title: The Effect of Moonlight on Tombstones: A Dark Little Collection of Poetry
author:  Della Van Hise 
description: Della Van Hise is a native of Florida, transplanted to California at the age of 21, who has subsequently sunk her roots into the high desert near Joshua Tree National Park. She has not personally seen any aliens since around 1992, but there is rumored to be a secret UFO base underneath her house.<br /><br /> Della's writing started around age 11 on an old Smith Corona typewriter. No, not an electric one. A real antique, made of metal and heavier than a wet coffin. Her first professional novel was best-selling KILLING TIME - the controversial Star Trek novel which was recalled and re-edited in 1984 (making the first edition a rare collector's item) - and which was the foundational plot for the STAR TREK "Reboot" movie.<br /><br /> Della has written extensively in the non-fiction genre, with titles such as QUANTUM SHAMAN and SCRAWLS ON THE WALLS OF THE SOUL. "Quantum Shaman" focuses heavily on the author's metaphysical explorations and experiences, while "Scrawls" is a continuation of those journeys many years later. If you enjoyed the works of Carlos Castaneda or Don Miguel Ruiz, you'll enjoy the non-fiction works of Della Van Hise.<br /><br /> In addition, Della has written professionally for Tomorrow Magazine and other prominent science fiction publications. Her most recent fiction works include Sons of Neverland (an award-winning vampire novel); No Forwarding Address (a science fiction quest of the heart's yearning); and Coyote (a sensuous novel combining the mystical aspects of martial arts, coming of age, and personal sacrifice.)<br /><br /> Della shares her life with her significant other, Wendy Rathbone, and a variety of cats, dogs and desert wildlife.
zlib_text: THE AMERICAN EARL
   
   
   
  by
   
   
   
  Joan Wolf
   
   
   
  
  Chapter One
   
  For as long as I live I will never forget the morning I found my father’s
  body.   I had awakened with the dawn and decided to take a walk in the
  garden before breakfast. I wrapped my old wool cloak around my
  nightdress, slid my feet into my boots and went quietly down the stairs. 
  The French doors at the back of the house let me out into a beautiful
  morning.  The air smelled frosty and clean and the moon was still bright in
  the sky.   I began to walk along one of the pathways, thinking it was a
  perfect day for hunting and wishing we were going out.  I was looking up at
  the moon when I stumbled over something on the ground.   I gained my
  balance and looked down.  Two legs wearing riding boots jutted out from
  the shrubbery. 
  My first thought was that some drunk had found his way into the
  garden and passed out. My second thought, as I regarded the expensive
  boots, was, if this is Papa, I’ll kill him. 
  I dropped to my knees an