Tim Greaton's Blog, page 6
March 12, 2013
Proof: Life on Mars was possible...
Today, NASA announced that the latest and greatest rover, Curiosity, has found evidence that three billion years ago Mars could have supported life.
John Grotzinger, the mission chief scientist, said, "The key thing here is an environment that a microbe could have lived in, maybe even prospered."
The Curiosity's drill bored down into the bedrock of what is believed to be a three billion-year-old lake bed, where it discovered fresh-water clay, nitrogen, sulfur, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorus and carbon. These are the ingredients for a pretty comfy life...if you happen to be an Earth-like microbe.
Grotzinger went on to say, "We found a habitable environment that's largely benign. You could have drank the water that flowed."
Apparently, the next mission will be more advanced and capable of searching for evidence that microbes might have been right there in that tasty drinking water. I hope Elon Musk and his friends at Space-X remember to bring cups when their 80,000 person Mars colony is established :-)
I found more details about this exciting NASA discovery in USA Today's article here: http://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/2013/03/12/life-on-mars/1982339/
John Grotzinger, the mission chief scientist, said, "The key thing here is an environment that a microbe could have lived in, maybe even prospered."
The Curiosity's drill bored down into the bedrock of what is believed to be a three billion-year-old lake bed, where it discovered fresh-water clay, nitrogen, sulfur, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorus and carbon. These are the ingredients for a pretty comfy life...if you happen to be an Earth-like microbe.
Grotzinger went on to say, "We found a habitable environment that's largely benign. You could have drank the water that flowed."
Apparently, the next mission will be more advanced and capable of searching for evidence that microbes might have been right there in that tasty drinking water. I hope Elon Musk and his friends at Space-X remember to bring cups when their 80,000 person Mars colony is established :-)
I found more details about this exciting NASA discovery in USA Today's article here: http://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/2013/03/12/life-on-mars/1982339/
March 10, 2013
Interview with author Scarlet James about her novel Uncontrolled Desires....
Today, in the Forum, I have the pleasure of introducing the versatile and busy author Scarlet James, who is here to talk about her novel Uncontrolled Desires. Tim Greaton: To a lot of people, Scarlet, you seem to be an overachiever. Could you explain to our audience what I mean? Scarlet James: Sure. I recently graduated from ICDC with an Associate’s degree in Homeland Security. Now, I am pursuing my certificate in Public Relations to better understand the business of entertainment and media. I am very goal oriented and have recently started my own entertainment business as well. I currently manage a singer who performs songs by Conway Twitty.
Tim Greaton: Where you also so busy in childhood? Scarlet James: Well to be honest, yes. I was pretty much a tomboy growing up, but my interests expanded when my truck driver dad took me with him one summer. Being a teenager stuck in a big rig wasn’t all that pleasant, but while seeing the country I discovered that I had a knack for writing stories. Once home, I got involved in theatre as well as writing. I loved it. I was also busy with sports, and especially loved high school basketball. Adding to all of that, I was a member of the police explorers in my home town when I was about 14 or 15 maybe. Tim Greaton: A lot of writers point to a particular relative who positively influenced their career. That wasn’t true for you, though, was it? Scarlet James: Growing up I never had any role models or positive influences. I tried to hide my writing efforts but once they were discovered, I was down-graded and insulted by my family members. To be honest, those barbs pushed me to keep working. I knew that I had something resembling a gift at a young age, and I try every day to get back to that place. From time to time I still get negative remarks, but rather than let those naysayers get me down, I work that much harder to prove them wrong. Tim Greaton: As if you didn’t have enough going on, you have also started an online venture. Could you tell us about that? Scarlet James: I am in the midst of building an online magazine site. Once fully established, we will also release print versions of each edition. Tim Greaton: So, I understand that you had a mix of sports and art interests in your background, but what led you to pursue a degree in Homeland Security? Scarlet James: Computers were always easy for me, and my teen work with the police gave me an interest in profiling and criminal investigations. I also learned a certain police-caution, which gives me a second sense about suspicious behavior and when things are not quite right. Sometimes, I can even guess how events might turn out. Tim Greaton: What kinds of books do you read? Are they in the same genres in which you write? Scarlet James: When I have time, I love to read Nicholas Sparks, Danielle Steele and Stephen King as well as a few others. I like to mix it up as I do with my writing. I write in different genres, depending on my mood at the time. Tim Greaton: You have a deep enjoyment for travel. How does that influence your writing? Scarlet James: I really got inspired while on the road with my parents for two months. I did a lot of writing during that period, and it allowed my mind to open up. One especially inspiring trip took place when I was 17 in Florida. Something about the beach air and the ocean makes me come alive. I did some of my best writing while sitting on the beach overlooking the ocean and open sky. A lot of years have passed since then but two years ago, while in South Carolina, I experienced a similar awakening. That’s when I began the novel I’m working on now. Tim Greaton: You’ve received a lot of positive comments about descriptions in your stories, but you also hear another comment fairly often. Could you share that with us? Scarlet James: My early readers commented about the creativity and surprising detail in the seven books I wrote in a five-year period. One of those books has now been published. I’ve tried to build on that creativity and attention to detail. I now work with an agent who was especially surprised how well I write about the feelings of characters with the opposite sex. She encouraged me to keep that up as well.... Don't miss the rest of Tim's fascinating interview with author Scarlet James at
Tim Greaton Forum
Interview with author Scarlet James
Today, in the Forum, I have the pleasure of introducing the versatile and busy author Scarlet James, who is here to talk about her novel Uncontrollable Desires. Tim Greaton: To a lot of people, Scarlet, you seem to be an overachiever. Could you explain to our audience what I mean? Scarlet James: Sure. I recently graduated from ICDC with an Associate’s degree in Homeland Security. Now, I am pursuing my certificate in Public Relations to better understand the business of entertainment and media. I am very goal oriented and have recently started my own entertainment business as well. I currently manage a singer who performs songs by Conway Twitty.
Tim Greaton: Where you also so busy in childhood? Scarlet James: Well to be honest, yes. I was pretty much a tomboy growing up, but my interests expanded when my truck driver dad took me with him one summer. Being a teenager stuck in a big rig wasn’t all that pleasant, but while seeing the country I discovered that I had a knack for writing stories. Once home, I got involved in theatre as well as writing. I loved it. I was also busy with sports, and especially loved high school basketball. Adding to all of that, I was a member of the police explorers in my home town when I was about 14 or 15 maybe. Tim Greaton: A lot of writers point to a particular relative who positively influenced their career. That wasn’t true for you, though, was it? Scarlet James: Growing up I never had any role models or positive influences. I tried to hide my writing efforts but once they were discovered, I was down-graded and insulted by my family members. To be honest, those barbs pushed me to keep working. I knew that I had something resembling a gift at a young age, and I try every day to get back to that place. From time to time I still get negative remarks, but rather than let those naysayers get me down, I work that much harder to prove them wrong. Tim Greaton: As if you didn’t have enough going on, you have also started an online venture. Could you tell us about that? Scarlet James: I am in the midst of building an online magazine site. Once fully established, we will also release print versions of each edition. Tim Greaton: So, I understand that you had a mix of sports and art interests in your background, but what led you to pursue a degree in Homeland Security? Scarlet James: Computers were always easy for me, and my teen work with the police gave me an interest in profiling and criminal investigations. I also learned a certain police-caution, which gives me a second sense about suspicious behavior and when things are not quite right. Sometimes, I can even guess how events might turn out. Tim Greaton: What kinds of books do you read? Are they in the same genres in which you write? Scarlet James: When I have time, I love to read Nicholas Sparks, Danielle Steele and Stephen King as well as a few others. I like to mix it up as I do with my writing. I write in different genres, depending on my mood at the time. Tim Greaton: You have a deep enjoyment for travel. How does that influence your writing? Scarlet James: I really got inspired while on the road with my parents for two months. I did a lot of writing during that period, and it allowed my mind to open up. One especially inspiring trip took place when I was 17 in Florida. Something about the beach air and the ocean makes me come alive. I did some of my best writing while sitting on the beach overlooking the ocean and open sky. A lot of years have passed since then but two years ago, while in South Carolina, I experienced a similar awakening. That’s when I began the novel I’m working on now. Tim Greaton: You’ve received a lot of positive comments about descriptions in your stories, but you also hear another comment fairly often. Could you share that with us? Scarlet James: My early readers commented about the creativity and surprising detail in the seven books I wrote in a five-year period. One of those books has now been published. I’ve tried to build on that creativity and attention to detail. I now work with an agent who was especially surprised how well I write about the feelings of characters with the opposite sex. She encouraged me to keep that up as well.... Don't miss the rest of Tim's fascinating interview with author Scarlet James at
Tim Greaton Forum
March 9, 2013
So why are you still paying tv cable or satellite fees?
When I was single, some twenty years ago, I prided myself on NOT owning a television. I had always believed that time in front of the tube was time not spent making dreams come true. Then I got married and discovered that television is almost a prerequisite of family life. So, for the following two decades, after purchasing my first television, I have paid either packaged cable or satellite television fees…fees I ignored—
Until last year!
Last year, we had a service problem and I called the cable company directly. Imagine my shock to discover that our prepackaged entertainment was costing in the triple digits each month. Beyond the cost, what really aggravated me was that the service was poor and I always felt there was nothing to watch. It took a few discussions, but I finally convinced my wife that it was a waste of money and life. We canceled the service while simultaneously signing up for Netflix and Hulu Plus streaming services…at a combined cost of $16 per month. That’s a savings of more than $100 per month!
Here’s the amazing thing. I lost nearly 200 channels but now always have something to watch. On Netflix, I have been able to watch endless episodes of Star Trek, The Shield and various other shows that I really had missed. I have also been able to watch those episodes anytime I want. I could view half, one or endless episodes at a time.
Hulu Plus also allows my wife to watch most of the shows from the major networks. Furthermore, an antenna and digital converter allow us to view CBS and other current shows that Hulu Plus does not carry. In short, we have lost almost nothing and have gained a universe of reruns that we already know we like.
Now, here’s the exciting part: Netflix just produced “House of Cards” a fabulous and expensive television show that cost four times what most networks are spending per episode. They also have coming: Hemlock Grove (a four million per episode werewolf program), a similarly high-end Dreamworks live animation show as well as ten new episodes of Arrested Development, which I have yet to see. Hulu Plus is also gearing up for its own original high-end programing. Amazon and a few other streaming companies are also coming online for equally affordable fees with some new programming, as well.
In short, the days of forcing viewers to buy hundreds of channels they don’t want is coming to an end. Instead, a new paradigm is forming where we get to pay a lot less for services that offer television shows and movies we want to view.
So, I hope you will consider abandoning your current prepackaged entertainment and swapping for the new streaming services. Why? Even if you can afford your current channel conglomeration, once enough of us unplug, ALL channels will be forced to up their game. We’ll have more and better shows, and we’ll be able to purchase just the channels we like. If you love crime shows, imagine what it would be like to view spectacular new crime shows with equally spectacular actors anytime you wanted. Also imagine how happy you would be to NOT be pay for reality TV, cooking shows or home improvement shows that you might not like.
If I’m going to invest my time in relaxation, it should be high-quality relaxation. For me, a television filled with only high quality sci-fi and fantasy (not the current string of sci-fi channel schlock) would be the dream. Netflix and Hulu Plus suggest that dream might not be so half-baked.
So why did you say you’re still paying cable or satellite fees?
Happy streaming!
Until last year!
Last year, we had a service problem and I called the cable company directly. Imagine my shock to discover that our prepackaged entertainment was costing in the triple digits each month. Beyond the cost, what really aggravated me was that the service was poor and I always felt there was nothing to watch. It took a few discussions, but I finally convinced my wife that it was a waste of money and life. We canceled the service while simultaneously signing up for Netflix and Hulu Plus streaming services…at a combined cost of $16 per month. That’s a savings of more than $100 per month!
Here’s the amazing thing. I lost nearly 200 channels but now always have something to watch. On Netflix, I have been able to watch endless episodes of Star Trek, The Shield and various other shows that I really had missed. I have also been able to watch those episodes anytime I want. I could view half, one or endless episodes at a time.
Hulu Plus also allows my wife to watch most of the shows from the major networks. Furthermore, an antenna and digital converter allow us to view CBS and other current shows that Hulu Plus does not carry. In short, we have lost almost nothing and have gained a universe of reruns that we already know we like.
Now, here’s the exciting part: Netflix just produced “House of Cards” a fabulous and expensive television show that cost four times what most networks are spending per episode. They also have coming: Hemlock Grove (a four million per episode werewolf program), a similarly high-end Dreamworks live animation show as well as ten new episodes of Arrested Development, which I have yet to see. Hulu Plus is also gearing up for its own original high-end programing. Amazon and a few other streaming companies are also coming online for equally affordable fees with some new programming, as well.
In short, the days of forcing viewers to buy hundreds of channels they don’t want is coming to an end. Instead, a new paradigm is forming where we get to pay a lot less for services that offer television shows and movies we want to view.
So, I hope you will consider abandoning your current prepackaged entertainment and swapping for the new streaming services. Why? Even if you can afford your current channel conglomeration, once enough of us unplug, ALL channels will be forced to up their game. We’ll have more and better shows, and we’ll be able to purchase just the channels we like. If you love crime shows, imagine what it would be like to view spectacular new crime shows with equally spectacular actors anytime you wanted. Also imagine how happy you would be to NOT be pay for reality TV, cooking shows or home improvement shows that you might not like.
If I’m going to invest my time in relaxation, it should be high-quality relaxation. For me, a television filled with only high quality sci-fi and fantasy (not the current string of sci-fi channel schlock) would be the dream. Netflix and Hulu Plus suggest that dream might not be so half-baked.
So why did you say you’re still paying cable or satellite fees?
Happy streaming!
March 7, 2013
Could orbiting platforms retrieve high-altitude balloons?
Hi, everyone:
Of course, by now you're all starting to realize that I'm really a total geek. For me, spaceships, fantasy creatures and all things sci-fi are the rage. My wife says she has a hard time getting me to watch anything that doesn't involve either aliens or explosions, preferably both :-)
I just read this great article at http://www.space.com/20089-near-space-balloons-science.html about how it is becoming cheap and easy to use near-space, high-altitude balloons. I wonder if it would be possible for an orbiting platform to retrieve those balloon payloads? Or is the distance still too great? Or maybe lowing a line closer to Earth's gravitational field and atmospheric friction would make that impossible. It would be great if this could this lead to a cheaper way to get payloads into space.
It looks like the International Space Station is about 175 to 200 miles above Earth. The lowest sustainable orbit (because of drag, apparently) is about 93 miles above Earth. A near-space balloon can reach about 24 miles above Earth, which is past 99% of Earth's atmosphere. The question is, can we somehow bridge the 69-mile distance between the lowest orit and the highest balloon more affordably than we can launch a full rocket into space?
'Hope someone has the answer and will email me back :-)
Of course, by now you're all starting to realize that I'm really a total geek. For me, spaceships, fantasy creatures and all things sci-fi are the rage. My wife says she has a hard time getting me to watch anything that doesn't involve either aliens or explosions, preferably both :-)
I just read this great article at http://www.space.com/20089-near-space-balloons-science.html about how it is becoming cheap and easy to use near-space, high-altitude balloons. I wonder if it would be possible for an orbiting platform to retrieve those balloon payloads? Or is the distance still too great? Or maybe lowing a line closer to Earth's gravitational field and atmospheric friction would make that impossible. It would be great if this could this lead to a cheaper way to get payloads into space.
It looks like the International Space Station is about 175 to 200 miles above Earth. The lowest sustainable orbit (because of drag, apparently) is about 93 miles above Earth. A near-space balloon can reach about 24 miles above Earth, which is past 99% of Earth's atmosphere. The question is, can we somehow bridge the 69-mile distance between the lowest orit and the highest balloon more affordably than we can launch a full rocket into space?
'Hope someone has the answer and will email me back :-)
March 6, 2013
A Waterskiing Squirrel: It's true...
Twiggy the Water Skiing Squirrel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_2nUGj6TQs&feature=player_detailpage
Those of you who have spent any great amount of time around me or my blog know that I definitely have a soft spot for animals. I was devastated last year when my pet Fat Duck died, and I have a pond filled with between a hundred and two hundred ducks right now. We also have a rabbit, dog and two cats...not to mention the myriad spiders and other crawlies that you might think were pets by the way I refuse to kill them and gently put them out when finding them.
I recently discovered Twiggy, who is an actual, real-life water skiing squirrel. After a little research, I learned that Twiggy is actually a persona worn by eight or more squirrels trained by Chuck and Lou Ann Best of Deltona Florida. It all started when they found an orphan squirrel in the wake of Hurricane David. The little guy soon became a beloved family pet who was, as a joke, trained to ride on a slab of floating Styrofoam behind a remote controlled boat. His trick became so popular with friends and neighbors that the Bests decided to let him make an appearance on Real People, the NBC reality TV show that aired from 1979 to 1984. International perennial fame has followed, and as each Twiggy retires to comfortable home-petdom, a new Twiggy is trained to take his place.
A female lead, lots of comical dating and an emotional ending; do you want to read about another pet squirrel?
Those of you who have spent any great amount of time around me or my blog know that I definitely have a soft spot for animals. I was devastated last year when my pet Fat Duck died, and I have a pond filled with between a hundred and two hundred ducks right now. We also have a rabbit, dog and two cats...not to mention the myriad spiders and other crawlies that you might think were pets by the way I refuse to kill them and gently put them out when finding them.I recently discovered Twiggy, who is an actual, real-life water skiing squirrel. After a little research, I learned that Twiggy is actually a persona worn by eight or more squirrels trained by Chuck and Lou Ann Best of Deltona Florida. It all started when they found an orphan squirrel in the wake of Hurricane David. The little guy soon became a beloved family pet who was, as a joke, trained to ride on a slab of floating Styrofoam behind a remote controlled boat. His trick became so popular with friends and neighbors that the Bests decided to let him make an appearance on Real People, the NBC reality TV show that aired from 1979 to 1984. International perennial fame has followed, and as each Twiggy retires to comfortable home-petdom, a new Twiggy is trained to take his place.
A female lead, lots of comical dating and an emotional ending; do you want to read about another pet squirrel?
March 5, 2013
How do you feel about blood? The Vampire Diaries might need you...
Do you have sharp teeth and a predilection for draining the blood from your high school friends? Then you might be needed on the cast of The Vampire Diaries! :-)Every once in a while (February 20thwas the most recent extras call), Cherrix Casting looks for locals to appear as extras in The Vampire Diaries. The last shoot was in Conyers, GA. Other than immortality and dark Victorian sensibilities, they only ask that you have never appeared on the show before. Here’s a copy of that last extras call from their Facebook site: Vampire Diaries is Looking for a few people, Age 18-35 to work with us tomorrow (Feb 20th) in Covington, GA. If available please email recent photo along with your name, phone number, email address, age, height, weight, clothing sizes, including your shoe size, CAR info- color, make-model, year of vehicle to vampirediariescasting@gmail.com. SUBJECT LINE: Town SquareSo if you want to meet your immortal crush or are a Georgian with the need to act, maybe you should touch base with Cherrix, or at the very least save their Facebook page Cherrix Casting to your favorites. I originally saw this post at http://www.onlocationvacations.com/2013/03/04/are-you-in-georgia-wanna-be-a-vampire-on-the-vampire-diaries-heres-how/, so you might also want to keep an eye on their site.
Did you know the first episode of "Her Yearning or Blood" is FREE?
March 4, 2013
Would you and your spouse take this risk to travel to Mars in 2018?
On January 5th of 2018, Billionaire Dennis Tito (the first tourist to space) intends to launch a married couple to Mars. This space trip will take 501 days and involves almost too many risks to list. First and foremost, any ship that leaves the electromagnetic field surrounding the earth will be exposed to horrendous levels of radiation caused by solar flares and other solar activity. This couple will also be flying in a repurposed rocket salvaged from one space program or another around the world. Off the shelf, relatively inexpensive and "simple" electrical parts will comprise the ship's living and navigation systems. In short, this trip will lack almost all of the typical NASA state-of-the-art equipment and multi-check pretests. Additionally, according to many people, the entire project is being rushed and under-funded and fails to meet many measures of safe and typical space mission protocols...sort of like erecting a sail on a tiny boat and taking an ocean journey.
Would it surprise you to know that Dennis Tito's company has received a lot of interest and already has applications for the trip? To tell you the truth, it doesn't surprise me. The chosen couple, succeed or fail, will become instantly famous and members of a rareified historic group of first-doers. Add to that our relatively short lifespans and the fact that space exploration is at its absolute commercial infancy...and it's easy to see that some people might perceive this as their one and only chance.
So, again I ask you, would you and your spouse take this risk to travel to Mars in 2018?
The Guardian has a great article on this very topic: http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2013/mar/01/mars-mission-risk-human-life-nasa
Would it surprise you to know that Dennis Tito's company has received a lot of interest and already has applications for the trip? To tell you the truth, it doesn't surprise me. The chosen couple, succeed or fail, will become instantly famous and members of a rareified historic group of first-doers. Add to that our relatively short lifespans and the fact that space exploration is at its absolute commercial infancy...and it's easy to see that some people might perceive this as their one and only chance.
So, again I ask you, would you and your spouse take this risk to travel to Mars in 2018?
The Guardian has a great article on this very topic: http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2013/mar/01/mars-mission-risk-human-life-nasa
March 2, 2013
How to write tension: hooking readers from the opening line…
Don Maass , author and literary agent, says that tension is one of the most important and misunderstood factors in fiction. Michael Halperin, novelist and Hollywood screenwriter extraordinaire, felt tension was so important that he actually included it in the title to his 2003 how-to book “Writing the Second ACT: Building Conflict and Tension in Your Film Script.” If you were to do a Google search for “writing tension,” you would have months of homework before you got to the end of the most applicable pages.
So what does all of this mean? First, let me give you my standard disclaimer: I’m just a guy who writes. Though twenty-five years behind a keyboard and a quarter million books downloaded in the last couple of years might suggest some credibility, the truth is that for every idea I have about the craft of building stories and novels, there are dozens of authors who have done exactly the opposite and have hit one or more bestseller lists. Please trust your own judgment and voice first, because ultimately that is what will earn you a place on national bookshelves. The ultimate goal for every mainstream author should be individuality that resonates with a large audience.
Merriam-Webster’s first definition of tension is: the act or action of stretching or the condition or degree of being stretched to stiffness/tautness. I think this is an apt description of tension in story. It would be the act of stretching out a plot. Hook the reader with a mystery, a crises, a fascinating detail…then stretch that point throughout the next few pages, chapters or maybe even the entire book. Piers Anthony says that the key to being a great novelist is learning to hook a reader like a fish, and then slowly but inexorably reel them in. They should be gasping for breath on the beach by the end of the book.
Let’s look at Merriam-Webster’s second definition: either of two balancing forces causing or tending to cause extension. I also like this definition as applied to story. Two balancing forces might be your antagonist and your protagonist, and the tension might be a tug of war between them. I could go on to describe how successful novels might have the antagonist winning that game right until near the end of the book when our hero comes out ahead. But we’re creeping too far from our original discussion.
Merriam Webster’s sixth definition for tension is: a device to produce a desired tension (as in a loom). Of all the definitions, this is my favorite because I think a loom is a perfect visual comparison to every story. Imagine a loom frame with threads stretching from left to right. Other threads are also stretching from top to bottom. Each thread represents a facet of your story.
Let’s say we’re writing about a poor family struggling to survive after the disappearance of the bread-winning father during the depression. In this story, one thread might be grief, another fear, another hunger. Other threads might represent different bill collectors, broken items in the house, and altercations between the children, the mother, and maybe even the equally poor neighbors. No matter what the ingredients are, all must be stretched tightly across our loom…all must have tension. What does that mean exactly? Let’s illustrate with our depression story while we use Piers’ fishing analogy. First and foremost, we must hook our reader early. We must come up with a unique opening that will intrigue our reader. Maybe something like this:
“I’ll have another!” Darrel Babcock yelled to the barkeep. He slammed his whiskey glass down on the polished wood counter to make his point.
“You’re usually the most broke feller in the place,” the balding bartender said. “So where’d you get that wad tonight?”
Darrel glanced at imaginary blood on the backs of his hands and shook his head.
“You don’t want to know, Mitch. You don’t want to know.”
So what have we done? By making our reader ask, “Where did Darrel get the money?” and, “Who did he have to hurt to do it?” we have set our first hook.
Now our job is to reel our reader further into the story. We might slowly reveal details of Darrel’s potential killing. We might introduce two thugs in the bar who pay particularly close attention to the “wad of money” comment. No matter what we do next, it’s important to remember that this early in the novel we should not give the reader a break. We need to keep on reeling them into the story until there is no turning back. What that means is we must continually, paragraph by paragraph, add more tension. How? Let’s say we devote the next scene to Darrel’s wife:
Seeing her neighbor through the kitchen curtain, Abigail Babcock wiped her eyes and opened the door a crack.
“Are they gone?” she whispered.
Widow Nelson gasped. “What did they do to you?”
Abby’s hand fluttered to cover her swelling cheek.
“I think Darrel’s in trouble!”
So what we hope to have done is set yet another hook by increasing the tension. Now our readers (notice we now have more than one J) are worried for Abby while also being reminded of the mystery surrounding Darrel’s possibly ill-gotten windfall. We have successfully pulled our readers closser to the end of our story. If we wanted to return to our second analogy, we could also say that we have now begun stretching a second thread of tension across our loom.
Next, we should scene-by-scene continue to create tension that will draw our reader further and further into our fictional world. In short, tension is simply a reason to keep reading. Of course, there are many kinds of tension: fear, loss, mystery, anticipation, dread, curiosity, and the romance writers’ favorite...sexual tension. Effective novelists use a mix of most if not all of the above. In the case of our depression story, we could and should continue to unravel the mystery of what Darrel has done, but a new type of tension might introduce shame when he leaves the bar…maybe something like this:
Darrel stumbled out into the back alley. Blurred eyes peered both ways. He knew he had to return home to Abby and the kids, but after only two steps he collapsed to his knees and cried.
Now we’ve introduced a new aspect to his mystery. Did he kill an innocent man? We could still ramp it up:
Visions of a stuffed dog falling from lifeless hands flashed across his mind.
Did he kill a child?
We can continue to play out this mystery and keep our readers enthralled, but as we switch from scene to scene we also need to introduce other types of tension. Maybe he could be attacked (violence/survival). Maybe the wife could receive an eviction notice (dread). Maybe Abigail’s parents could get wind of some malfeasance (more shame). Maybe Abby sees the Widow Nelson laughing and whispering with the thug who hit her (mystery/betrayal).
Obviously, we have endless ways to keep the reader enthralled and wanting to read onward. But what if we come to an important scene that doesn’t involve the obvious tensions of violence, mystery or new questions? Let’s say we want to have Abigail play blocks with her baby boy. Fisherman will often say the challenge to catching a big fish is to reel them in slowly, while occasionally letting them have extra line so they will get tired and won’t break free. That toy block scene might be that extra fishing line. BUT let’s remember how easy it is for a fish to get away and a reader to close a book. Wouldn’t it be best to endow those slower story moments with more tension? Maybe the toy block’s color remind Abby of the dress she had to sell to pay for groceries. Maybe the baby cries because of an ear infection, an infection Abby has no money to cure. Maybe…maybe…maybe…
If we are continually looking for moments to ramp up the tension, we will pull our readers to the very last page…where they will happily gasp for more.
February 28, 2013
Wilfreds Rest, an alien invasion sci-fi story...
The story title is supposed to have an apostrophe, but my blog appears on Amazon, Goodreads and probably a half dozen other locations, and a lot of the RSS (Rich Site Summary) feeds turn title apostrophes into alien symbols...so Wilfreds it must be.
By the way, you guys are amazing! I've had more visitors (thousands) in the last few weeks than I ever thought possible. Your conversations, readership and friendship are the reasons that writing is NOT a solitary job. Sure, I do have to slug it out to create a story...but then I get to share it with all of you. This 9-page story originally appeared on the Mistress of the Dark Path website as part of a monthly story contest. If you haven't checked out the site, you really ought to give it a peek: http://mistressofthedarkpath.wordpress.com/. Focus House Publishing (a small press a couple of hours north of me in Central Maine, run by my brother) is debating whether to add it to my current "Distilled Shadows" short story anthology or maybe to create a new anthology with a sci-fi theme.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this little tidbit. Of course, it was written to contest guidelines with exactly a 2200-word limit. I might enlarge and tweak things before it moves onto its next stage in life, so please let me know what you'd like to see expanded, changed, deleted :-)
Happy reading!
Wilfred’s Rest
a 2200-word short story
by Tim Greaton
If she hadn’t met Wilfred and been taken in by his over-the-top and ultimately fake charm, Ethel wondered if she might ever have had a chance with the silver fox on the TV screen. It’s true she had never met him, but who knew where her life might have taken her had marriage not tied her down so young. She watched as Walter Cronkite reported how more than 25 people had died when their freighter ship the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior.
Those poor people, Ethel thought, suddenly feeling foolish for fantasizing when real tragedies were taking place in the world. Having heard enough, she heaved up onto arthritic legs and shuffled over to shut the TV off.
Suddenly, a horrendous roar vibrated the entire house. As quickly as old legs would allow, she hobbled to the kitchen and peered out the window at brilliant lights glaring down from the forest behind her house. The roar dulled to a loud whooshing sound. The floor ceased to quake.
An emergency landing!
It wasn’t unheard of for Coast Guard choppers to pass overhead on their way to the Powell River Inlet. This would, however, be the first time they had pit stopped behind her house. Had Wilfred been alive, he would surely have found some way to sue someone over this.
The intense lights came from a spot well above the trees. The Whooshing sound turned into a deep growl. She debated phoning the police, but since anyone injured would need help now, not when Seattle’s finest managed to spare the time, she grabbed her walking cane and shuffled outside. Leaves and twigs swirled violently in the air.
She shielded her eyes. “Hello! Are you all right?”
Unfortunately, the machine growl and wind were louder than her eighty-three-year-old voice. Having no choice, she limped out into the gale and somehow managed to reach the shed. Her property line ended just beyond the small ramshackle building, but she had no neighbors. One of Wilfred’s lawsuits had bankrupted the landowners behind them and, even though Ethel had offered to sign anything needed, no developer had had yet been able to clear the title.
The whirring stopped. Leaves and bits of sand made a soft hiss as they dropped to the ground all around her. Then everything fell silent. Ethel crept past several evergreen trees and nearly tripped on a blueberry bush her grandson had planted a year earlier. By the time she unraveled her cane and aching legs from the tenacious shrub, only one steady light close to the ground remained on. Two thin silhouettes stood in front of it.
“You must be with the Coast Guard,” she called out.
“Ghoost Caard,” came a high pitched reply.
“Is everyone okay?” Ethel asked.
“Evraayne kaaay.”
Fearing the woman had a head injury, Ethel said, “My house is right back here. Please, come inside where you can get warm and use my phone.”
She waited long enough to see the figures coming her way before turning and limping through the dark toward her house. With all the spotlights and commotion earlier, she hadn’t thought to turn her outside lights on. Finally, out of breath, legs throbbing, she made it up the two rear stairs and flipped the switch to illuminate the yard. She turned back to look and, suddenly, all of her aches and pains faded to insignificance.
Though probably no taller than six feet, the aliens’ extra-long legs and slender bodies gave them a towering appearance that was enhanced by their protracted necks and tiny heads. Their large, yellow eyes glowed under the spotlight. They didn’t seem to have noses or ears, but each had a large open mouth with no discernible lips. In the dim light, their pale skin seemed to glow in contrast to their gray uniforms.
Ethel knew she should have been terrified, but she had enjoyed eighty-three good years on this earth. If the Heavenly Father wanted to take her now, she would be satisfied to go.
The broader alien motioned with a many-fingered hand to the slender one. Apparently the male of the two, it seemed to be saying, ‘Let me handle this.’
Ethel stiffened. Wilfred used to do that all the time. Taking charge of everything, controlling her life every chance he got. Now she could see there was sexism even in space. Well, Ethel was having none of it.
“Nonsense,” she said, addressing the slender female. “You come right in. This is my home and you’re welcome to come inside.” She glanced to the male. “You’re both welcome.”
The female blinked in what Ethel interpreted as a friendly gesture then nodded her long neck and moved in spider-like strides toward the house. The male followed. Ethel felt the smallest tinge of fear as the tall creatures gracefully slipped past, but she ignored the feeling and went inside.
Minutes later, she was readying hot tea for the two aliens who were seated awkwardly in her kitchen. Their extended legs made it impossible for their knees to fit under the table, and short torsos meant small heads peered out between their knees. Ethel placed the floral china cups at the edge of the table so her guests could see them more easily. After offering crackers and several other snack foods, she gave up on finding a suitable alien cuisine and sat down to rest sore legs.
The aliens were cautiously sipping their tea.
“I never expected anything like this,” she said, “but I’m thrilled to meet you.”
The male stared wide-eyed but the female blinked several times in what Ethel interpreted as a smile. She again pushed her fear of the unknown away, and recognized the male’s similar reaction. His cup trembled each time it returned his saucer.
“I’m guessing your ship is broke,” Ethel said. She motioned with one hand as though it was flying then brought it quickly down into her other palm. “You crashed.”
“Crayeesh.” The female mimicked the fallen ship hand gestures, and pointed toward the backdoor. “Crayeesh.”
“You’re welcome to stay here with me,” Ethel said. She gripped her hands together and hoped they understood friendship.
The male studied her for a moment then gibbered a series of long-vowel squeaks. The female shook her head and made the ship gestures again. This time all nine of her fingers wiggled as she showed the ship taking off.
“You can fix your ship,” Ethel said. “That’s great.” Already she worried what the women in her Yahtzee Club would say if she canceled their Wednesday games. And what about the weekends with her grandchildren and her eldest son’s impromptu stops for morning coffee? Keeping alien guests a secret would not be easy.
The female got effortlessly to her feet and crossed to the stove. She turned the knob and pointed at the amber light. “Yeet aw.” She turned it off. “Yeet da.” She did it again, repeating the words. “Yeet aw. Yeet da.”
“On, off,” Ethel said. I understand.
The female mimed her flying ship again. As it rose up, she said, “Yeet aw.” Then she crashed it into her pale white palm. “Yeet da.”
“Your ship shut off. Yeet da.”
The female blinked her yellow eyes in agreement. Then she showed her ship taking off again. “Beenay oh yeet aw.” She wiggled her fingers as the ship took off and pointed to her wriggling fingers. “Beenay.”
“Fuel,” Ethel guessed. “You can only take off if you have more fuel.”
“Fooweel.” The alien pointed to her wriggling fingers and the ship taking off. “Beenay oh fooweel.”
Ethel smiled. Somehow they were communicating but they needed something more. She fetched her entire set of encyclopedias. The aliens spent hours leafing through the pages with their many fingers speeding the job along. The female pointed to a page about evolution. She pointed to the picture and to Ethel.
“Yes, I’m a human being.”
“Huuman beeeing.” The female pointed at herself then the male. “Kreeloown.”
“Kreelown,” Ethel said. “You’re Kreelown.”
After scanning thousands of pictures, the Kreelowns finally made Ethel understand they needed methane. More specifically, they required a way to manufacture the gas for the duration of a long trip. Unfortunately, a retired bookkeeper, Ethel had no knowledge of chemicals or how to manufacture them.
It was after two in the morning when the female helped her to her feet and followed her to the bedroom. Ethel removed two clean blankets from the closet and pointed to the bed. She tried to explain her guests should sleep there, but the alien woman wouldn’t hear of it. She helped Ethel into bed and stroked the sides of her cheeks.
Ethel fell into a deep, luxurious sleep.
The following morning, she literally hopped out of bed and hurried to the living room to see the aliens curled into a single ball in the center of a nest of cushions scavenged from the couch, chair and kitchen chairs. The female was first to open wide amber eyes which immediately crinkled into what Ethel felt certain was a smile.
She smiled back.
“Ooga reefla,” the female said, getting gracefully to her feet. She led Ethel into the bathroom and pointed to the mirror over the sink.
Ethel took one look and nearly fainted. Her stringy gray hair had been replaced with the silky black hair of youth. The skin on her face, forehead and neck had smoothed. She didn’t look a day over thirty. She glanced down to see the ugly splotches and blue veins on the backs of her hands were also gone.
“You made me young again!” she exclaimed.
“Ooga reefla,” the female said, stroking Ethel’s cheek.
Suddenly, Ethel felt terrible for not having learned her name. She pointed to herself. “My name is Ethel.”
“Eeethel,” the female said, blinking large yellow eyes.
Pointing a slender finger at her gray uniform, the alien said, “Avaraaay.” She gestured out towards the living room. “Benara.”
“Avaray and Benara,” Ethel said. “Ava and Ben.”
The female blinked. “Ee, Ava oh Ben.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Ethel said.
“Neece to meet, Eeethel.”
Realizing her vision had improved along with the rest of her body, Ethel glanced around the tiny bathroom until her eyes settled on the toilet. She suddenly knew what the aliens needed.
“Cows,” she said. “Cows make methane, a lot of it.”
“Cooows,” the alien said.
Ethel hurried out to the kitchen and started searching through the encyclopedias. Soon, she found a picture of a cow. After an embarrassing explanation about how cows create waste products, including methane, she rushed outside on thirty-year-old legs and pointed to the grass.
“They eat grass and drink water. Can you create those things on your ship?”
The male said, “Ubda go cooowd?”
“A farm,” Ethel said. “You get cows at a farm.”
It took a dozen calls but a few hours later a truck pulled into Ethel’s yard with six cows on the back. She used the last of Wilfred’s life insurance to pay for them, and was glad she’d kept the cash stashed in the closet. It seemed unlikely the bank would have allowed a thirty-year-old to remove money from an eighty-year-old’s account. She didn’t want to think about the complications ahead—oh, what a problem to have!
After the farmer left, they herded the cows to the spaceship, which looked like a three-story ice cream cone standing on its head. When a large door retracted near the bottom, Ben led the cows inside. Ethel would have liked a tour but Ava made it clear they had a different atmosphere in the ship.
Ethel hoped the cows could survive.
Ava followed her back to her house. On the way, Ethel lept over her grandson’s blueberry bush. She felt wonderful. Ava stopped beside a row of six crosses where Ethel had buried her beloved pets. After Lacey died three years earlier, she had opted to avoid further heartbreak and now lived alone.
Suddenly, Ava dug into Lacey’s grave.
Horrified, imagining her tiny dog’s remains being sucked into the lipless mouth, Ethel grabbed Ava’s shoulders but it was too late. There was a familiar yelp and her beloved dog shook dirt from her fur and jumped into her arms. Ethel was so busy hugging and being licked by her poodle, it was several seconds before she realized other paws were reaching up for her. Three cats and two more dogs. All her pets were now alive and clamoring for her attention.
Ava squinted in laughter. She pointed toward the house.
“Weelfreed,” she said.
Ethel understood. The ashes of her husband sat in an urn beside the TV. He hadn’t liked pets and would never let her keep all six of them now resurrected. But how could she deny him a chance to live, to be young again?
She suddenly remembered the countless restless nights alone during their thirties while he’d been having an affair with his boss’s wife. Then there was the tall blond coworker he dated throughout their forties. And the string of cocktail waitresses he saw well into their fifties. It hadn’t actually been until he got too sick to slip away before he became a one-woman man.
“That’s okay,” Ethel said. “Let’s let Wilfred rest.”
The End
By the way, you guys are amazing! I've had more visitors (thousands) in the last few weeks than I ever thought possible. Your conversations, readership and friendship are the reasons that writing is NOT a solitary job. Sure, I do have to slug it out to create a story...but then I get to share it with all of you. This 9-page story originally appeared on the Mistress of the Dark Path website as part of a monthly story contest. If you haven't checked out the site, you really ought to give it a peek: http://mistressofthedarkpath.wordpress.com/. Focus House Publishing (a small press a couple of hours north of me in Central Maine, run by my brother) is debating whether to add it to my current "Distilled Shadows" short story anthology or maybe to create a new anthology with a sci-fi theme.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this little tidbit. Of course, it was written to contest guidelines with exactly a 2200-word limit. I might enlarge and tweak things before it moves onto its next stage in life, so please let me know what you'd like to see expanded, changed, deleted :-)
Happy reading!
Wilfred’s Rest
a 2200-word short story
by Tim Greaton
If she hadn’t met Wilfred and been taken in by his over-the-top and ultimately fake charm, Ethel wondered if she might ever have had a chance with the silver fox on the TV screen. It’s true she had never met him, but who knew where her life might have taken her had marriage not tied her down so young. She watched as Walter Cronkite reported how more than 25 people had died when their freighter ship the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior.
Those poor people, Ethel thought, suddenly feeling foolish for fantasizing when real tragedies were taking place in the world. Having heard enough, she heaved up onto arthritic legs and shuffled over to shut the TV off.
Suddenly, a horrendous roar vibrated the entire house. As quickly as old legs would allow, she hobbled to the kitchen and peered out the window at brilliant lights glaring down from the forest behind her house. The roar dulled to a loud whooshing sound. The floor ceased to quake.
An emergency landing!
It wasn’t unheard of for Coast Guard choppers to pass overhead on their way to the Powell River Inlet. This would, however, be the first time they had pit stopped behind her house. Had Wilfred been alive, he would surely have found some way to sue someone over this.
The intense lights came from a spot well above the trees. The Whooshing sound turned into a deep growl. She debated phoning the police, but since anyone injured would need help now, not when Seattle’s finest managed to spare the time, she grabbed her walking cane and shuffled outside. Leaves and twigs swirled violently in the air.
She shielded her eyes. “Hello! Are you all right?”
Unfortunately, the machine growl and wind were louder than her eighty-three-year-old voice. Having no choice, she limped out into the gale and somehow managed to reach the shed. Her property line ended just beyond the small ramshackle building, but she had no neighbors. One of Wilfred’s lawsuits had bankrupted the landowners behind them and, even though Ethel had offered to sign anything needed, no developer had had yet been able to clear the title.
The whirring stopped. Leaves and bits of sand made a soft hiss as they dropped to the ground all around her. Then everything fell silent. Ethel crept past several evergreen trees and nearly tripped on a blueberry bush her grandson had planted a year earlier. By the time she unraveled her cane and aching legs from the tenacious shrub, only one steady light close to the ground remained on. Two thin silhouettes stood in front of it.
“You must be with the Coast Guard,” she called out.
“Ghoost Caard,” came a high pitched reply.
“Is everyone okay?” Ethel asked.
“Evraayne kaaay.”
Fearing the woman had a head injury, Ethel said, “My house is right back here. Please, come inside where you can get warm and use my phone.”
She waited long enough to see the figures coming her way before turning and limping through the dark toward her house. With all the spotlights and commotion earlier, she hadn’t thought to turn her outside lights on. Finally, out of breath, legs throbbing, she made it up the two rear stairs and flipped the switch to illuminate the yard. She turned back to look and, suddenly, all of her aches and pains faded to insignificance.
Though probably no taller than six feet, the aliens’ extra-long legs and slender bodies gave them a towering appearance that was enhanced by their protracted necks and tiny heads. Their large, yellow eyes glowed under the spotlight. They didn’t seem to have noses or ears, but each had a large open mouth with no discernible lips. In the dim light, their pale skin seemed to glow in contrast to their gray uniforms.
Ethel knew she should have been terrified, but she had enjoyed eighty-three good years on this earth. If the Heavenly Father wanted to take her now, she would be satisfied to go.
The broader alien motioned with a many-fingered hand to the slender one. Apparently the male of the two, it seemed to be saying, ‘Let me handle this.’
Ethel stiffened. Wilfred used to do that all the time. Taking charge of everything, controlling her life every chance he got. Now she could see there was sexism even in space. Well, Ethel was having none of it.
“Nonsense,” she said, addressing the slender female. “You come right in. This is my home and you’re welcome to come inside.” She glanced to the male. “You’re both welcome.”
The female blinked in what Ethel interpreted as a friendly gesture then nodded her long neck and moved in spider-like strides toward the house. The male followed. Ethel felt the smallest tinge of fear as the tall creatures gracefully slipped past, but she ignored the feeling and went inside.
Minutes later, she was readying hot tea for the two aliens who were seated awkwardly in her kitchen. Their extended legs made it impossible for their knees to fit under the table, and short torsos meant small heads peered out between their knees. Ethel placed the floral china cups at the edge of the table so her guests could see them more easily. After offering crackers and several other snack foods, she gave up on finding a suitable alien cuisine and sat down to rest sore legs.
The aliens were cautiously sipping their tea.
“I never expected anything like this,” she said, “but I’m thrilled to meet you.”
The male stared wide-eyed but the female blinked several times in what Ethel interpreted as a smile. She again pushed her fear of the unknown away, and recognized the male’s similar reaction. His cup trembled each time it returned his saucer.
“I’m guessing your ship is broke,” Ethel said. She motioned with one hand as though it was flying then brought it quickly down into her other palm. “You crashed.”
“Crayeesh.” The female mimicked the fallen ship hand gestures, and pointed toward the backdoor. “Crayeesh.”
“You’re welcome to stay here with me,” Ethel said. She gripped her hands together and hoped they understood friendship.
The male studied her for a moment then gibbered a series of long-vowel squeaks. The female shook her head and made the ship gestures again. This time all nine of her fingers wiggled as she showed the ship taking off.
“You can fix your ship,” Ethel said. “That’s great.” Already she worried what the women in her Yahtzee Club would say if she canceled their Wednesday games. And what about the weekends with her grandchildren and her eldest son’s impromptu stops for morning coffee? Keeping alien guests a secret would not be easy.
The female got effortlessly to her feet and crossed to the stove. She turned the knob and pointed at the amber light. “Yeet aw.” She turned it off. “Yeet da.” She did it again, repeating the words. “Yeet aw. Yeet da.”
“On, off,” Ethel said. I understand.
The female mimed her flying ship again. As it rose up, she said, “Yeet aw.” Then she crashed it into her pale white palm. “Yeet da.”
“Your ship shut off. Yeet da.”
The female blinked her yellow eyes in agreement. Then she showed her ship taking off again. “Beenay oh yeet aw.” She wiggled her fingers as the ship took off and pointed to her wriggling fingers. “Beenay.”
“Fuel,” Ethel guessed. “You can only take off if you have more fuel.”
“Fooweel.” The alien pointed to her wriggling fingers and the ship taking off. “Beenay oh fooweel.”
Ethel smiled. Somehow they were communicating but they needed something more. She fetched her entire set of encyclopedias. The aliens spent hours leafing through the pages with their many fingers speeding the job along. The female pointed to a page about evolution. She pointed to the picture and to Ethel.
“Yes, I’m a human being.”
“Huuman beeeing.” The female pointed at herself then the male. “Kreeloown.”
“Kreelown,” Ethel said. “You’re Kreelown.”
After scanning thousands of pictures, the Kreelowns finally made Ethel understand they needed methane. More specifically, they required a way to manufacture the gas for the duration of a long trip. Unfortunately, a retired bookkeeper, Ethel had no knowledge of chemicals or how to manufacture them.
It was after two in the morning when the female helped her to her feet and followed her to the bedroom. Ethel removed two clean blankets from the closet and pointed to the bed. She tried to explain her guests should sleep there, but the alien woman wouldn’t hear of it. She helped Ethel into bed and stroked the sides of her cheeks.
Ethel fell into a deep, luxurious sleep.
The following morning, she literally hopped out of bed and hurried to the living room to see the aliens curled into a single ball in the center of a nest of cushions scavenged from the couch, chair and kitchen chairs. The female was first to open wide amber eyes which immediately crinkled into what Ethel felt certain was a smile.
She smiled back.
“Ooga reefla,” the female said, getting gracefully to her feet. She led Ethel into the bathroom and pointed to the mirror over the sink.
Ethel took one look and nearly fainted. Her stringy gray hair had been replaced with the silky black hair of youth. The skin on her face, forehead and neck had smoothed. She didn’t look a day over thirty. She glanced down to see the ugly splotches and blue veins on the backs of her hands were also gone.
“You made me young again!” she exclaimed.
“Ooga reefla,” the female said, stroking Ethel’s cheek.
Suddenly, Ethel felt terrible for not having learned her name. She pointed to herself. “My name is Ethel.”
“Eeethel,” the female said, blinking large yellow eyes.
Pointing a slender finger at her gray uniform, the alien said, “Avaraaay.” She gestured out towards the living room. “Benara.”
“Avaray and Benara,” Ethel said. “Ava and Ben.”
The female blinked. “Ee, Ava oh Ben.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Ethel said.
“Neece to meet, Eeethel.”
Realizing her vision had improved along with the rest of her body, Ethel glanced around the tiny bathroom until her eyes settled on the toilet. She suddenly knew what the aliens needed.
“Cows,” she said. “Cows make methane, a lot of it.”
“Cooows,” the alien said.
Ethel hurried out to the kitchen and started searching through the encyclopedias. Soon, she found a picture of a cow. After an embarrassing explanation about how cows create waste products, including methane, she rushed outside on thirty-year-old legs and pointed to the grass.
“They eat grass and drink water. Can you create those things on your ship?”
The male said, “Ubda go cooowd?”
“A farm,” Ethel said. “You get cows at a farm.”
It took a dozen calls but a few hours later a truck pulled into Ethel’s yard with six cows on the back. She used the last of Wilfred’s life insurance to pay for them, and was glad she’d kept the cash stashed in the closet. It seemed unlikely the bank would have allowed a thirty-year-old to remove money from an eighty-year-old’s account. She didn’t want to think about the complications ahead—oh, what a problem to have!
After the farmer left, they herded the cows to the spaceship, which looked like a three-story ice cream cone standing on its head. When a large door retracted near the bottom, Ben led the cows inside. Ethel would have liked a tour but Ava made it clear they had a different atmosphere in the ship.
Ethel hoped the cows could survive.
Ava followed her back to her house. On the way, Ethel lept over her grandson’s blueberry bush. She felt wonderful. Ava stopped beside a row of six crosses where Ethel had buried her beloved pets. After Lacey died three years earlier, she had opted to avoid further heartbreak and now lived alone.
Suddenly, Ava dug into Lacey’s grave.
Horrified, imagining her tiny dog’s remains being sucked into the lipless mouth, Ethel grabbed Ava’s shoulders but it was too late. There was a familiar yelp and her beloved dog shook dirt from her fur and jumped into her arms. Ethel was so busy hugging and being licked by her poodle, it was several seconds before she realized other paws were reaching up for her. Three cats and two more dogs. All her pets were now alive and clamoring for her attention.
Ava squinted in laughter. She pointed toward the house.
“Weelfreed,” she said.
Ethel understood. The ashes of her husband sat in an urn beside the TV. He hadn’t liked pets and would never let her keep all six of them now resurrected. But how could she deny him a chance to live, to be young again?
She suddenly remembered the countless restless nights alone during their thirties while he’d been having an affair with his boss’s wife. Then there was the tall blond coworker he dated throughout their forties. And the string of cocktail waitresses he saw well into their fifties. It hadn’t actually been until he got too sick to slip away before he became a one-woman man.
“That’s okay,” Ethel said. “Let’s let Wilfred rest.”
The End
