Could we say that the plot is a trifle derivative? Sure, but good god, that seems petty, especially when one considers that the plot really is secondary here. But it's sci-fi for us pedestrians, for those who don't want epic space dramas or overly complicated mythologies. The Wishing Stone is pure sci-fi, unapologetic, balls-to-the-walls sci-fi. The Wishing Stone, blows the hell out of Book 1. Maus is a gifted storyteller, a go-for-broke storyteller. and put such a spin on it that the reader has no choice but to be delighted by every page. and fashion it into a compelling, comedic character study. It was the last time I believed in magic, in love or the existence of God.Ī Tegon Maus novel is a celebration, not only of storytelling but of the very act of creation. Kate died that afternoon and I never thought about the stone again. On that day, all three of us made a silent wish, certain the others had wished for the same. The last time we used the stone was at the hospital the morning she died. I am still waiting, nursing a flicker of similar hope.įor the next twenty years, each year on New Year’s Eve, the wishing stone was passed from hand to hand, first to Kate, then Roger, then me.ĭuring her last summer, as if a punishment for being happy, Kate was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Hers came true eight months later when she met Roger. We spent the night talking, endlessly talking, and it made me feel like I was no longer lost in my grief, no longer alone.Īt midnight we made our wish. I thought it had been lost long before and was surprised by its return. Two years after our parents' death, on New Year’s Eve, it reappeared. From that moment to her last, we were joined at the hip. She looked after me far more than I did her and the wishing stone became a thing of the past. We saw each other at least once a month, until our parents died. Kate went off to college and I dropped out. The stone had changed from sharing secret dreams to open communication between us.Įventually, we gained new obligations, leaving little time for the wishing stone. It made me feel good to secretly fulfill her modest desires. My wishes became more trivial and I had less and less time to share with her so I concentrated on making her wishes come true. Slowly, as I grew older, my interest began to wane.
Once a week, it gave each of us an opportunity to vent our frustrations and express our desire to make things right with the world. We wished for things large and small, all with equal desire they would come true. Kate was its guardian, swearing to use it only for good and only when the two of us were together. We would take turns holding it, vowing on our very lives to only speak the truth while it was in our possession, talking for hours before making our wish. As we grew older it became the conduit between us. It didn't happen every time, but it did more often than not so it became our wishing stone. The following week, she wished for a new notebook for school and the next day it appeared in her room. She wished for the folks to stop and get us an ice cream for the ride home and they did. She would close her eyes and stroke it three times before making a wish. No more than four or five inches long and a dull tan with black freckles it looked more like a potato than anything else. We found it on a camping trip to Deep Creek as kids. City Nights/Knights Submission GuidelinesĪ river stone smoothed with time and endless amounts of water, it was really nothing more than a regular rock.
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