short story (Part 1) offer

[Earl]

In July of last year, I started writing a short story that I had thought about for years. The genre is nontraditional horror with a science fiction setting. Although two of the leading characters are involved in a sport, the theme really has nothing to do with sports; so, this is a short story that sports fans, sports critics, and sports haters would like. I had the plot all figured out months before I discovered this website, and my writing has not been influenced in any way by comments posted by forum members.

I have no intention of trying to get my short story published when I've finally finished writing it. This has been just a hobby of mine. I had an idea, and I wanted to write it down on paper. The writing has been very slow. I've been writing on and off (mostly off for the last four months or so, except to revise). I've been writing a page or two at a time, stopping to make revisions. Of course, I've often come back to the same text weeks or even months later to make additional revisions. In fact, most of the time that I've spent writing has been spent making revisions. Only last week did I come up with what I think is the final copy of the first 27 pages of my short story, which seems to have turned into a novella. I've been doing my very best writing because I love the story and care deeply about the characters I've created. It's going to take me months to finish, possibly half a year.

At different times this year, I have sent older drafts of my text to several members of the forum; but now I don't want to leave anyone out. I want to share the first half of my short story with all the members. That is why I'm making this offer. (Hopefully this will also encourage me to put out the effort to finish writing it.) I first considered posting the entire text in the forum, but Mrs. Earl pointed out that I would be running the risk of my story being stolen by a visitor to the forum who would then get credit for my work. So, what I've done is post about the first two pages of the text -- which do not reveal the plot, but give a sort of preview.

I would be delighted to e-mail an attachment of a copy of the text to anyone who would like to read it. I would even be willing to send a manuscript copy in the regular mail. I know that some of you quite understandably have reservations about giving your e-mail address (not to mention your mailing address) to a complete stranger. So, I would also be willing to copy and paste the text into a series of PMs, which is necessitated by the PM format limiting the number of characters in a single PM. However, the PM display format might eliminate centering and paragraph indention, as you will notice is true of the post display format. If you're interested and would like a copy of my text, please let me know by PM or by using the forum's e-mail button function; and tell me what sending arrangement you would prefer. I'd be glad to send it to you.

Earl

[Earl]

Used



On a chilly Saturday night late in November, Loren Nolanâ??s life took a deadly turn. Loren was a
pleasure-loving single young man who lived in an apartment complex on the northern outskirts of the city of Houston, where he earned a living as a construction worker. As he left his apartment for the evening, he was looking forward to having a good time; but late that night he would find something else.

Loren had caroused with several of his buddies for the greater part of the evening, and now he was driving while intoxicated. Soon he would be subjected to the most harrowing experience of his life.

He was driving his pickup on the freeway back to his apartment. Shortly after midnight he missed his exit and took the next one. Then he made several turns without even thinking about what he was doing and found himself on a lonely county road. Since he was drunk, Loren did not care that he was lost. He could not see beyond the tall pines that flanked him on both sides of the dark road. The moon was full that cold night, but a thick canopy of clouds was shutting out the celestial illumination. Only the headlights of his pickup provided any light.

Loren did not realize that the wrong turns he had made had not been of his own volition. But then a sudden flash of intuition penetrated the alcoholic haze that had clouded his mind, and his drunken joviality was instantly displaced by cold fear. The gooseflesh that broke out on his forearms and the back of his neck was not caused by the chill of the night air, for Loren had the uncanny feeling that he was not alone. But that just did not make any sense. He knew perfectly well that no one was hiding in the cab or in the bed of his pickup.

Now he was driving on a two-lane blacktop road that snaked its way through a darkened forest. There was not a single home or filling station in sight. Now sensing somehow that the unseen presence was not even human, Loren was nearly overwhelmed by a feeling of isolation, which chilled him even more. He felt cut off from the rest of humanity and longed to see at least another driver on the road. If his intuition had possessed a voice, it would have been screaming at him to turn back before it was too late.

Loren was so preoccupied with his apprehension that he failed to notice his pickup had drifted over to the left side of the road. He also did not realize that the road he was driving on was about to take a blind curve to the right. Then it was too late. Blinded by the glare of oncoming high beams, he violently jerked the steering wheel of his pickup to the right, and missed the other car by only a few inches. The other driver was not as fortunate. His sedan veered off the road to Lorenâ??s left and crashed head-on into the wide trunk of a tall oak.

Holding a long-handled flashlight in his right hand, Loren stumbled out of the cab of his pickup, which he had parked on the shoulder of the road. As he walked across the road to the other side, he could not hold the flashlight steady because he was trembling with fear. He not only feared that he had just ruined his life by causing the death of the other driver, but also was now convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was most definitely not alone.

As Loren approached the smashed sedan, drifting clouds allowed the moon to appear in the sky. Pale moonlight bathed the face of a black man in his thirties who looked up at Loren from the driverâ??s seat with unseeing eyes. His thick black glasses had been knocked off his head. Blood trickled down both sides of his jaw from the corners of his open mouth and dripped on his yellow shirt. The steering column of his car had torn loose and crushed his narrow chest.

â??Yes,â? hissed a low, sinister voice, â??the do-gooder is dead. The Congresswomanâ??s life will surely be cut short.â?

Completely lacking the warmth of humanity, the voice Loren had just heard had not been transmitted by means of sound waves to his ears. He was absolutely terrified by the realization that his unseen stalker had spoken telepathically inside his head. Loren slowly turned around as he shined his flashlight all about him. Trying to sound fearless, he called out, â??Where are you? Show yourself! SHOW YOURSELF NOW!â?

Loren was expecting his inhuman stalker to walk or run towards him. The thought of it hovering above his head did not even cross his mind. If he had flexed his neck all the way back and looked up, he would have seen what appeared to be a black disc suspended horizontally in midair about three stories above the ground. It was about the size of a manhole cover. Standing out in contrast, its deep blackness was even darker than that of the night. From his point of view on the ground, Loren would not have been able to tell that it was not a three-dimensional object. Had he been able to view it from different angles, he would have seen that it had no thickness; for it was actually a portal to another dimension.

If he had looked directly above his head, Loren also would not have been able to see the invisible alien monstrosity that had oozed like a gigantic ameba into this world. A shapeless extraterrestrial composed of nothing but energy. As it hovered directly beneath the portal through which it had emerged, the energy being began to extend invisible tentacles of force that would seize Loren in just a few seconds.

â??Youâ??ve served me well, but Iâ??m not through with you yet!â?

Suddenly Loren was jerked off his feet, and his body began to rise. He wildly swung his flashlight like a club repeatedly, but failed to strike anything. Then another tentacle of force yanked it out of his hand, and the flashlight somersaulted through the air before it fell on top of a bush. He was terrified by the energy being's lack of visibility. Looking upward, he saw the circle of deep blackness enlarging like the mouth of a ravenous monster from someoneâ??s worst nightmare. His screams were muffled when the energy being completely enveloped his body. His heart continued to beat rapidly, but he could no longer move his arms or his legs. As it began to move through the portal back to the dimension from which it had come, Loren could feel the extraterrestrial seeping into the flesh that covered his skull. He was amazed there was no pain. It was moving with incredibly great precision through intermolecular space without disturbing any of the countless molecules of the flesh on his skull.

As it began to penetrate his skull, he instantly recalled a horror story he had once read about an evil spirit that drove a man's mind out of his own body. Loren's mind conjured up the image of a helpless driver who had lost control of his car, which was hurtling at a high speed towards a brick wall. Iâ??M GOING TO DIE! he screamed silently to himself over and over again. Then he felt a sudden chill and lost consciousness. As his feet disappeared into the deep blackness, the portal began to shrink like the aperture of an optical instrument. A hissing sound could be heard until it had closed. Loren had vanished from the earth.

[i_like_1981]

Shame this has had no responses, Earl! I found this story most excellent and had I known a part of it was up here for a good few months I would have gotten to read it far sooner. Truly, an inspired piece of work. You write like a professional, which is more than I can say for myself. I too am a keen writer but am more keen on the concept of quantity than quality. I like to write substantial amounts of text which can be quite decent but they just don't hook a reader as much as a shorter but more effective piece would. And when I say "effective", I mean by the way the writer uses language as a form of art, not just something he/her throws all across the page and hopes a large amount will pass. Some prefer to write tons, others prefer to write less but make the work they do strong in language, structure and plot. I'm sure any reader would prefer the latter; they don't want to be bored, but intrigued!

I wish you best of luck with the short story and hope you can bring it to a mind-blowing conclusion. I am sure you can. You have one happy reader hooked and willing to find out more!

Best regards,
i_like_1981

[Earl]

Thank you very much for the kind remarks, i_like_1981. You are among those to whom Iâ??ve mailed,
e-mailed, or presented drafts of the first 27 pages of my short story. As I said, the writing has been very slow; and the revisions almost seem to never end. As a matter of fact, I just made a few revisions to the text that I posted above to keep it up to date. Since I took classes in court reporting years ago, I have a precise knowledge of English grammar (incidentally, far more than I did when I graduated from high school). Knowing how words, phrases, and clauses function and are connected and related to each other is essential in writing. I think writing fiction is actually harder than writing technical nonfiction. Believe me, on some days the creative juices just donâ??t flow as readily. The plot will get even darker. Iâ??ve got a great future in store for the United States. I think you write very well; and since you write so much, youâ??re bound to develop your writing skills even more, just as Iâ??ve been doing for the past year. By the way,
Mrs. Earl really likes your posts. Since she's legally blind, I have to read them to her. Again, thanks for the very kind comments.

[i_like_1981]

Thank you very much for the kind remarks, i_like_1981. You are among those to whom Iâ??ve mailed,
e-mailed, or presented drafts of the first 27 pages of my short story.

It is an honour. I always enjoy reading other people's work and seeing how I could use their techniques to develop my own writing. In my opinion, your book would definitely be worth publishing. You certainly left me hungering for more.

As I said, the writing has been very slow; and the revisions almost seem to never end.

I suppose this is necessary if you intend to take it to a serious level. I'm not sure I'd be able to give you any tips as your writing is at a far higher level than mine is, but I hear it takes a lot of hard work to become a published author and a GREAT stroke of luck to become famous through writing. I just do it as a hobby, not as a potential career. But from reading your short story, I deduce that you are intending to take it further once it is finished. If so, I wish you best of luck.

As a matter of fact, I just made a few revisions to the text that I posted above to keep it up to date.

Glad to see you are doing all you can to better your story. But I'm not sure it can be improved that much. What I read was professional work.

Since I took classes in court reporting years ago, I have a precise knowledge of English grammar (incidentally, far more than I did when I graduated from high school). Knowing how words, phrases, and clauses function and are connected and related to each other is essential in writing.

I always wondered how your posts were so eloquent and informative; you have obviously gained a lot through your years of working with words.

I think writing fiction is actually harder than writing technical nonfiction. Believe me, on some days the creative juices just donâ??t flow as readily.

I too find that some days, I have the urge to write stuff and some days, I just feel less in the mood for it. This judges my posting habits on here; extreme emotions are always necessary to induce higher amounts of writing. At the moment, I currently feel in the middle, not desperate to write but feeling I ought to. Necessity can also help the flow of writing but it does make it a bit more forced.

The plot will get even darker. Iâ??ve got a great future in store for the United States

I can't wait to find out more! I am very much anticipating the time I will be able to read the additions. I'm confident you'll be able to continue this story in its intriguing, menacing vain.

I think you write very well; and since you write so much, youâ??re bound to develop your writing skills even more, just as Iâ??ve been doing for the past year.

Thank you very much. I am always writing a lot but not to an artistic level, but I hope one day, I will be able to write a proper novel which I shall try to publish. Writing is the realisation of dreams and great thoughts that would be nothing otherwise.

By the way, Mrs. Earl really likes your posts. Since she's legally blind, I have to read them to her. Again, thanks for the very kind comments.

I thank Mrs. Earl for her interest in my posts. I enjoy posting on this website, it is one of those rare places on the web where you can talk about hobbies and other things that would be considered somewhat off-the-wall and boring in other forums and could probably lead to ridicule. We also have some good fans of old music here; we are two of them.

Best regards,
i_like_1981