THE LAST STAND1
On the corner of 178th Street and Fort Washington Avenue, diagonally across the street from the old YMWHA, on whose site is now the Port Authority Bus Terminal, there was a wooden, olive drab newsstand. In the evening you could pick up a late paper or perhaps a copy of The Saturday Evening Post before hopping aboard the downtown number four, fifth avenue bus. The newsy who carried just about everything inside the little hovel was a one armed World War I vet who rarely spoke, but who knew all his customers, as they knew him, and who warmed the night corner with the flickering yellow light that glowed inside his booth. He sat quietly, some nights in a thirties newsy’s cap, sometimes in his wool seaman’s cap and ragged pea coat, as he awaited his last few customers for the late edition papers. In his heart he had long tired of the same faces, people coming and going, while he sat and watched, and waited, and dreamed. It seemed as if he had long tired of the repeated amenities; the token exchanges. He never smiled.2
Well beyond the visor of the frayed tweed cap he wore on this night, the old eyes in his craggy face turned toward the black sky and the stars afar, deep into so many nights. He might have created alien craft soaring out from the heavens, settling some distance before his Earthly establishment to dispatch a dashing, or otherwise, spaceman toward him. And as the chilly winds blew along the George Washington Bridge from the rolling Hudson beneath it, certainly, he may have mused, the stranger and his companions, if there were any, should be drawn by his light, and should like to read of all the Earthly news. To the spaceman he would casually say, unruffled: “Paper, mister?”3
But there was no ship. No spaceman; frequently no customers at all at this hour. Not yet.4
***5
He had journeyed, or so the records indicated, through the black vastness, the deep and empty reaches of space. Such a void of depth and emptiness did he traverse, that he had only to sleep through it; a sleep as deep, empty and black as those forever night realms through which he passed unknowingly. The hulking, silvery ship had carried him millions upon millions of miles through bleak and blurry light years from home to….6
Now the rays of a warm sun, a different sun, beat down on the ship’s multi-layered windows as the polyplex alloy shades lifted, filling the hulk’s inner chambers with real light. And as his waking moments took shape in the swaddling of his cryochamber it seemed like a fresh Saturday morning. But it was not. 7
He had last been awake some months earlier. It was a Thursday, then. It seemed like only hours ago, but checking the readout on the ship’s computer, the M330, he found it to be sixteen weeks.8
He rose, washed, exercised and dressed. Then he ate. Checking further readouts on the M330 he flicked from line to bar graph, from color spectrum to texture, temperature and density scans. All the sequences were congruent. It was somewhat of a comfort. All seemed to be as expected.9
Winston and Effington might have been pleased that, so far, all was going according to program. He felt the vacuum of their absence; the fear of being alone, but he had already dealt with the nightmare of his crewmembers’ early and untimely demise months…years ago, when the accident occurred. He accessed their factor input charts and watched the printout of the substitution program he had affected with mission control when they were still reachable. The variables of Winston and Effington had been modified accordingly and the necessary accommodation made. CONTROL had wiped the slate and rewritten the mission in mid-flight. Winston and Effington had never existed. But, he thought as he peered out the gaping polyplex window into the pulsing dark violet glow of the new sun, they had.10
For four days and four nights in the new time, he orbited the pink sun’s world making preparations for the ship’s touchdown. He worked, watched and dreamed as he shouldered his triple load. He pondered the ship, himself, the mission and what awaited below. 11
The vessel had been through all of it. He had not. But, he thought with some guilt, he had survived. There was a certain pride in that. Now, however, the success of the mission’s completion, and it was a considerable task, would be up to him...alone. He had a momentary heady sensation as he contemplated the changeover from automatic pilot to manual shifting. There was no one else to fall back on. 12
The constant and unbroken cloud cover, whose chemical composition was still in the process of being analyzed by M330, was growing into a source of depression. It gnawed at the thin shell of patience which still managed to contain his curiosity. From time to time M330 showed enough latitude in conditions for him to drop altitude, which he did, but to little avail. The upper reaches of this stratosphere, with its heavy haze, seemed boundless despite the computer’s indications to the contrary. The ship nonetheless continued its easy spiral descent, quietly, until he noticed the change in the darkening purple pulsing outside.13
He was not sure as to its cause, but M330 revealed the answer on its summary screen. First, each of its line and bar readouts showed a glitch where one should not have been. The aberration was apparent alongside its twin comparison trip program model. With each subsequent readout revealed by the wipe, the irregularity widened. Then the computer began showing variants of the glitch elsewhere along the lines and bars. These seemed to correspond to the pulsing outside. 14
On one of M330’s sub screens a trouble-shooting program operated on a one-step ahead, factor-isolation principle. On it, a color depiction of the planet’s rising sun loomed impressively. At its near quadrant on the face of the star there was a tiny fleck. He might have overlooked the spot had it not been blinking like a cursor. He considered manually expediting the ship’s spiral descent when the unexpected impact occurred. It jarred him, but was more like an electro-static charge going through the entire ship. When he regained his senses and stood up to the relief and realization that he was still alive, he noticed that ensuing readouts on M330 failed to make complete sense. One, however, did. One of the ship’s reverse thrusters was knocked askew by the shock, and without them a safe touchdown would not be possible. He saw too, one of the stabilizing gyros was thrown off and the ship was now losing altitude at an alarming rate. Further, there appeared to be a terrible turbulence outside. If he could realign the thrusters and at least modify the gyro problem he might have a chance. But it would take time; at least an Earth hour or two. Fortunately the atmosphere of the huge planet below was that deep: a minimum, according to M330’s charts, of three to four thousand miles from where he might be now.15
With no little difficulty, jostled and bounced, he worked his way aft to reach what needed getting at. At one point, between adjustments which ended in the ship’s listing, he noticed her cutting through the haze of strange clouds. The magenta pulsing was gone. The blackness was becoming sharp and clear. There was nothing visible out there now; not even a blurry fog by which he could gauge his movement. It looked as if he were not moving at all. But miles below, he knew, off to his right, was a white ball; quiet and slightly phosphorescent. 16
Outside the ship was a stillness that enveloped her; permeated her. He had arrived, coming in. He wondered to what. As the time passed the ball grew larger; its phosphorescence diminishing; another layer of cloud-cover becoming apparent. He thought his silver ship gliding in over the planet must look majestic, impressive, but wondered: to whom? There were moments of expectation. There were flashes of…something more than just haze, night and barren landscape, but they were only flashes, no more than that.17
Combining as much precision with haste as he possibly could, he replaced one of the damaged thruster’s parts and the affected gyro was realigned. M330, however, was responding only partially, half-wittedly. He had no time to delve into its circuitry. But he ran a final readout, all of which seemed plausible, and assumed the controls. It was the last stage of the descent with touchdown quickly approaching. 18
His orbit had just eased him around to the night side of the planet and the big star was setting rapidly. This was not on the program. Margin of error was not half the planet. But it was too late for a correction. He was too low and his spiraling approach and rate of descent could not accommodate it. The thrusters were activated and he felt the ship list. Suddenly there was a wave of nausea and as it continued it was punctuated by periodic perspiration. He had the thought that the prospect of death, no matter where in the universe one happened to be, carried with it the same terrifying anguish. Then he began to ponder, once again, Control’s mission.19
A relatively nearby galaxy and each of several solar systems within it were selected on the basis of proximity, accessibility and promise. That is to say, was there at least a probability the mission might bear fruit? The planet below him now was not known to bear life, but could sustain life. M330 and crew would reach it, explore it, mark it, seed it, and if possible retrieve at least one of the long dormant satellites and probes we dispatched. The usual quota of soil, rock, vegetation and liquid samples would be expropriated; experiments conducted on site; logs kept; transmitters erected; cameras set in place; monuments raised and a systematic search for life conducted.20
But now, somehow, the mission seemed absurd to contemplate seriously. Survival and the question of what follows that were higher on his priority list of considerations. There would be plenty of time to execute Control’s laundry list once he safely set foot down on…whatever it was down there.21
Down there. It was a good deal closer now. It had, in fact, as its terrain filled M330’s entire major viewing screen, by its growing proximity, transformed itself into reality. Soon, if he lived, he would be enmeshed in that reality, confident that it would be a reality not altogether dichotomous with his own. It would simply be an extension of his own reality. And yet, staring into the holographic viewing screen, it occurred to him that what he saw and was about to encounter was not so strikingly alien to him and could have existed anywhere. And this was, in fact, anywhere. It was just about as far “anywhere” as anyone so far as he knew had ever gone. For moments he attempted to grasp, in his terms, just how far. He did not dwell on it. It was relative, wasn’t it? The illusion, if not the reality, remained: It did not seem far. It could be…home.22
The thruster had been firing for some time. A warning sound and the unmistakable voice of ailing M330 directed him to strap in and prepare for the final phase of braking and the last series of spirals before touchdown.23
It was night. Purple night and he seemed to be gliding deeper into it as occasional patches of light came to him and faded. Still it remained clear. For interminable stretches the terrain was unchanged, and unwavering night was bathed in unspoiled clarity. He maneuvered, corrected and remaneuvered. Then, unexpectedly, the ship slowed on its own and helplessly banked as it had hours before in the pulsing. As if in a Herculean attempt to correct itself it shocked the heavy stillness with an ear splitting report, sounding as if her giant hull had cracked. She did not right herself, jolted, and then slammed into the planet’s brush and soil, askew. 24
When at last he was able to pry open the hatch of his dying ship he paused to marvel that he was alive. Then, he looked deeply, reflectively and with awe into what surrounded him. The hulking ship had somehow fallen onto an elevated embankment from which he thought he could make out yards of relatively flat terrain, long clumps and stretches of brush and more flatland. Far off to his left low cliffs formed a valley with this land on which he now stood, and configured a jagged outline of what seemed like ebony totems against the foreign sky. The steep and forbidding walls draped the scene menacingly but the fresh air was so still and the pitch so quiet as not to presage anything, good or evil.25
He waited for morning but it did not come. Perhaps he had slept through it. He couldn’t be sure as M330 was no longer providing reliable indications of anything. Going through the ship he laid out the standard lines of equipment which would enable the first of several excursions he was planning. At least his rover cart was working.26
Not planning a lengthy exploration at first, he packed the buggy with a few essentials, lowered it from the ship and stood beside it, once again surveying this undisturbed indigo whose domain he was about to invade. It was then he saw it. He blinked his eyes. Far down into the valley, and then up, atop one of the flanking slopes there was a flicker, steady and distinct, like a beacon. It was the singular feature at the apparent terminus of the long landscape to draw and captivate his attention. He got into the RC1 and headed toward the light.27
Most of the light that served to illuminate the terrain before him came from several moderately sized moons. Together, though, they did not reflect as much light as Earth’s one satellite; nor did there seem to be as many stars overhead as on a clear Earth night.28
The RC1 buggy bounced and jiggled but tugged its load without too much strain. At times it seemed to glide through hardly any ground resistance as it dashed toward the light. But the glowing light did not change in size or brightness. It did not appear to be getting any closer.29
It was more than a night’s ride, he wanted to rest but he would not allow himself to and he would not turn back. It was still black night and the valley was endless. From time to time long patches of thicket would fall between his line of sight and the beacon, but always, as the buggy sped through to the clearing that lay ahead, the yellowish flicker reappeared, undisturbed.30
Occasionally he dozed momentarily consumed with fatigue, only to be jarred awake by a bounce, snapped into a quick consciousness parallel with a panicky scan of the horizon. He knew he had slept, not so much by his abrupt awakenings but, by the dream imagery his mind had begun to form during these mini naps. At first, no more than converging lines and quilty patches formed his images, but as his exhaustion increased the lines took on more intricate shapes and the patches dissolved into speedy, senseless mini-plots. One such plot saw several suns rising at various points along the planet’s horizons creating an enormous convergence of shadow which, when combined with the sunlight, blocked out both the beacon and its site…and it was lost to him. 31
Another dream had him traveling away from an ever receding light source only to discover it being a faint star on the horizon. The dreams continued until the dark, flanking slopes gradually leveled out and, to his astonishment, he found himself on an equal plane with the amber twinkle. It was only then he rested and had something to eat.32
The RC1 had plenty of muon fuel and seemed in fine shape. Still, there was a substantial area of thicket ahead, and while taking a short exploratory on foot, mostly for exercise, he opted to go the distance that way now that he could clearly make out the glimmer through the bramble. And perhaps walking might change his luck.33
He was quite unaware of the passage of time, more so of distance. Only once, and only for an instant, did he give thought to the ship, envisioning it much farther down the plain than it was in actuality. But with ship and cart behind, quite alone now, he began to stumble.34
The beacon was now beginning to come into focus through the brush, as the low star grouping on the horizon, of which his yellow gleam might have been a member, became obscured. He ran through the tangle of thorny vegetation that cut and pierced his suit and scratched his steamy visor until he removed it. A solitary figure in this alien planet night, he stumbled and pulled himself forward, tearing through the undergrowth of this remote sphere, this forlorn point in nowhere, everywhere, anywhere. 35
The dark green wood thinned and parted and cast out its visitor. It was almost within reach, he thought, as he looked up. And then some three hundred yards down, for the first time, he thought he could see it clearly. It stood alone: a beat up, painted over, olive drab, wooden, dimly lit newsstand. Inside, under a slightly flickering yellow light, half hidden behind a stack of freshly printed newspapers was a wizened, tweed-capped, newsy. From beneath a backdrop of sweets and crisply colored magazines, the newsy, no smile on his craggy face, drew out a late paper. The hardly discernable breeze that it fanned forth bore the scent of ink. The old man held it out. “Paper, mister?” he said.36
He groped for change in his suit, bought one of each late edition: The World Telegram, The Herald Tribune, The Daily News, the Mirror, The New York Post, The Journal American, a couple of pulp magazines, Collier’s, Look, and the Saturday Evening Post. He bought peanuts, Life Savers and a plain Hershey Bar, an Old Nick, Mason Mints, and a Clark Bar. 37
He would go back to the ship now, catch up on all the news, read the funnies, do the puzzles, maybe even listen to the radio. Why not? It was Saturday night! So what if he was alone? He was alone before.38
***39
Four point four light years away, on planet Earth, a craggy faced newsy in a tweed cap, tucked inside his newsstand and the lonely night on Fort Washington Avenue, under a flickering yellow light, awaited his last few customers for the remaining late edition papers. But in his heart he had long tired of the same faces, the familiar amenities, the well worn exchanges. Beyond the visor of his cap his tired eyes turned toward the night sky and the stars and galaxies afar, deep within it. His vision created alien craft soaring out from the heavens, settling before his Earthly establishment and dispatching a dashing spaceman toward him. Certainly, he mused, the stranger and his companions aboard should like to read of all the Earthly news, perhaps enjoy the magazines. And so, to the spaceman he would casually say, in a most unruffled manner: “Paper, mister?”40
But there was no ship or spaceman, no customers at all at this hour; no one to hear him mutter as he had so many times to himself, with each passing shadow, “Paper?”41
Lonely here, thought the old newsy huddled under yellow light with his night phantoms, but, he pondered as he turned his gaze to the stars in the dark, it’s lonelier up there, I’ll bet. Lonelier up there.42
Author notes
This story is a conundrum. Did it take place in the newsy's mind? Or the mind of the Astronaut? Or..both!
A contest entry
- Space, Aliens, and Stars by WritersEffigy.
350 points, ended July 20, 16 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Bradbury, King, Poe, Matheson, Ellison, and Henry by saxmastadrew.
100 points, ended October 10, 17 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Something Just For Me ... by RxxSpiritWolfxxJ.
405 points, ended November 11, 33 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Twain, Bradbury, and Dunsany! by Minorchar.
300 points, ends December 5, 1 entries
• next story in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Please tell me what you think [Reward: double points]
Comments
1 - 42 of 42
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Winston and Effington had never existed.(<- Fragment) But, he thought as he peered out the gaping polyplex window into the pulsing dark violet glow of the new sun, they had. (P 10)
If you remove the detailed description: But, he thought, they did. It doesn't make sense. Maybe if you describe his action and lead into the sentence it would flow better and still make your intended meaning.
M330 I am assuming is the computer that is running his ship? there is no introduction to the concept in the story to indicate this.
There were a couple other little things I noticed just before I got caught up in the story and finished it. I enjoyed the twist in the plot and how it all tied together. Good story!
Hope to see you write more, and I hope my comments help when you are ready to edit this.
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CONTROL had wiped the slate and rewritten the mission in mid-flight. Winston and Effington had never existed.
Excerpt from Fragment sentences on Purdue's web site.
(I am mostly saying that the flow of the sentences is incomplete.)
You may have noticed that newspaper and magazine journalists often use a dependent clause as a separate sentence when it follows clearly from the preceding main clause, as in the last example above. This is a conventional journalistic practice, often used for emphasis. For academic writing and other more formal writing situations, however, you should avoid such journalistic fragment sentences.
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I wasn't able to finish what you had written (stupid work), but I definately enjoy what you have! I'll be sure to add you to my favorites so I can finish later! Keep it up!
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This was an absolutely fantastic story! Beautifully written, brilliant description. This was just wonderfully written. Easily the best story I've read so far on SW, and I've read a fair few. Look forward to reading more of you future work.
. Rewarded 4
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I don't know!
Thank you for that confusion, as well as for your entry into my contest.
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Ray Bradbury would be pleased
The intro gave no indication of what was coming - great! I read it thru in one sitting, it was so intreaging.
A few nice philosophical observations tucked away neatly.
Did I catch some cynicism about NASA, ho ho.
At your liesure would you please read and comment [pick apart] my story "Companion"
JG. Rewarded 6
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It was very nicely written...love the english you're using sounded very professional.
Violet -
wow, that was well written, greatly, vastly detailed. It was captivating, and I loved the ending. Especially when it repeated the line from the begining. Great.
. Rewarded 4
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Kul
I liked the story, you should write more, and I love sci-fi, you should read a book called society of the mind.
. Rewarded 4
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I thought that this was well-written and it flowed well. A little too contemplative for my short attention span (lol) but still quite interesting and, indeed, thought provoking.
. Rewarded 4
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I thought your use of language was nice. My husband is more of a sci-fi fan than me, but I did actually finish it.
. Rewarded 4
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I think like the phrase 'contemplate the sound of one hand clapping', that irrespective of where it took place, it still takes place. I refer to it as the multiverse theory - that at the same time in one reality a newspaper vendor dreams of a customer, in another reality an astronaut dreams of the normalacy of home...And across in another dimension a newspaper salesman really does sell to astronaut and vice versa.
That said, another thought-provoking read from one of the best.
. Rewarded 8
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This was very good. It was well written and caught my eye and was glad it did. Keep it up.
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This is good! IT kinda caught my attention, alittle. Good job anyway! I can't wait to read more! Keep the good work up! I looooove it! And I don't see any mistakes, but if there are some, I'm too tired to list them.
. Rewarded 4
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Awsome! very well Written. Great Job!
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Terrific! I expected this to be well written and wasn't disappointed. The beginning led to to believe it was going to be a Washington Heights type of story. What a fantastic alteration of genre with this piece.
A bit long yet there is no way I can really see to make it shorter and retain the impact. My only complaint would be with the "Author notes." Let the reader figure out the question and work on the answer.
Thank you for a great read.
Jim
. Rewarded 8
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good
interestingly written, keep up the good work -
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Good & Interesting...2 words...!
Part of the beauty of this site...the comments and critiques...is one not only gets to respond...one gets to know one's critics...at least one's readers. I'm delighted you stopped to read...but how can I get to know who you are...with a comment...after more than 1000 words of my story...of "GOOD."
Hmm?
GA
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Good Job!
This isn't really like anything I've read in awhile and at parts I was kind of confused (it might just be one of those days) but overall it was very well written!
. Rewarded 4
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Should NOT be an enigma!
Sorry for the confusion...I don't intend to confuse. And although there might seem to be a lot of jargon...it's all logical stuff...and written to make sense to the reader. Read it with that in mind...and I guarantee you will NOT be confused. (But if you message me with what confused you I shall be happy to explain privately!) The idea is always to write so that you may be EASILY understood. Or else what's the point?
GA
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Wow!
Your story left me breathless. It is so amazingly written, it's inbelievable. You did a great job with phrases, one of THE BEST stories I have ever read on and off of the sight! Keep it up!
. Rewarded 4
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I'm Breathless too!
Not altogether sure I quite deserve THIS level of praise...(but I'll take it lol!)
Thanks for reading and sticking with it all the way through! Glad you enjoyed the journey.
GA
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And so, to the spaceman he would casually say, in a most unreffled manner: "Paper, mister?"
That just might be the best line I've read on this site.
Again, a wonderful story, though I must admit I had to look up a couple words here and there, lol. I, myself, think that the astronaut's travels took place in the newsy's mind, a far off world of escapement.
I loved this story, and the way you ended it, repeating phrases from the beginning. Fantastic!
. Rewarded 8
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Thank you, Andrew
Always a pleasure to provide a little amusing guidance through the dark and vast reaches of the space we all traverse. Keep your eye on the stars!
GA
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Brilliant!
What a read! This is fantastic, I am new to writing but not to reading, I really enjoyed the story,you are one excellent writer.
Stories are only as long as the writer needs, to put his thoughts/ideas over to the reader.
. Rewarded 4
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Flattered.
I appreciate the accolade! Sci-Fi (not space opera) is one of my first loves although I usually write in another genre. So...when I venture into THESE realms I do so somewhat reluctantly...and when the efforts are accepted with credibility and applauded, the gratification is manifold. Thanks again. I hope you try the other stories I've got on here...and respond as you did to this.
Best,
GA
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< Holy Moly!
Searching my sparse vocabulary..."Holy Moly" was the best I could come up with. Now...as I further work my way through the miasma of our dysphonic days...sounding the shrill, albeit conundrum clouded clarion call, I shall cherish and relish your kind komments. And...I thank you. They come from a gifted pen (yours, of course!)
GA -
Really different
I never saw this one coming. I thought the newsy might of been apart of the Philadelphia Experiment at first. Then I thought maybe you become your thoughts and your thoughts become you.
. Rewarded 4
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Accolade!
Probably the nicest thing you can say to me, certainly about one of my stories is: "really different." The icing on my cake was that you didn't quite see the end coming. I appreciate your taking the time to read, think and write. Thanks.
GA
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Hello
I loved this story. I found it a little long, but good story. lol.
Keep it up..now who's giving praise. : )
. Rewarded 4
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I side with you!
I felt the story was a bit long, too. I couldn't find a way around it though, given the immense distances I wished to convey...as well as the guy's aloneness. Still, it wasn't as long as some of the pieces I've come across around here! (lol)
Thanks for sticking with it, though!
GA
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What a lovely piece this was. A little technical in places- was all the scientific jargon real, or yours?- but underneath it all a wonderful story. Reminiscent of the old Twilight Zone, I'm glad you put this up as a feature, as I'd have been sorry to have missed it!
. Rewarded 6
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Thanks so much....
Rod!
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See additional IM from me regarding comments :-)
the word "amenities" is off, I had the same problem this morning when I was trying to describe the automatic pleasantries exchanged between a waitress and a customer that are completely meaningless. When I think of what that word is, I'll let you know since it's the same one you were looking for, I swear!
blasted commas! you are such a good writer you've really got to stop over comma-izing! it makes the writing choppy where it wouldn't otherwise be. it's funny, I see it in your writing because I do it too. you are also overly fond of ; when you probably are looking for the -- (I can't make the long one here, but you know the one) and ... when it's already indicated by the language.
No spaceman; frequently no customers at all at this hour.
But it would take time; at least an Earth hour or two. (Semi-colons operate to connect two complete thoughts that "could" otherwise be two individual sentences, or sometimes indicating a long full stop...the second example almost works, but not quite and of course they are used to continue a list of items.)
sub screens=sub-screens; ear splitting=ear-splitting (although it looks weird to have 4 hyphenated words in one sentence)
She did not right herself (awkward use since until then the ship was a thing and not personified)
"surveying this undisturbed indigo whose domain he was about to invade." I get it, but it's a labored description.
Lonelier-misspelled
In the middle somewhere you say "he" alot, by that time I've forgotten if he ever had a name so you could vary it with the name.
This really is an excellent story, the best I've seen here so far. I read A LOT, I used to read 10-20 books a day, seriously so I'm a much better reader than I am writer!
Everything of yours I've read though your characters are very alone. I've noticed this in my stuff too. I was looking through some of the stories that I still go back and read once a year or so and I noticed the biggest difference between what really makes it memorable is the ever-changing, human centered cast of characters you see in really good books. The one character is there, the description and action is there. That's what's missing.
On a personal note, I read your stories without the background which is distracting. Let them stand on their own without the authors notes. Please!!
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Lovely, Intelligent, Bright. (Not me...you!)
Six...Thank you for the time...reading AND writing. You are right on about so much of what you note. I have long had difficulties with commas,,,and plead guilty to overuse, which I ascribe to my desire to slow the reader down and allow my "stuff" to sink in! (lol). One day, I am hoping to get over this obsession. BUT...although I appreciate your comment on AMENITIES, and began to blush with shame at it, and understand what you suggest I must defend myself and the word: You perhaps might lean toward "pleasantries" "chit-chat" or even "persiflage" but these are a little narrow. AND...amenable IS defined as: agreeable, pliant, disposed to yield; and amenity as: the quality of being pleasant or agreeable; social courtesy! So...I think it's ok. Or else...(I'm open) find me the word you too are seeking!
Again, you are also most correct in your observation of my incorrect usage of semi-colons, dashes and similar pieces of punctuation. And for you, as well as my other readers, I include some of those marks to be inserted at will: (...;;;;,,,,----...::::!!!)
Seriously, you ARE correct, and I DO appreciate it! I recently had a book copy edited with similar results. Shame on me!
Meanwhile, a last defense: I have to disagree with the awkward sounding: "He surveyed the undisturbed indigo whose domain he was about to invade." C'mon. That's a "nice" sentence...and justifiably weird. (And you are right to point out "lonelier"...oddly I've done THAT before as well...ditto with "compli(e)ment." Don't know why!
Thank you a trillion times! The astronaut says thanks; the newsy says thanks; we all say thanks!
Thanks,,, Author's Note: On your comment that my author's notes should not have had a comment...I would have had a comment...but shall now have no comment
Gary Alexander
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love it
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Who can have anything negative to say about a response like that?...especially from someone as cute as you! (I read your profile comments. People can't come off being cuter than that! Anyway, I appreciate your reading this...and your comment. I really DO hope you "loved" the story!
GA
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Gripping
Hey, I like the story and the analogies are priceless. Hope you don't mind constructive criticism but sometimes, too much detail can be just as bad as not enough. I'm looking forward to reading more by you. -
No longer lonely!
How sweet and kind of you to say. And...I thank you for taking the time and effort to read a tale of such daunting length. Thanks much.
GA -
Lonely here, thought the old newsy huddled under yellow light with his night phantoms, but, he pondered as he turned his gaze to the stars in the dark, it’s lonelier up there, I’ll bet.
I like that line of words you are a really good writer and i think that you are ment to be a writer
. Rewarded 6
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Awesome? (Again?)
I just read this again. It's my own story...but I still like it! What can I say? I apologize for its length...but I thought that was necessary to the story. I hope it carries you along as it just did me (again).... In any case like the newsy on the corner of 178th Street and our hero, I just couldn't bear to have the tale STAND...alone!
Gary Alexander
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