Good Story to Read.com: Short Story Collection #01
By S. Thomas Kaza
Copyright 2012 by S. Thomas Kaza
Cover Art
"Highway" oil on canvas by Julian Hooper
Table of Contents
Introduction
The Visitor
Mother-in-Law
What a Dragon Must Do
A Boy Called Booger
A Fish Story
In the Light of the Summer Moon
A Problem with Pixie Dust
Private Kaza
The Seventh Night
The Stickelhopper
The Caretaker and His Dogs
The Silent and the Still
Introduction
By S. Thomas Kaza
Back in 2005 I was spending a lot of time writing short stories and sending them to magazines. As the rejections piled up for one story I would start writing the next story and then the next. Soon it became obvious that my stories might not get read by anybody outside of the small circle of my friends and family. I wanted to get published, but I also wanted people to just read my stories. I finally decided to start a website.
I did not want to start a website that featured only my own short fiction. I knew others that dabbled in writing fiction and talked about becoming writers. Some of them said they would contribute if I started a website. So my first idea was to create a place on the world wide web where a small group of aspiring writers could publish one or two of their best efforts every year.
But as the first year went by nobody sent me any stories. It was disappointing. But I did not let it get me down. I promised myself I would write two, new short stories every year. I knew if I kept my promise, there would come a day when I had six short stories under my belt. And if I continued from there I would reach a point where I had eight, then ten, then twelve short stories to my credit. I set my sights on twelve, a dozen stories.
I decided I did not want to write in only one genre. I wanted to try my hand at several of them. From the start I knew one genre would have to be science fiction. The future is a fascinating subject to cover, one I could not turn down. For a second genre I decided on fantasy. I had read a few fantasy short stories, and I wasn’t impressed. So I set out to prove I could do something better.
Next I looked at the horror genre. It is a very popular short fiction genre, but I did not want to write the kind of horror stories I was reading on the internet. I wanted to be more subtle and less shocking. I settled for what I call the ghost story genre. Finally I challenged myself to write realistic fiction to round out an even four genres. I decided if I wanted to call myself a writer, I needed to be able to write realistic fiction as well as fantastic fiction.
The stories in this book represent my first six years of seriously trying to improve my craft of writing short stories. They are in chronological order by the year I wrote each story. I published the first story, The Visitor, at an online magazine. I received a check for $10. So technically I became a professional writer. But that was quite a few years ago. And some may say that I have fallen back into the ranks of amateur. I tried to get the second story, Mother-in-Law, published with some of the more well-known science fiction magazines. I am afraid my story of living among a race of giant spiders did not impress any editors.
What a Dragon Must Do is the third story in this collection and the last short story I tried to get published at an magazine. I had some pretty good reviews for this story from strangers when I posted it on a writers’ website, so I knew it was not a bad story. But after just one or two rejections, I stopped trying. I decided I was too busy. I was working on my first novel, and I did not want to take away from my writing time to send queries to publications. I decided for short stories it was enough to keep writing for the Good Story to Read.com website.
Now some people may say I stopped trying to get my short stories published, because I did not want to deal with rejection. In a way I can agree with that statement. Rejection takes a lot of work. Writing letters to editors takes a lot of work. I did not want to spend all of my precious time trying to convince people to publish me. I felt a strong urge to “just write”. And that is exactly what I have been doing for the last five years. I have focused on writing fiction.
But for the record, I actually have still been dealing with rejection, not only in my day job where I struggle constantly to make sales, but also with my first and second novels where I tried (in the case of the first novel) and continue try (in the case of my second novel) to find an agent to represent me.
My outlook remains positive. Twenty years ago I talked about becoming a writer, but I could not finish one short story. Today I have finished twelve short stories and two novels. I enjoy writing now more than I ever did in the past. Barely a day goes by when I can’t find the time to write something. I feel I now have some momentum going. And I have no plans to let up.
In fact I am seriously considering taking on a fifth genre for short stories. One that has always interested me is the western. I am not much for western novels, but I like to read western short stories. And although I have more experience in the forests and lakes of northern Michigan, I am no stranger to the American West. Between now and my next twelve short stories I will no doubt try my hand at this genre.
Finally and most importantly, I hope you enjoy this collection of short stories. I enjoyed writing them. I enjoyed pouring a bit of my heart and soul into the characters. I enjoyed creating the settings. And I enjoyed surprising myself with the endings. That is what amazes me the most. Sometimes I am not sure how the story will end. I try a couple of ideas, but they don’t work. All the while time is running out as my deadline approaches, and then suddenly it’s there. It is truly magic.
When I set out to write my first “horror” story, my goal was to create a new creature to haunt the imagination. I had read an article about alzheimer’s disease. I thought how tragic it would be to lose your memory. I realized that a creature which could take or “steal” your memories would be just as terrifying as a creature that chased you through the woods at night. I conceived of a ghost hungry for memories, and the rest came naturally.
The Visitor
Copyright 2004 by S. Thomas Kaza
For centuries she fled through the deserted streets of her beloved city, keeping to the shadows where the silvery moonlight would not reach, hiding from the dark memories that stalked her. Coming upon a place that felt familiar, she would close her eyes and conjure up an image of when it had been alive with the music, colors, and laughter of her people. These were her happy memories from childhood. For centuries she found respite in sun-splashed plazas, honey-sweetened candies, and the lively tunes of street musicians. When they faded, she would take flight again until she found another place that she remembered, or until dawn came upon the land.
But in recent years she began to find it more and more difficult to summon the images of the past. At first it seemed that her happy memories were fraying at the edges as she could not hold onto them as long as she did in the past. Then it seemed the frayed edges began to unravel and tear. Instead of noisy, colorful streets bustling with activity, she would suddenly find herself alone in the crumbling ruins of a dead city. And somewhere not far off she could hear the approaching footsteps of the priests in their long robes.
She could not understand how it could happen to someone who was not alive, but she knew she was growing old. She grew frightened to think that once her happy memories failed her, she would have to spend all eternity reliving the terror of her last days, when she was taken from her family to the temple that rose to the sky. She tried not to think about i
t. But recently in the corner of her eyes she sometimes saw the flash of the ritual dagger the moment before it struck, the moment before it tore into her little body, and her live heart was ripped out before her very eyes and cast down from the heights of the temple to satisfy the gods of harvest, gods that died out with her people centuries before.
She shook in fear. For ages she had managed to block out and forget those terrible memories. But as the happy memories began to fail her one by one, she realized that the dark ones had grown powerful. Each night she sobbed knowing she would not be able to hold them back much longer. Eventually they would overpower her. Then the temple priests would fling the door open and boldly step into her family house again. Then she would feel once again her little hand being wrenched from her mother’s. Then she would be forced to live it all over again and again and again. She began to grow desperate in fear of that day.
But on