I saw a ghost once. It was begging for change at the bus stop. I told it to get a job. A decade and a half later, it turned down my application for a second mortgage. Then, it flung ectoplasm everywhere and drove off in a Ferrari full of supermodels. Yesterday, I read in the newspaper that it got busted for fraud, plea bargained down to misdemeanor loitering, and then suffered a fatal, inebriated fall from the roof of its penthouse suite at the Cheveral while celebrating. Now, when I see a ghost, I just splash 'em with holy water.
I don't normally post first drafts of personal writing, but I submitted an in-progress short story for last week's Operation Garbage Fountain , and, as per my agreement with fellow garbage-fountainier Lars Doucet , I am contractually obliged to write about it online. The theme of the week was "Rust." Lars wrote a highly amusing story about a narcoleptic Dream Agent named Rusty (which I'm hoping he will post soon). I decided to dust off an older story and start expanding it. After last week's 1930s Explorer-inspired pulp adventure shenanigans , I wanted to do something in a decidedly different genre. (Although it remains, as always, AS WEIRD AS I CAN MAKE IT. ) The other thing that I really wanted to do was write in the first person again. Some of my favorite novels are first-person accounts, and I actually did a lot of very well received first-person writing for Defender's Quest (critics regularly called the journals the best wr...