and felt dirty from pawing through the dusty offerings. This whole night was a waste. He was pissed at Jeff and pissed at himself. He should’ve known better. This was nothing but an old junk store. Just as he turned to tell Jeff he thought they should go, Jeff let out yelp and jumped back several feet.

 

“A rat! A freakin rat!” he shouted.

“Shut the hell up!” Sam said. “Do you want us to get busted?”

Jeff shook his head. “Sorry man, but that startled the hell out of me. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I know what you mean. Let’s bail.” He shouldered his pack and headed for the entrance.

“Hey wait!” Jeff called. “I found a door.”

“Yeah, so did I.” Sam replied.

“No. I found a hidden door.” Jeff said.

Sam pondered that for a minute. Why would you hide a door unless there was something to hide behind it? What the hell, they’d already wasted the night as it was, couldn’t hurt to take a quick look. He walked over to where Jeff was moving a big cupboard. As they slid the cupboard to the side, Sam saw what Jeff was talking about- a small door had been hidden behind it.

“What do ya think’s behind there?” Jeff asked.

 

“How the hell should I know?” Sam said. “One of us will have to check.”

“Hell no!” Jeff said. “I ain’t going in there.”

Sam sighed. He really didn’t want to either. Had to be something worthwhile in there, he thought. This night couldn’t get any worse. He pulled out his pocket flashlight and knelt down on all fours.

“Okay Jeff, open her up.”

 

Jeff fought with the latch on the door for a few minutes before it gave. He swung the door wide and Sam shone his light inside. A puff of dusty air escaped, making them both cough.

“Jesus H! It smells like something died in there.” Jeff coughed.

 

Sam agreed but braced himself and started up the stairs. As soon as he was past the door, he was able to stand up a little. He followed the steps up to a landing and glanced around. The flashlight illuminated very little, but from what he could see, the room was just a storage area filled with more junk. Shit! Shit! Shit! This night sucks, he thought. Just as he started back to the stairs the swinging beam of the flashlight caught something scurrying into the shadows. He stopped and swung the light again.

 

This time, it wasn’t so quick. Caught in the light was something that resembled a cross between a guinea pig and a squirrel. The moment that Sam spent staring at it is what cost him is life. In the very next instant the thing flew at him all teeth and claws and sour breath. It latched on to his throat and penetrated the jugular before he even had a chance to scream. The only sound was a soft gurgling and the thump of his body as it sagged to the floor. The flashlight bounced down the stairs.

 

Jeff heard the thump and saw the flashlight bounce down. “Sam?” he called. “C’mon Sam, this shit’s not funny.” He waited a few minutes before he picked up the flashlight and climbed a stair or two. He never even saw the creature coming. The flashlight rolled down the stairs again and came to rest next to their backpacks.

 

The next morning Mr. & Mrs. Goldenstein arrived at Eccentricities and opened shop. Mrs. Goldenstein found the opened door and the packs beside it.

 

“Oh dear, oh dear.” She muttered, before shutting and latching the little door.

Mr. Goldenstein saw what she was doing and shook his head.

“Looks like little Goldie had a big night.”

I'm sure I don't have to repeat this but stealing is bad and will not go unpunished. Just saying.

Happy Friday- may your weekend be filled with fun,
♥Stacey

#Friday Flash- The Ghost Hunters

Yes, I do know it's not Friday. It's Wednesday. But I didn't get to play last Friday because my grandbaby had his first Doctor's appointment. And I had an MRI on my bum shoulder. But I still wanted to play along. So here is my offering- even if it's on the wrong day. This week's theme was haunted places.

The Ghost Hunters

Brian and Amy traipsed down the tree lined street; heavily laden shoulder packs making their shadows appear hunch-backed. Amy shivered as she looked towards their destination- a deserted house at the end of the road. The moonlight glinting off the house’s windows made them look like eyes peering from the gloom. She shook off the thought. She was scaring herself before they even got to the house. Some ghost hunter she was going to be.

“Where did you get all this stuff?” she asked, indicating her pack.

“I bought it.”

“You did what?”

“I bought it,” he replied. “I had to. If we’re going to be serious about this we’re going to need the right equipment. You don’t think those two old plumber guys skimped on the equipment do you? And look: now they have their own ghost hunting show. If it’s going to be a business, you’ve got to treat it like a business.”

Amy sighed loudly, muttered under her breath, and hitched up her pack. She still wasn’t convinced she wanted to be in this business.

“So where’d you hear about this house?”

“I told you. I saw a card about it on the bulletin board at a store on Maine Street. You know, the one that sells the weird shit.”

“You mean Eccentricities? They don’t sell weird shit. They sell antiques.”

“Okay. Old shit? Better?”

Amy rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him, knowing he wouldn’t see the gesture in the dark.

“So what did it say? Ghost hunters wanted: haunted house?”

“No. It said ‘For rent: haunted house’.”

“Really? Who the hell would rent a haunted house?”

“People who shop at an old shit store.” He put a finger to his lips and and pointed to the house. They were almost there. “Get out the heat camera.”

“Like I know which one that is,” Amy muttered under her breath. She put her pack down in the yard and knelt down to dig through it. Finally she found the small hand held camera that picked up heat signatures. She scanned the yard, nothing. Brian urged her forward and they went up to the porch. A sound made Amy jump.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“Shhh. Jesus, Amy, are you trying to wake the dead?” Brian stared at her.

“Oh that’s funny Brian, har dee har har. I’m not playing around. I heard something.”

They both got quiet for a minute and looked around them. The sound came again. It was a low moaning. They froze.

“What now, Mr. Ghost Hunter?” Amy asked. “What does your book say we do now?”

“We need to get out some more equipment, get some baseline readings…” he broke off as they heard thumping from inside and more moaning.

“Are you sure we want to be here?” she asked. “Because I’m beginning to think I want to be anywhere but here.”

“No. It’s fine. It’s just the wind or something. Old houses settle.” Brian glanced around nervously. Suddenly, the thumping increased in tempo and volume and seemed just on the other side of the door. Amy stared at Brian wide eyed as she fought her body’s fight or flight response to what was obviously imminent danger.

Brian appeared equally petrified. Slowly the door began to swing inward on creaky hinges. With one last look at each other, they turned and fled back down the street, leaving their packs discarded on the porch.

A new sound could be heard coming from the doorway; a soft chuckling followed by a wheezy cough. Karl Barnard stepped out onto the porch and shook his head. It never failed. Some sucker was always ready to play ghost hunter. And Karl was always ready to play ghost- especially when it meant they’d flee without their gear. That left him something to take to Old Louie at the pawn shop for enough money to keep him in whiskey and smokes for awhile longer. Yessiree, this was the best con he’d run in years. He sifted through the packs and whistled through what was left of his teeth. This was high end stuff these folks had left, top of the line and brand new. He’d have some extra dough for maybe a decent meal or two as well as his usual haul.

“Huh?” he muttered to himself as he noticed a glowing set of lights inside the pack. He pulled out the piece of equipment and stared at it. It was some kind of indicator; it had a set of five lights on the tip and they were all glowing a bright red. He looked at the writing.

“E. M. F.” he read aloud. “What the hell…” he broke off mid sentence as a flashlight that had rolled to the end of the porch clicked on by itself. Karl froze. It was then he noticed the temperature had dipped considerably in the last few minutes. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he shivered. Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts, he thought to himself, or I might start believing my own propaganda.

He tried to shake off the feeling of unease, but it refused to abate. In fact, it was getting worse and Karl was sure something stood behind him. There’s nothing there, he thought. Nothing. I’m just letting the dark and that story I cooked up and spread about this house get to me. Turn around, he told himself firmly. Turn around.

Fighting against his own body’s response, he managed to turn. He found himself staring into a face more evil than any he’d ever encountered in his fifty six years of squandered life. It would be the last thing he saw. After several frantic erratic beats his heart gave up and stopped beating. Karl grabbed his chest and fell backward onto the porch steps, still gazing into the hate filled countenance of the house’s very real resident ghost.

Please leave a comment if you like it, or if you don't. All comments are welcome. And if you do like it- send some more readers my way, will ya? Thanks!

♥Stacey

Meet Carole Gill

I ment Carole Gill in the Masters of Horror Group. She posts a lot of interesting links and everyone was talking about her new book, The House on Blackstone Moor. When the opportunity came to get the book for free through Vamplit's summer reading program- I jumped at my chance! You can read my review of her book over at See Spot Read.

The Interview~

1.)How long have you been writing novels?

I would say I got really serious about my writing (and novels) four years ago. Although The House on Blackstone Moor is my first published novel it is actually the third novel I wrote. It takes that long to get your novel writing skills up to where they should be I think. The first two I wrote I’ll say, yup better not published! The third though was sci fi and actually I still like it so who knows?!

2.)Do you write full time or do you have a day job?

I do write full time now because my husband gave me my shot. He suggested a few years ago to do it full time and go for it. It was very hard financially but we survived and I am so grateful to him. I don’t know how I could possibly write as much as I do if I had to work.

3.)Is this your fist published novel?

Yes, it is!

4.)What made you decide to go the Small Press route?

Well truthfully I preferred not to self-publish. I was considering agents but then I came across Vamplit and am I glad I did. Vamplit is a small press, but I have learned so much from Gaynor Stenson who is Vamplit. She is a brilliant editor and is encouraging to me, she lets me be me and I love that. I’m very happy with Vamplit and not only looking forward to the sequel being published but the third novel as well which will follow it.

5.)In "The House on Blackstone Moor" the lead character, Rose, is raped on several occasions. Were these scenes hard to write? Why did you feel they were necessary to the story?

Well Rose is a victim of child abuse and it is that abuse that leads her to everything else that follows. She poses the question throughout, asking if that evil let in other evil. As the child abuse is not depicted I didn’t have to write about it.

The rape that was depicted is toward the end and no, I felt I was choosing my own way to present it and I was comfortable doing it. Also the rapist was a demonic creature so that further permitted me the comfort of a safety zone as in ‘there really aren’t demonic creatures that rape or don’t rape!’

6.)What scares you personally? Do you have any silly phobias?

Evil people frighten me, the real monsters that dwell among us. Maniacs like Ed Gein, Albert Fish, Manson, Bundy. They embody the real horror that exists.

The fact that Ted Bundy sat answering phones on a rape hotline also scares me. Monsters that don’t look like monsters frighten the life out of me.

Phobias: I guess creepy crawlies, sometimes great heights! That’s about it.

7.)What is your writing routine?

My writing day starts around 9 after dog walking. I write until about 1 pm, have lunch then pick up again until 4 sometimes. I read and do research around that. Generally I only watch a couple of hours of t.v.

My husband and I generally both conk out watching t.v. at night with our dogs! what a picture!

8.)Have you always been a fan of horror?

Yes, my parents were both sci fi fans, fanatics really! The earliest things I can remember seeing were sci fi movies. Somehow though horror appealed and I started to write really morose poetry. I was a goth 100 years before anyone else was!

I wrote my first sci fi story at 8, but then by 11, 12, I was well into my horror stories. I also was a big fan of horror films: Hammer a huge favourite!

9.)What other authors inspire you?

Well I would say the Brontes, Daphne DuMaurier, Ann Rice and Stephen King with a dash of Poe! Mix them all up and well, that’s what I love!

For a long work of fiction I love writing in the gothic horror/romance genre, however for short fiction I love to gore it up and write all things horror from zombies to demonic dolls to evil vampires. I would like to also add my fiction is character driven not plot driven. But that’s me!

10.) What advice would you give to newbie writers out there?

Write whatever you want to write, what you feel, what’s important to you.
Keep writing too. The more you write the better you will write. Send out work you’re proud of. There are no guarantees; writing toward publication is a learning experience, so learn from everything!

Rejection happens to everyone, Stephen King tossed ‘Carrie’ into the waste bin but his wife fished it out. J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter was rejected by 13 different publishers.

There are great writers who have had 100’s of rejections.

Just go for it it, I’d say!

BIO
In 2000 Carole was selected by North West Playwrights of England for further development. It was an invaluable experience but Carole found she prefers to write fiction.

She loves to scare herself and others with her horror fiction and is widely published in horror and sci-fi anthologies.

Currently, Masters of Horror Anthology, MOH Damned If You Don't, Sonar's Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror, Bonded By Blood3 Languish In Lament, Whitechapel Anthology, Rymfire's Undead Tales and Zombie Winter.

Although she loves writing sci-fi her true love is dark gothic horror.

Her gothic horror novel, The House on Blackstone Moor published in 2010 by Vamplit is her first novel.

The sequel, Unholy Testament will be published by Vamplit later this year.

Website

Facebook Author Page


Blurb, The House on Blackstone Moor:

This is a tale of vampirism, madness, obsession and devil worship as Rose Baines, only survivor of her family's carnage, tells her story. Fragile, damaged by the tragedy, fate sends her to a desolate house on the haunted moors where demons dwell. The house and the moors have hideous secrets, yet there is love too; deep, abiding, eternal, but it comes with a price, her soul.

♥Stacey

#FridayFlash- Moon Rocks

This week's #fridayflash theme was outer space. My story is called Moon Rocks.

Dudley was sitting in his bedroom, staring at his newly acquired treasure, when his step-brother Ryan walked in. He knew that it would be about 3.5 seconds before Ryan found some way to begin irritating him.

“What have you got there DUD?” Ryan asked.

“Nothing you’d be interested in Ryan.”

“That’s probably true but I want to see it anyway,” Ryan snatched it from Dudley’s fingers. Dudley sighed.

 “It’s just a flippin rock!” Ryan said. “You’re sitting there staring at a rock. Geez, you are dumber than you look.”

Dudley ignored the insult because it was so ridiculous. In fact, Dudley’s IQ was higher than Ryan’s and Ryan’s father Jeb’s IQs put together. “It’s not just a rock, Ryan. It’s a moon rock. You know, from the moon,” he added for good measure.

“Don’t be stupid. I mean stupider than usual.” Ryan said. “There’s no such thing as moon rocks. How many times does my Dad have to tell you that men did not really go to the moon?! It’s just a bunch of government hooey. Just like global warming. They make all these things up and stupid people like you believe them.” Ryan threw the rock at Dudley.

“Right, Ryan. I forgot I was living with someone who knows everything.”

“Don’t you go making fun of my Dad or I’ll tell him and you’ll be sorry.” Ryan said.

Jeb would make him sorry if he thought Dudley was making fun of him. He was a paranoid conspiracy theorist that Dudley still could not believe his mother had married. But then again, he’d seemed rather normal at first. Right about the time his mother had gotten ill, Jeb had gone off the deep end. Ryan had always been a shit.

That night Dudley woke up to whispers. He lay quietly, trying to figure out where they were coming from. They were close, very close. He turned his head and saw the moon rocks on his night table. They were sitting in a shaft of moonlight and he could have sworn that they were pulsating slightly. The whispers seemed to be coming from them. He reached out and touched one and a little tingle of electricity shot up his arm.

They couldn’t be real moon rocks. Real moon rocks were in museums or private collections not crazy little antiques stores like Eccentricities where he’d picked these ones up. He’d known at the time that they were fakes, but he liked them anyway. He’d always liked anything to do with outer space. It made people think he was weird and nerdy but he didn’t care. He was going to work for NASA someday. But looking at the rocks, glowing slightly and pulsating, he could almost believe they were real.
The next day Dudley encountered Jeb on the stairs. Jeb purposely blocked Dudley’s way.

 “Where you going in such a rush DUD?” Jeb asked.

“I’m going to my room to put my bag down and then I’m going to see my mom.”

 "I heard you got some crazy idea about moon rocks.” Jeb said. “You best get rid of them ideas boy. Don’t want you helping to spread the government propaganda, do we? I’d hate to have to beat some sense into you.”

Dudley was pretty sure Jeb would enjoy any excuse to beat some sense into him.

“No.” Dudley answered.

“No what?”

“No sir.”

Jeb stepped to the side and continued on down the stairs. Dudley went up and as he passed the door to the bathroom, Ryan came out snickering.  Dudley glared at him.

He visited with his Mom for a quite awhile. He told her about his moon rocks and promised to put them away and not mention them to Jeb, ever. His mother cried and apologized again for bringing Jeb into their lives. But sick as she was, there was no getting away. Dudley did his best to reassure her.

That night, he woke to the whispers again. The moon shone into his room and onto the table where the moon rocks sat. He got out of bed and padded to the window. He stared up at the moon for a long time.

“I see the moon and the moon sees me,” he whispered. He woke up in the morning without remembering going back to bed. He had the vague sense that he’d figured out something vital, but couldn’t remember what it might have been. The day was much like the last except for Ryan tripping him in the cafeteria at school. His tray went flying and everyone laughed. And when he got home, his rocks were gone.

He confronted Jeb.

“Where are my moon rocks?”

“I told you they ain't from the moon.” Jeb said, glaring at him.

“They are from the moon.”

“No they ain’t boy.” Jeb punctuated his statement with a slap to Dudley’s face. Dudley continued to insist on the validity of the rocks and Jeb continued to hit. By the time Dudley went to bed that night, he was sporting a black eye, though not his first.

This time the moon shone in, but there were no rocks to gather its power. Dudley lay in bed and stared at it. Finally he got up; he walked to Ryan’s bed and shook him awake.

“Hey get off me!” Ryan hollered.

“Remember how you said men didn’t walk on the moon?” Dudley asked.

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Well if you don’t believe in the moon landing, then the moon doesn’t believe in you.”

“You’re off your rocker, dude.” Ryan rolled over on his side. Dudley remained there softly chanting.

“I see the moon and the moon sees me.” When Ryan disappeared, he went to his mother’s room and repeated the chant over Jeb. He woke the next morning feeling relaxed, better than he had in years. In fact, he whistled all the way to his mother’s room.

Sometimes a little belief is all you need,

♥Stacey