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    Just submitted this to a horror magazine. Wonder what you think of it.

    1309 wrds

    Why is it that men go after what they donâ€TMt want?
    A woman who is awkward, silly, or totally out there with no possibility of compatibility. Yet theyâ€TMll make every effort to impress and get this person, however wrong for them into the clutches of their heart.

    Now he knows he doesnâ€TMt need or really want this woman, but the sheer fact that she is unavailable or isnâ€TMt exactly what he was looking for makes the chase all the more interesting.

    Don was one such guy. He went after women who didnâ€TMt want him and most times ended with a broken heart, used emotions and an empty wallet. But today heâ€TMs about to meet the one that doesnâ€TMt say no. The one that takes him on a ride higher than any other, and thereâ€TMs not even a parachute for the fall!

    It was a cold Seattle day. Rain poured down in buckets and Don couldnâ€TMt feel worse. He had just been dumped and his mood was even lower. A little dog growled at him and it was all he could do not to kick it. He was depressed. But she had been beautiful. Without much though he had asked her out and sheâ€TMd said the usual no, heâ€TMd acted as if it didnâ€TMt matter and pursued her anyway. Finally she gave in and when he came up for air, she had spent all his money, used his friends and even slept with his best one, and was breaking his heart too, which Don had to take the blame for introducing them in the first place.

    He just couldnâ€TMt get a break. Crossing the street, he stepped in pothole up to his knee and now it hurt and he was soaked. Could life get any worse? He was about to find out it could but the turn would lead him down a road he never expected.

    She stood at five feet eight inches, a statuesque beauty licking a slurpee at the bus stop. A slurpee in the rain he thought, â€Now thatâ€TMs a good one… itâ€TMs raining cats and dogs and sheâ€TMs out here eating a ****inâ€TM slurpee.†Scurrying under cover of the bus shelter he stood watching as she stood just outside, content to let the downpour drench her.

    â€Miss, thereâ€TMs plenty of room in here.†He ventured. She just stared at him. Turned back to take a big bite of her slurpee.
    â€Boy, you sure are enjoying that slurpee.†He tried again, â€Bet it makes you colder in that rain.†She turned again, and stepped inside the shelter and stared at him again.
    â€Want a bite?†Her eyes were green and deep and she was dry. He looked at her to be sure, but her clothes looked like she had just stepped outside on a summer day.
    â€How?†He started to mumble but thought more of those mysterious green eyes that kept staring at him. He looked down to see if there was something on him other than a wet pant leg and soggy clothes. â€Is something wrong?â€
    She took another bite and stared some more. Suddenly. â€You donâ€TMt have a girlfriend do you?â€

    Taken aback, all he could stutter was, â€â€¦uh, not right now. Why?â€
    â€Want one?†she took another bite.
    â€With you?â€
    â€With me, on me, in me, it donâ€TMt matter. You game?â€
    â€Uh†I gotta go…â€
    The rain seems a relief as he darts out the small enclosure, turning back to look at this strange girl.
    â€Damn! Coming out the blue like that… whatâ€TMs wrong with her? And whereâ€TMd she go?â€
    Sure enough, she was gone. It had only been a second, but sheâ€TMd vanished as quick.

    Looking back he bumps into a passerby, â€Oh! Iâ€TMm sorry†the person kneeling in front of him now, looking up from the fallen jostled papers. â€I didnâ€TMt see you.â€
    â€Look where youâ€TMre going!â€

    Continuing, he dashes into a coffee shop for a respite, and who should be seated in a corner booth, the girl. Now a coffee cup in her hands, blowing the steaming liquid. Her eye light upon seeing him and he heads over.
    â€Excuse me?â€
    Yes, I was. Want some coffee? Nail bitten hands hold out the cup.
    â€You were what?†Shaking his head to the offer.
    â€That was me out there enjoying your wet sunshine. I asked you did you have a girlfriend.â€
    He sits. â€Yeah, whyâ€TMd you do that?â€
    â€You looked like you needed one.â€
    Desperation shows huh?
    â€No. Actually I was playing. Now I know.â€
    Their time together goes quickly and soon itâ€TMs getting dark.

    The rain stops, and both are surprised at how long theyâ€TMve been sitting there enjoying each otherâ€TMs company. Not really with words. Just mostly sitting silently staring at each other, a little small talk and watching the rain. But something had connected. When they left the coffee shop they were holding hands and laughing like they had known each other forever and arm in arm they jauntily stroll down the street.

    As the weeks fly by Don cannot believe his luck. She is everything heâ€TMs ever wanted. She makes love non-stop and wants to all the time, and he is okay with that. She even knows how to cook. His heart has flown the coup and all is right with his world. She does everything for him and he cannot get over her ritual act of fallacio every night. It has become something that she must do regardless of how he feels… she must end her night that way.

    His friends comment on how old heâ€TMs looking lately, but he contributes it to working overtime so they can enjoy more things together. Mindful always, that heâ€TMs not going to let this one use him. Heâ€TMs in control. And if this one ends, itâ€TMs him who will say so. But what end. He was in heaven. He even thought of asking her to marry him.
    One morning he notices an ache in his back. His legs feel weak. Looking in the mirror he sees what others have been saying… he looks old… drained.

    That night after a sumptuous meal and a movie, they cuddle as usual and she rubs him in that special way that he knows is leading to the bedroom. He hesitates.
    â€Hon, why donâ€TMt we hold off tonight? Iâ€TMm not feeling myself lately.â€
    She stares at him. Is that anger?
    â€I just thought…â€
    She is unzipping his pants. The urgency odd.
    â€Honey, did you hear me?â€
    Pulling his member into her hands, the stroking begins and his ardor rises.
    â€I guess…†he relinquished.

    Their love making that night was extreme. More energetic than he could remember. And she had been so demanding. So hungry for it. Her desire was scary in the how she didnâ€TMt seem to care about him but only satiating her own need. It worried him… and it frightened him too.

    She was radiant in the morning. Fresh, happy and looking younger than he remembered her to be. It was amazing how she bounced around the apartment, singing and bustling about her kitchen activities.

    The shock came in the bathroom. In the mirror was someone he did not know. A face that had somehow aged overnight. An old man staring back through young manâ€TMs eyes. A man drained of life through his basic desires.
    She was gone when he went in for breakfast.
    A note on top of his toast.

    â€Thank you for your youth dear one. We need the sex and youth restoring semen and you gave me all that was required. I am sorry that I must leave, but you can no longer help me. Were I to stay you would die, and I have grown too fond of you to do that. But always know my dear one I loved you, and be careful, because we live.
    Vampires do exist.â€

  • #2
    Should'a asked for opinions before you submitted. But, as always, driven by boundless enthusiasm, you just couldn't stop yourself, right?

    You've performed the prose equivalent of narrator V.O. in the opening paragraphs. Characters ought to tell their own story without your help.

    Unfortunately it's a "been done before, often" theme. Heck I've used the same idea myself, that's how been done it is.

    Which magazine has the honor of writing a rejection slip? Keep these, don't throw them away, they make for good dinner party conversations.

    You should rewrite as a 5-page short script and see how it works. No V.O. allowed.

    One of the many reasons you should never listen to dpat ~PipeWriter


    • #3
      New chesssy e-mag.

      Yeah, it came this morning. Seems they're mostly seeking horror interviews. Said if I had one, they'd look at it...

      uh... Derek?

      May I interview you? You've got credits. You write well... got a lot of material out there... and I think you'd make good reading.

      I could write up some questions on the stuff I see on your site,

      and well...

      could we do one?

      (You could even write the questions yourself (if you wanted). It'd just be my by-line, but we'd know the truth... to not make you seem egotistical by writing it yourself?)


      • #4
        Bobby, if I were an editor of a magazine, I would reject this without a second thought, or even anything beyond a cursory "Dear sir, please never send us anything again" letter.

        This piece would be an embarrassment at any magazine, no matter HOW "hard up" you think these magazines are. Their editors will write their own pieces before they give their readers poor work.

        Here are the problems, in brief. It would take to long to list them all.

        a) No consistency between past tense and present tense. You have to pick one, and stick to it. In general, past tense is far and away the more common, and most preferred tense for fiction.

        b) Disjointed, uneven thoughts. This kills you. It's like you had 100 ideas all at once, and just grabbed at them and threw them on the page and hoped it made sense. The tone is uneven, the sentences and paragraphs are so garbled it's a chore to try and determine any sense of coherency. The piece reads like it was uttered by a delirious man in the throes of a high fever.

        c) Horrible grammar and sentence structure. If I had a copy editor, he would have an aneurysm trying to correct this piece. If I didn't, I'd reject it simply because I don't want to do this much work for something the author should have done himself.

        d) Cliched, weak language. Tired, overused theme. Semen vampires are a long-used topic among gay horror fans.

        e) We are a horror magazine. The essence of horror is fear, or terror. There was no emotion in this piece. You told us he was depressed, and later you told us that her last BJ was scary. But there's no sense of this, no feel for it in this piece, which is as dry as Melba toast to my eyes.

        As I said, most editors would never take this kind of time to explain why they would not buy this piece. You need to understand that writing is not a game that you can just pick up and play. Like Othello, it may take a minute to learn, but it takes a lifetime to master.

        And you are nowhere near the level of mastery where a fiction editor would even consider paying you for it.


        • #5
          Nice enough cover, WP, but I recognize some'a these names, alas I'm a nobody by comparison. Besides, I've been interviewed twice already, there's nothing left. My failure as a big name author. My failure as a screenwriter. My total failure to satisfy any woman, etc.

          One of the many reasons you should never listen to dpat ~PipeWriter