"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
“Welcome, Brave Kinght, to Joust Joint. How may we sate thy hunger on this noble quest?”
—regular drive-through script at Joust Joint.
A heads-up out there to everyone who enjoys audio drama be it classic radio shows or modern podcasts. Or just a good story well-told.
I’m listening to a fine romantic drama podcast: “Drive-Thru Magic.” An LGBT story with a clever set-up.
Gabe, a twenty-something veterinarian meets Louie, a likewise twenty-something med student when Gabe pulls into the drive-through and Gabe takes his order through the speaker box. With nothing but their voices the two young men gradually begin to fall for one another over the increasingly frequent nights Gabe stops at the drive-through.
And I will here add that the idea of a speaker box is perfect for an audio drama. Sound effects, voices and other little touches paint the scene vividly for the listener.
Gabe and Louie gradually begin to know each other and fall for each other through their conversations. We share their poignant moments (both these young men are hurting) as well as the sweet blossoming of their romance.
There are also genuinely funny moments, many involving Louie’s co-worker Barb, as well as the King Arthur themed fast-food place “Joust Joint,” which sells sodas called “Merlin’s Magic Potion,” and offers sides of the inappropriately named Guinevere sauce.
But the magic in this series is that of a romantic story well told, written and acted.
Produced by Atypical Artists, https://www.atypicalartists.co/ three new episodes drop every Monday and are generally 5 to 8 minutes long.
Briggon Snow wrote the show and stars as Gabe. He’s no stranger to podcasts, having been in the groundbreaking “The Bright Sessions,” and fiction podcasts like “Look Up” and “Roomates.”
Some of the things that happened 25 years ago have slipped through the cracks. Here’s some of the ones I remember.
For about a week, the terrorist attacks were referred to as “The Events Of Last Tuesday,” and not as “Nine-Eleven.”
For several years afterwards, “September Tenth” was used as shorthand for “the way things used to be.”
No less a person than Franklin Graham criticized attacks on Muslims, saying his Ministry had more experience with Middle Eastern peoples and they should not be painted with the same broad brush.
For just a while, there was a lot of cooperation between parties.
Blood donation rates soared.
There was a surge of ecumenical prayer services in this country.
A sad and patriotic spoken song about the events and love of country was one of the most played songs on the radio around Christmas 2001.
“I Want A Hippopotomus For Christmas” was the other most played song on the radio around Christmas 2001.
And that was the way things were all those long late summers ago…
How Gruffudd yn Aur Walked A Road No Man Dared Tread
by Jeff Baker
The Chronicles relate many adventures of the bold knight Gruffudd yn Aur in the early days of his journey North from Camelot. It was when he was lodged in the small village of —- for the night and had to rebuff the advances of both comely women and men (the latter being more to his liking but he had a quest) who sought a dalliance with the knight.
In the morning he asked for the quickest route to his destination.
“The road that runs through town will wind around and get you there in a few days,” the Innkeeper said. “Of course, there is the old Roman Highway that cuts across the marshes instead of around them. But the Roman road has been forsaken and overgrown because of…” Here the Innkeeper looked around the tables at the Inn where a few customers were sitting eating breakfast. He lowered his voice and said: “Pilosus Stranentum.”
“Pilosus Stranentum?” Sir Gruffudd repeated.
Customers looked up and around.
“Yes,” the Innkeeper said. “So nobody uses the old Roman Highway. No one has for over a century.”
“But what is it, this Pilos…” Sir Gruffudd started to say.
“Nothing a knight or an army of armored knights should dare face.” said the Innkeeper.
Sir Gruffudd thanked and paid the Inkeeper. Then he went to the stables and recovered his horse, Stout Oak, reflecting that the stables would have been more comfortable than the rooms of the Inn. And of course, the readers of these Chronicles know which road they chose to travel.
Sir Gruffudd took note of the weeds growing out of the road but also of the firmly-laid stones which Roman engineers had lain there centuries ago.
“Stout Oak, I would say these stones are as sturdy as the day they were first placed here. And the land to the sides is sandy and overgrown. Methinks we shall be coming across marshlands soon enough.”
The horse whinnied in agreement.
Gruffudd observed the trees as they went along, wondering if they had been standing there to watch the road’s construction when suddenly Stout Oak stopped, his head raised, his ears perked up, alert to danger.
“I feel it too, loyal friend.” Sir Gruffudd said.
Ahead on the road three dark, shadowy shapes stepped from behind the trees. At first, Sir Gruffudd thought they were also travellers and noted that they were big men who could doubtless handle any trouble along the road. But then the three moved closer and Sir Gruffudd saw that they had no features, only flat blankness where their faces ought to be. No, not quite flat; there were distinct markings on the blank face and all over where hands had moulded these figures. And a familiar scent. They were made, Sir Gruffudd realized, of the same type of modeling clay he had observed in a sculptor’s cottage. But their moulded figures were muscular and they stood three abreast, blocking the knight’s way.
“Stout Oak,” Sir Gruffudd whispered. “Perhaps I should have paid heed when you clearly wished to go no further.”
Sir Gruffudd raised his voice and addressed the clay figures.
“Ho, strangers! Know that I am Sir Gruffudd yn Aur, traveling from the court of my Liege Lord King Arthur at Camelot. I call on you to let me pass.”
The figure in the middle slowly shook its head.
“Then by my Oaths, I shall come through anyway.” Sir Gruffudd said, dismounting and drawing his sword.
The three figures slowly advanced as the Knight came closer. The figure on the end extended his arm which suddenly moulded into a big clay sword. It swung as Sir Gruffudd parried with his own mighty blade. The clay sword was sliced cleanly in two.
“It appears I have you at a disadvantage,” Sir Gruffudd said.
Then the broken pieces of the clay sword quickly moulded themselves around Sir Gruffudd’s blade and up his arm and neck. The Knight quickly realized that if the clay formed over his face he would be unable to breathe.
The other two of the Pilosus Stranentum, for they could be no other, moulded themselves around the Knight’s legs and the legs of Stout Oak. But the horse responded with swift kicks which connected with a clay torso which was thrown to the side of the road into the sandy soil. The clay thing began to rise, covered in sand and leaves but then stood still.
“Tis the solution!” Sir Gruffudd shouted. “These clay manikins only retain their power when they are wholly clay or engulfing animals or humans. Mixed with sand their power is blocked!”
The Knight quickly tore free of the clay bonds and set to work digging with his sword in the sand of the roadside. He slashed the clay figures as they encroached upon him and quickly shoved sand into the clay “wounds.”
The two remaining figures were likewise immobilized.
“I know not what dark power brought these things to life, but doubtless the miracle of God’s good Earth did strip them of their dark power.”
As Stout Oak and Sir Gruffudd road down the road, the Knight patted the thick cloth bag he had hung from the saddle.
“Surely, Stout Oak, a bag full of sand is a strange weapon to carry but it may yet come in handy…”
But whatever perils the ancient road held for the travellers the Chronicles do not reveal.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the September 2026 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were a Sword and Sorcery Story, set on an Abandoned Highway involving Modeling Clay. I’ve always been fascinated by the Roman Roads in Britain, and I had a sword wielding hero made to order. Sir Gruffudd and Stout Oak get a mention in a couple of my flash stories and feature in a longer story out for hopeful publication now. I’ll keep you posted. —–jsb
“Okay, get in!” Kenny shouted over the roar of the truck engine.
“Where’d you get this thing?” Alex said, gawking at the flames painted on the side and the blue lights illuminating the underside and the wheels.
“I’m buying it from my cousin,” Kenny said as Alex hopped in the passenger seat. “He and his girlfriend are getting serious, so he wants something more Dad-ish and less…less…”
“Lowridery?” Alex said, helpfully.
“Yeah. That.” Kenny said.
Kenny Blasco and Alex Van Buren had known each other since Junior High. They’d planned on going to the same college together but neither of them went. Alex’s car was in the shop so Kenny was picking him up after work in the used record store near the Lost Lakes Apartments.
It was dark and Kenny slowly pulled across the darkened lot. Past the shoe store, past the Pizza Place which was open ‘till Midnight, past the closed convenience store next to the sub place.
“You wanna grab something?” Kenny said, pointing at the ice cream place and the burger place at the end of the long row of connected parking lots.
“Naaaa. Not now.” Alex said. “Hey, pull over a moment, will ya?”
Kenny pulled to a stop under the sign proclaiming an insurance agent’s office. The offices were long closed and had been in a small fake-stucco building that had been a taco place, a Chinese place and a smoke shop.
“Whassup, Bro?” Kenny asked.
Alex took a deep breath. “Remember about three months ago when I had that interview downtown with that computer repair place?”
“Yeah.” Kenny said. “They thanked you and said they liked your resume but didn’t need anybody right now.”
“Well, they need me.” Alex said. “I got a call. And an e-mail. They want me to start next month!”
“Really? Fantastic!” Kenny said.
“Just one hitch.” Alex said. “They’re starting some branches out of town and they want me for the one in…” Alex took another deep breath. “Stuttgart, Arkansas.”
“Stuttgart? Wow!” Kenny said. “Do your folks know?”
“Yeah.” Alex said. “My Dad still eavesdrops on my phone calls.”
“So.” Kenny said. “When are you moving?”
“Couple of weeks.” Alex said. “Company’s putting me up in a hotel.”
“So we’re mot gonna see each other…” Kenny started.
“For a while.” Alex said, cutting him off.
“We got Zoom. And texts. And phone calls.” Kenny said.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “We do.”
The two friends sat in silence for a moment, listening to the passing cars on the street.
“Hey, hang on a sec.” Alex said, pulling out his phone. “Back this thing up a bit. In front of the old sub place.”
Kenny backed the truck up carefully, then put it in park.
“Roll your window down and turn all those lights back on. And look over there.” Alex said pointing.
In the big, dark window of the closed convenience store, the lit truck was perfectly reflected. Looking like it was the only thing in the dark.
Alex crawled over and leaned towards the driver’s side window, phone in hand.
“Okay, get over here.”
Kenny grinned and moved to where he and Alex were framed in the open drivers side window.
“This is for posterity,” Alex said aiming his phone. “Say cheese!”
The two of them laughed as Alex snapped a couple of pictures of them reflected in the store window. Pictures that they would glance at now and then for the rest of their lives.
First, here’s the prompts for the September 2026 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, then my usual long-winded explanation:
A Sword-And-Sorcery Story
Involving Modeling Clay
Set at An Abandoned Highway
Now, on to the details.
Hi! I’m Mike Mayak, I also write as Jeff Baker and I’m the current moderator for the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, which was started by ‘Nathan Burgoine a few years ago and carried on by Cait Gordon and Jeffrey Ricker. It’s a monthly writing challenge mainly for stress-free fun that anyone can play.
Here’s how it works: the first Monday of every month I draw three cards; a heart, a diamond and a club. These correspond to a list naming a genre, a setting and an object that must appear in the story. Participants write up a flash fiction story, 1,000 words or less, post it to their website and link it here in the comments. I’ll post the results (including, hopefully, one of my own!)
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage. So, the results were the Two of Hearts (a Sword-And-Sorcery Story), the Nine of Diamonds (An Abandoned Highway) and the Ace of Clubs (Modeling Clay.)
So we will write a Sword-And-Sorcery Story involving Modeling Clay set at an Abandoned Highway. (And may Robert E. Howard have mercy on our souls!)
We’ll have the results here in this same space around Monday September 14th, 2026.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2026 Flash Draw sheet at the end of this message, again! (* indicates those have been used.)
Thanks for playing, and I’ll see you in about week!
The Kansas Summer wind was hot, as a Kansas Summer wind should be and the huge wind turbines on the small ridge turned slowly, each in the same direction as if they had been trained by an engineer who promised them walkies and treats afterwards.
The ridge was tall, for Kansas, meaning it was essentially the height of a speed bump and covered with prairie grass. At the side of the road, a Turbine Engineer sat in his air conditioned pickup surveying the scene, remembering when the turbines had been built years before. He had been there, on top of the structures, catching momentary glances of the land stretching in all directions, thinking he could see into Oklahoma and catch a glimpse of the Rocky Mountains to the west. But maybe those were clouds.
There was a sudden crackling, popping in the air. The Turbine Engineer rolled down the window. Was it coming from the turbines or his car? Then a sizzling blue spiral swirled in the air. Out of it stepped a man on a horse. The man was in strange armor with curves coming to a point. The horse was decked out, no festooned might be the better word, in bright swaths of color. The man was carrying a lance which was bent, as if it had seen many battles and had definitely seen better days.
The blue spiral had vanished and the horse and its rider turned around several times.
Then the both stood stock still, faceing the ridge and the turbines.
The Turbine Engineer sat and stared. Something, like a popup, was tickling the back of his head. A memory. This scene looked familiar…
In another instant, the man on the horse, no the Knight, lowered a visor, pointed the lance like he meant business and patted the horse who began to gallop forward.
The Turbine Engineer had just stepped out of the car and could hear a full throated cry from the Knight. Something in Spanish.
The Turbine Engineer stared. This nut was going to charge the wind turbines!
He got out of the truck and started to yell and at the same time realized this was an armed, armored knight on a horse. The best place to be was in the truck.
The Knight and horse galloped towards the wind turbines, but somehow they did not seem to grow smaller as distance and perspective would make them look like a grasshopper against a skyscraper. They were growing larger. By the time the horse was near the turbines, the screw of the turbine came up to the Knight’s shoulder.
Even in the truck, the Turbine Engineer could hear the pounding of the horse’s now very large hooves. The Turbine Engineer winced as there was contact between Knight and turbine. He could hear the distant CLANG!
The Knight and horse turned away, none the worse for the wear. The turbine’s blades were spinning, but not as fast. The horse and rider turned around. The Knight aimed his lance and the two of them raced to the turbine, arriving just as one of the blades pointed directly downward.
There was an awful CRACK! And another CLANG! But this one sounded out of tune and wobbly as the blade flew off and spun by itself through the air, landing flat on the tall grass.
The Knight scrambled for control but slid off of the horse. After another moment, he stood up, raised his visor and surveyed the lance in his hand. It was broken off at the handle. The Knight walked over near the turbine and picked up the two remaining pieces of his lance, shook his head and tossed all the pieces to the ground. He stood there for a moment, then the Turbine Engineer heard a distant shout of triumph. The Knight mounted his steed and they leisurely rode to where the turbine blade had fallen. Still the size of the turbine itself, the Knight dismounted again, picked up the fallen blade and hefted it. He nodded and looked over at his horse as if he was saying “This will do.”
Then, once again astride the horse, they began to trot back to where the Turbine Engineer sat in his truck. Once again seemingly losing size perspective, shrinking back to the size of a normal horse and rider.
They stopped and turned, facing the spot where the Turbine Engineer had first seen them. The Turbine Engineer noted the incongruity of a knight in armor holding a shrunken turbine blade like he would a Medevial lance.
The Knight made a motion with his hand to the tip of his helmet, like he was about to tip a baseball cap.
“Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Caballero Andante.” The Knight executed a small bow.
Then he patted the horse and the two of them raced to where the crackling spiral had suddenly appeared again. In an instant, they and the spiral were gone.
The Turbine Engineer sat there in his pickup for a few moments. Shaking his head, he got out of the car and walked towards the damaged wind turbine, wishing he’d gotten a picture.
He walked around the turbine slowly and carefully. The blades had stopped spinning as they were no longer balnaced. He stopped, bent down and picked up a piece of the now normal sized lance.
He shook his head.
“How am I ever going to fill out this report?” he said to the Kansas wind.
“Would you fall in love with me if I walked into your life right now?”
Curtis moved his head so his nose wasn’t buried in the pillow.
“You mean while I’m here in bed with my husband and you just walked into our bedroom?”
“No, silly!” Nick said. “I’m serious!”
“Depends. How hot are you when you walk into my life today?”
“Oh, come on!” Nick said. “You know what I mean!”
Curtis rolled over until he was facing his husband in the dim light, the two of them laying side by side.
“I haven’t thought a lot about it but sometimes I realize it all almost didn’t happen.” Curtis said.
“Yeah.” Nick said.
“If I’d walked out on the job on that Tuesday, like I’d planned to instead of turning in my two-week notice Thursday I wouldn’t have been there Wednesday when you showed up.”
“From the Temp service.” Nick said smiling at the memory.
“And we wouldn’t have had time to grumble and gripe over two days working there on the floor.” Curtis said.
“And I wouldn’t have taken the risk and asked you out Friday.” Nick said.
“Which got cancelled!” Curtis laughed. “Because they asked me to come in for second shift!”
Nick and Curtis laughed.
“But we made up for it Saturday afternoon.” Nick said.
“Coffee at that cheap little place.”
“Pillow talk the next weekend.” Nick said. “And after a couple of months…”
“Yeah.” Curtis said. “Pillow talk. While I looked for a job!”
The two of them laughed and kissed.
“So, would you fall for me if I walked into your life today?” Nick asked.
“Heck with that,” Curtis said kissing him. “I already have a boyfriend!”
The sun was warm (but not too warm) and the boat was upstream past the bend in the river. Distant banks with trees on either side made the two men feel like there was no civilization and they were the only two people in the world.
Carl had been fishing for about an hour with no results and Jer had been sitting there fuming, feeling like they were characters in an old British novel or something.
Finally, Jer broke the silence.
“Carl, I’ve known you for what? Forty years?” Jer said.
Carl looked up from staring at the water.
“Pretty much. Why?” Carl asked.
“It’s this…well, supposed boyfriend of yours.” Jer said. “You never bring him around. You certainly aren’t living with him. I’ve never met him. I didn’t see him when you went to the dance…”
“Dancing would be out.” Carl said.
“But I’m your best friend,” Jer said. “I’d like to at least meet the guy. I mean, well…I’m getting a little suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” Carl said with a smile.
“Yes.” Jer said. “Warren’s been gone for, what? Six years now? You two had a wonderful twenty years together and I realize that you probably don’t want people feeling sorry for you, but making up an invisible, nonexistent boyfriend is just…”
“Hold up a minute,” Carl said. “He isn’t nonexistent. Or invisible. He just doesn’t….Well, besides…we like our privacy.”
“I can understand that,” Jer said. “And I’m sorry if I’m being a little nosy, but…”
There was a sudden tug on Carl’s fishing line.
“Oop! You got a bite!” Jer said.
There were several more jerks on the line, but instead of trying to reel the fish in, Carl grabbed the line with his hand and gave three quick tugs.
After a moment there was a sudden splash just by the boat and Jer jumped back, almost falling over the other side of the boat. He was half expecting a shark.
Instead, there was a man about their age but lean and muscular holding on to the boat. He was pale, almost greenish with red hair and a big grin.
“Jerome Klapp,” Carl said. “This is…”
Here, Carl said a word in a strange sounding language, with clicks sounding like a dolphin.
“My boyfriend.” Carl said.
The boyfriend extended a damp hand to Jer and Jer shook it.
“Just call me Marlin,” the boyfriend said, his grin growing wider.
Jer noticed the smile, how the teeth looked like his and Carl’s, not sharp like some fishes. He noticed the V-shaped torso and the complete lack of clothes.
And how just beneath the surface of the water, his waist trailed off into a long tail coated with iridescent blue scales which flipped lazilly above the water.
“Now you see why I didn’t bring him dancing?” Carl said.
It’s H.P. Lovecraft’s birthday, but I didn’t read any Lovecraft. Oh well…
NOTE: See the “Rocket Summer” entry for more on July’s reading.
Read another Hi-Lo from Lorimer’s “Real Love” YA series. “Not Not Normal” by Peter E. Fenton. Very good, with very real characters. I posted the Goodreads review I wrote on this blog site.
Read the Kuttner’s story “Shock.” The ending was a little ambivalent but there were some surprises along the way. Published in 1943, set in 1953. Typical dialogue and Kutneresque futuristic terms like “Novunder Soverless.”
Henry Kuttner picked the story for an author’s choice anthology; “The Outer Reaches,” edited by August Derleth in 1951. Maybe Catherine L. Moore (C.L. Moore, esteemed writer and Mrs. Kuttner!) wrote it, like he said she wrote his selection for “My Best Science Fiction Story.”
Read it in the British edition of “Best Of Kuttner 1.”
Re-read Murray Leinster’s fun story “The Power,” which he likewise picked for the Derleth anthology “The Outer Reaches.” I may read all of those stories in that book that I have in my library. Already read de Camp’s choice: “Git Along,” and talked about it in my “Rocket Summer” entry.
Read a couple of David G. Rowland’s spooky stories about Father O’Connor. The latter being a priest with an interest in the supernatural. Sometimes he’s just being told the story, sometimes he has the experience himself. I read “The Executor,” and “The Tears Of Saint Agathe.” Great fun!
Started reading Poul Anderson’s novel “The High Crusade.”
Reat Catherine Lundoff’s riff on Shakespeare: “Great Reckonings, Little Rooms,” in the LGBTQ alternate-history anthology “Time Well Bent.”
Read Jorge Amado’s slightly bawdy (and fun!) “The Miracle Of the Birds.” I saw his bio on “The Writer’s Almanac” and got curious. It’s in “A Hammock Beneath the Mangoes, Stories From Latin America,” edited by Thomas Colchie.
Read Frank Stockton’s 19th Century science-fiction story “A Tale Of Negative Gravity.” Actually a charming domestic comedy,
Read juuust a little of Hamlet (by William Shakespeare) for something I was writing.
FINALLY started reading Agatha Christie’s famous story “Witness For the Prosecution.”
Read the weekly offerings by Kaje Harper.
Read the monthly story by E. H. Timms.
And I got fashionable and started in on the book everyone’s talking about: “The Odyssey,” by Homer. Translated by Robert Fitzgerald. So far, great fun!
authorjeffbaker 