"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
Every week we post six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. Posted at Rainbow Snippets here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
My friend J. Scott Coatsworth has a story in the new Own Voices anthology “Romance Is a Drag.” https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/book/romance-is-a-drag-anthology/ Scott’s story is set in the same locale as his “River City” series; slice of life with some Magical Realism. And with Miz Fortune, the magic is definitely real! Chester Carlson leads a dual life; as an unsatisfied office drone, and in drag as the fortuneteller Miz Fortune, who narrates Scott’s story “Miz Fortune’s Lonely Hearts Salon.”
I’d seen six clients that night, including another man torn between two women—the solution there was a poly relationship. Surprise! Also a woman in her late eighties searching for her first love—alas, deceased. And a lesbian couple who had been fighting for months, desperately seeking a path back to one another.
That had been the hardest. They both featured other people—one a man, one a woman—in their sendings. One had been relieved at the news, but the other… I couldn’t get the haunted look on her face out of my mind.
“Romance Is A Drag” is described on the cover as “A Queer Anthology/Volume One.” Given the caliber of the eight authors involved that is a most good fortune indeed! —-jeff
Happy Birthday to my onetime teacher Sister Tarcisia Roths, who celebrated her 95th on April 11, 2025 with a party at Newman University! She has been a hugely important part of the school for much of her life!
The Great Dinosaur of 2155 or Please Don’t Eat the Paleontologist
by Mike Mayak
It was early in the Winter evening at the Carmine-Gardner Museum and the tall, silver-haired museum guide was glad this was the last group of schoolchildren for the day.
“Over here, children,” he said. “Step this way! Don’t touch that! All here? Good.”
The grade-schoolers crowded around the display. The guide indicated a small glass case where a discolored bone sat on a purple pillow.
“This bone,” he said with the dignity and drama of the Shakespearean actor he had been in his youth, “is a relic of the Plesiosaurs. Large aquatic reptiles that swam the Earth’s oceans back when there was even more ocean than there is today and who disappeared over sixty-five million years ago.”
He smiled to himself. Some of the children at least seemed interested. He went on.
“One man who could have told you much more was Professor Thomas Parker. His specialty was that bygone age of reptiles as well as the more recent ecological calamities which have altered the climate since the late Twentieth Century.”
A boy in the back row raised his hand. The guide sighed. “It means a world-wide problem that affected the weather for the worse.”
“Oh,” the boy said, lowering his hand.
“Several decades ago,” the guide said. “Professor Parker was camped-out on one of the small regions of rapidly disappearing Antarctic ice.” He paused, seeing puzzled looks. “That’s the Southern one.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the professor, as was his want, was eating his lunch and watching what is left of the gigantic ice walls break apart and crumble when a huge chunk of ice bobbed up from below the surface, sloshing water everywhere.”
The children giggled. The guide smiled.
“In that ice, perfectly preserved, was a Plesiosaur. As the professor groped in his pockets for his trusty camera app, the ice broke open and the creature plopped into the water, shaking its head to clear it.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Yes, the Plesiosaur was alive!”
The children gasped. The guide went on.
“The Plesiosaur looked around, and sniffed the air and the Professor was typing out a note to himself that such reptiles had, or rather, have a sense of smell when the creature lunged at him!”
More gasps from the kids.
“The Plesiosaur’s long neck had stretched out but in another instant it slipped back into the water, turning to spit out something and then it swam away.”
The guide was satisfied. The story had produced the desired effect: looks of awe.
“And Parker’s papers and this relic were donated to our museum.”
One of the kids raised her hand.
“But Mr. Wells, if the Plesiosaur escaped and so did Professor Parker, whose bone is that?”
Museum guide Wells smiled. “This, if you didn’t know, was part of Professor Parker’s lunch on that fateful day. Look closely.” Mr. Wells pointed at the bone. “And you can see the tooth marks from a living relic of sixty-five million years ago.”
Every week we post six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. Posted at Rainbow Snippets here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
“None of it,” Riley said. “They didn’t even try to get into the safe. What they did take…” Riley shook his head. “You know those little cardboard boxes we give the customers for the hot dogs?”
“Yeah?” Patrick said.
“Every last one of ‘em. Gone!” Riley said.
“I finished talking to the cops,” Joel said, walking into the office. “At least they made out a report.”
Mystery afoot! Call Sherlock Holmes! Or maybe Donald Strachey!
See you soon with more snippets! —–jeff baker, April 11, 2025
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the April 2025 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were: a Caper Story, set at a Racetrack, involving a pair of leg irons. I’d just done a racetrack story about a month ago, so this is a sequel. Enjoy! —-mike
“Okay,” Patrick said. “How much money was taken?”
“None of it,” Riley said. “They didn’t even try to get into the safe. What they did take…” Riley shook his head. “You know those little cardboard boxes we give the customers for the hot dogs?”
“Yeah?” Patrick said.
“Every last one of ‘em. Gone!” Riley said.
“I finished talking to the cops,” Joel said, walking into the office. “At least they made out a report.”
Joel was 23, sandy-haired, tall and lean. He was one of Riley’s cousins that Riley had inherited a share in the racetrack with months ago. Riley and his husband Patrick had moved to Kansas from New Jersey to run it and so far everything had run smoothly.
Patrick had said that was probably because while the headline in the Wichita Eagle had said “Gay Couple Takes Over Local Racetrack” nobody read newspapers anymore.
They watched as Joel walked out of the back office of the racetrack attached to the snack bar.
“You know, if we’d just caught the guys, I still have that set of leg irons we got that one year…” Patrick began.
Riley blushed. The shackles had been a gag gift. Just then, Joel rushed back into the office, holding up his cellphone.
“I just called this guy I used to work with. He knows a private detective. He’s coming over here to investigate!”
Riley and Patrick glanced at each other.
“And you’re paying him,” Patrick said.
“Right.” Riley said.
“Right.” Joel said.
Riley sighed. What’s next?
The detective, a nondescript-looking guy in his thirties showed up the next day; introduced himself as “Keller” and inspected the storeroom, the office, the safe and the snack bar up front.
“You really ought to have a security system,” he told Joel, Patrick and Riley.
“Yeah,” they all admitted. Keller handed them a business card.
“These guys are pretty good,” he said.
The security people came out on Monday when the track was closed.
Wednesday night, Patrick and Riley were awakened by a phone call.
At the racetrack, they met with two police officers who had arrested the two men they recognized as their security people. The police had been after this bunch for a while. The perps weren’t even local. They had the caper set up with the “detective.” They installed “security” and came back later to steal the cash. Nobody would think anybody was breaking into a safe where security had been installed if the security system wasn’t going off. And they were the ones who had stolen the hot dog containers.
That was how they did it. Scared folks into calling Keller, then did the phony installation. Joel’s friend had been ripped-off the same way.
When the cops left with the thieves, Riley grinned at Patrick. “Glad you called the police and told you how suspicious you were.” Riley said.
“Yeah,” it helped that I used to date a guy who was a genuine paranoid,” Patrick said. “That taught me a few things.”
“Tomorrow WE are going to get REAL security installed,” Riley said.
“And Joel is paying for it!” Patrick said with a broad smile.
Here’s the draws for the April 2025 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Followed by my usual long-winded explanation:
A Caper Story
Involving A Set Leg Irons
Set at A Racetrack
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!) on the blog.
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage. So, the results were the Three of Hearts (a Caper Story), the Nine of Diamonds (a Racetrack) and the King of Clubs (A Set of Leg Irons.)
So we will write a caper story, set at a racetrack involving a set of leg irons.
We’ll have the results here in this same space around Monday April 14th, 2025.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2025 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 a week!
And have fun!
——mike
Here’s the list:
Flash Draw Sheet for 2025 (“*” indicates prompt has been used.)
Wanted to find a way to reply to my friends who are protesting all over the country. These words I wrote for a story a few weeks ago say it better than anything new I could come up with.
“Hey,” Kenny said. “You’ve been around on Earth a few years, right?”
“A few hundred, yeah.” Hank said.
“The stuff that’s going on right now. Back home, I mean.” Kenny said. “You think we…the country will make it through it okay?”
“Depends,” Hank said, staring at the rock. “If people sit around and do nothing, no. If they lose interest after a couple of weeks or get discouraged because of time or roadblocks in the way nothing will change. But one person can make a difference by speaking out or even posting online, writing a letter to the editor…One person’s effort could be seen by one other person who it changes. Then they go and affect someone else.” Hank looked over at Kenny.
“One person matters.” Hank said.
They kissed for a few moments standing there in the desert.
“Okay. It’s not here. Upstairs, quick!” Hal pointed at the library stairs. Mack would rather have used the elevator.
“You checked the card catalog? You know, the computer files?” Mack asked.
“First thing I did after asking at the reference desk. Geez!” Hal said, an expression that might have been seriously inappropriate considering the nature of what they were looking for.
As they raced up the stairs, Hal muttered under his breath: “How could they lose it? How could they lose it?”
The ancient, crumbling book he and Mack had acquired (at great personal cost) had been accidentally put in the downtown Library’s “return” slot by mistake. They’d watched through the window as the old book went up the conveyor belt and into the big room where the staff would sort out the books and later shelve them.
Hal and Mack reached the second floor and stood catching their breath by the big picture book in its glass case.
“It has to be here,” Hal said panting. “I can feel it.”
“Yeah, but where in the name of Carcosa is it? And it isn’t the Library’s book, how could it have gotten shelved?”
“Remember, the Lypodecht isn’t an ordinary book,” Hal said. “It has its own purposes. Its own means.”
“I know, Hali, I know.” Mack said.
“Hal, remember?” Hal said. Mack nodded.
“Okay, let’s tryyyyy Research.”
The two of them walked into the big room with low filing cabinets full of flat drawers and rows of bookshelves full of volumes that smelled old. It took an hour but they walked through every aisle, checking for the spine of the ancient tome.
“If somebody else finds it,” Hal muttered.
“I know, I know.” Mack said.
The two of them plopped down at a small table with a sign on a plastic stand reading NO FOOD OR DRINK IN THE RESEARCH AREA DUE TO THE FRAGILITY OF THE MATERIALS.
“Fiction area next?” Hal said.
“Yeah,” Mack said nodding. Then he stiffened and pointed. “Look!”
Hal turned. Behind him was the glass partition separating the rare books room from the research area. On the glass was a sign identifying it as SECURED STORAGE. Taped beneath it was another sign reading DEFINITELY NO FOOD OR DRINK. Below that, in front of a row of bookshelves was a cart with books, doubtless to be shelved. On the top shelf of the cart, right next to a brown, crumbling book labeled “Biographical History, Central Kansas, Volume II” was an almost identical crumbling brown book with a name in archaic characters on the spine in a faded color that hurt the eyes to stare at.
“That’s it!” Hal said. “Found it!”
Hal jumped up and pulled the handle of the glass door. Locked. It wouldn’t budge. They rushed over to the Librarian at the desk.
“Uh, ma’am,” Hal said. “We accidentally returned a book that belongs to us here and we just saw it on that cart in that other room over there. It’s ours.”
“Yeah, it’s ours,” Mack said.
“Okay,” the Librarian said. “What’s the name of the book.”
“It’s called The Lypodecht.” Hal said.
“Author?” asked the Librarian, scrolling through the computer files.
“Ummm…probably Tiabbas.” Mack said. “Known as the Lord Of Ice.” He paused as the Librarian looked up. “Pen name, I think.”
“Okaaaaay…” the Librarian said. “It’s not in here. I gotta get the research librarian if we want to open that door.”
The Librarian walked into an office. Hal and Mack looked at each other.
“Do you get the feeling the book doesn’t want to be found?” Hal asked.
“I’m not sure, I…” Mack froze and pointed at the computer screen behind the desk.
On the screen, lines were being printed over and over:
Lypodecht, The by Tiabbas, He Who Is Lord Of Ice And Master Of This World
Call Number: R TIABBAS
Available: Here
Lypodecht, The by Tiabbas, He Who Is Lord Of Ice And Master Of This World
Call Number: R TIABBAS
Available: Here
Lypodecht, The by Tiabbas, He Who Is Lord Of Ice And Master Of This World
Call Number: R TIABBAS
Available: Here
“It’s own purposes, it’s own means,” Mack said.
“I am Hali, Servant of the Great One…” Hal began to say over and over as the sky outside darkened and the air became very cold.
Every week we post six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. Posted at Rainbow Snippets here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
For my latest occasional snippet, we meet Riley and Patrick. Taking a spin on a local Kansas racetrack that Riley has inherited.
Riley took another lap around the track and slowed the car to a stop by the closed snack bar.
“You aren’t going to be racing are you?” Patrick asked.
“Hell no!” Riley laughed.
“Good! I’d divorce you if you did!”
The two men laughed. Then they sat in the car silently, enjoying the warmish Spring weather.
Okay, a little more. Can’t cut off in the middle of the scene!
“You sure you want me to do this?” Riley asked. “Take this place over?”
Patrick grinned broadly. “I’m very sure. Because it’s not just what you want, it’s what I want too.”
They kissed there in the car.
“It’s what we want,” Riley said. They kissed again, lingering this time.
“You know, I loved that internet headline: Local Gay Couple Re-Opens Local Speedway.” Patrick said.
“Yeah, except I’m Bi not Gay,” Riley said. “Don’t know how all the locals will take it. This isn’t Grove Street back in Jersey.”
authorjeffbaker 