"…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
I graduated about six years ago (Lanier said, sipping his drink) with degrees in archaeology and biology. In a roundabout way I found myself attached to an Antarctic expedition within a few months. A Sir Borthwick-Leslie, whose family had been Arctic explorers since Victorian times, was sponsoring an expedition to the Antarctic, what he called “the mastery of the ice,” and I signed on. It was a heady rush to be on such a prestigious endeavor and I was filled with excitement. It didn’t hurt that I had become involved with Carleton, one of the other young men they had hired, he from one of the British Universities.
Here’s more. (Where’s my parka, it’s getting chilly!)
The expedition went much as you would expect; a flight to the southern tip of Africa, then Australia, then New Zealand. From there we were flown to our base in Antarctica. It was then that we were told the true nature of our trip: the leader of the expedition had found evidence in manuscript, with ancient photographs, of a once-thriving civilization beneath the surface of the Antarctic. If we had a way, some of us might have left right then. But we were largely stuck there for the season. Somebody grumbled that we had traveled all that way “to follow some Edgar Rice Burroughs fantasy.”
Nice and cool, huh? Next week I’ll have something really wonky! ‘Till then—-jeff
“Well, here’s how we solved it,” the Detective said. “They weren’t smuggling anything on the trains, that was what misled us. The stuff was coming in at the airport. We’d stopped the trains several times but didn’t find any of the contraband.”
“Then what?” The young officer said. He hadn’t been there.
“The trains were flat cars shipping large containers across the country, almost like those storage bins people rent to keep their stuff in. Every color of the rainbow. Red, Green, Yellow. But every now and then they would have a bunch of pink containers. We thought that was what they were shipping the stuff in, but we were wrong. It was a signal.”
“A signal?”the young officer asked.
“Yes, to the guy at the other end. That it was time to tell his guys to go to the airport. It was perfect. No electronics or anything that could be intercepted and it worked perfectly for him.”
“How so?” asked the officer.
“When we knew the signal was coming, we staked him out and followed his men to the airport.”
“What signal?”
“The Detective smiled. “Pink was a color he could easily make out. We found out our suspect was color blind.”
FULL DISCLOSURE: This review probably contains a spoiler or two.
‘Nathan Burgoine’s novel “Triad Magic” is the last in a trilogy that began with “Triad Blood” and continued with “Triad Soul.” Set in a version of Burgoine’s adopted hometown of Ottawa, Canada, a world where Vampires, Wizards and Demons (among others) stick to their own kind and bond in groups of three. But the Demon Anders, the Vampire Luc and the Wizard Curtis have formed their own triad to build their lives and stand against the forces that stand against them either from their own kinds or from others.
What follows in “Triad Magic” is danger, drama, intrigue and romance as the three (who are all LGBT) not only deal with the mystery of who (or what) is killing those with gifts to see the future in Ottawa (How could they not see it coming?) but with the ramifications of their own relationship? Are they a thruple or just friends? Are they even that? Will they live to find out?
“Triad Magic” is full of the sights, sounds and feels of the Ottawa that people see every day as well as the magical one most people don’t see. Neighborhoods in the city, a mysterious shadow realm walked by demons and even a Parliament Building the tourists won’t see are all finely drawn.
Characters, including our main triad, come off as very real as they love, lie, live and die and participate in the mystery that fills the book. And the reader cares about Curtis, Luc and Anders. In the moment when it appears they may go their separate ways we hope they won’t.
There are magical methods of murder and healing, ancient vampires who were around during pivotal events, a mysterious book with seemingly blank pages, stolen magical artifacts and ties to a long-ago historical fire. All blended together by Burgoine’s skill as a writer.
Did a LOT more reading than writing this last 30+ days.
Finished Dr. Who novelization “The Romans.” Amusing but not as funny as “I Claudius.” Nonetheless fun. Best line: “Quo Vadus TARDIS affair.” Perfect idea to do this as an epistolory novel, through journals, memos, letters, diaries ect.
Read some of “The Cat Who Covered the World” by Christopher S. Wren.
Read (well listened to) M. R. James’ story “The Wailing Well” for James’ birthday. He intended his stories to be read aloud to his friends and this one was written for a troop of Eaton Boy Scouts.
Am bumming through A.A. Milne’s poetry books “When We Were Very Young” and “Now We Are Six.” Actually very good, touching and fun. Didn’t see all that last time I read through them when I was about eight years old.
Read two stories by Jack London: “The King of the Greeks” and “The Lost Poacher.” Both written early in his career relating his life as a “rollicking young adventurer in San Francisco Bay.” and published in 1905 when he’d been “asked to write stories for young people.”
“King of the Greeks” is full of the sights, sounds and feel of 19th Century San Francisco Bay. “Lost Poacher” is set along the coast of Japan in the late 19th Century. Both stories collected in Irving Stone’s “Jack London, His Life, Sailor On Horseback.”
Read Kaje Harper’s weekly stories off her Facebook page. Always excellent!
Read J. Scott Coatsworth’s weekly installments of his new serial “Down the River.”
Read three stories I can’t talk about yet for an online workshop I’m in.
Finally finished Robert A. Heinlein’s “The Rolling Stones.” Loads of fun! Wish he’d done a full-blown sequel. (Some of the characters are seen or referenced in his other novels.)
Heinlein’s “Juveniles” (YA Books today) are masterpieces. His accurate depiction of how to calculate how to get to places in the Solar System is a marvel. His description of everyday life on a very small Martian Moon and the clever idea of Mars as kind of a dump with expensive, crappy motels for the tourists is brilliant and funny.
Heinlein’s use of humor is understated and flows naturally from the characters. It is never forced and while other writers might have taken the opportunity for slapstick (zero gee anybody?) Heinlein keeps the humor genuine. He told a friend he found domestic comedy “harder to write” than “revolutions and blood.” Nonetheless, Heinlein pulls it off. And while the focus is supposed to be on the twin boys Castor and Pollux (yes!) most of the family gets time in this especially Grandmother Hazel, sort of an outer space Grandma Walton.
My only complaint is a few old attitudes about women’s roles, yes from Heinlein! (This was the very early fifties, remember!)
Read one of Howard R. Garis’ stories about Professor Jonkin, a wacky inventor he wrote about in the early 20th Century.”Professor Jonkin’s Cannibal Plant” is the only one of the four listed that has been reprinted and I lucked out and had the book; “Science Fiction By Gaslight,” edited by Sam Moskowitz in 1969. The story is sort of a spoof of all the man-eating plant stories that proliferated once upon a time. Sort of a proto Audrey II with the professor feeding it slabs of beefsteak. I’d love to find the other three stories, I hope they are just as funny. Garis was impossibly prolific; he created “Uncle Wiggly” and wrote a daily story about him for the newspapers for decades. He was also busy with the Stratemeyer Syndicate and wrote the (not as funny as Jonkins) Tom Swift books for years, as well as a bunch of other series for children. (I saw one of the “Baseball Joe” books in a used store once. Didn’t buy it!) Swift never grabbed me. Check out Garis’ bibliography on Wikipedia, it’s jaw dropping!
Read a little of Arthur Conan Doyle’s early Gothic novel “The Mystery of Cloomber.” So far it’s not quite the gripping story Doyle would write later. Also read his story “The Bully of Brocas Court.” Great fun! Doyle’s knowledge of boxing (he’d boxed in college) is used to great effect. Of course, the kicker to the story is given away by the fact that the anthology I read it in had a theme and I could see where it was going anyway but still great fun! Doyle at his best as a storyteller here.
Read some of Ellis Parker Butler’s “Philo Gubb, Correspondence School Detective.” Yes, still funny. And I may have called him “Philo Grubb” in an earlier entry.
And I finally finished ‘Nathan Burgoine’s “Triad Magic,” which deserves it’s own post and a Goodreads review! A suspenseful paranormal page-turner. Magic, mystery and romance (and some history!) set in a well-defined version of Ottawa, Canada.
Now I want to read the first two books in the series!
Progress Report for July/August 2024 from Jeff Baker
Okay, not much progress to report this month either.
I didn’t work on “Love’s Not Time’s Fool,” writing-wise anyway but I proofread it and did a couple of notes for the story. As well as a few notes for other stories and stories yet unwritten.
Wrote the usual weekly Friday Flash stories and the monthly flash stories.
And I wrote two of the Queer Sci-Fi columns.
And then I got stressed-out over some stuff (which I took care of) and really didn’t do any full-length story writing. So I will start on that again.
Roger Hulot and his husband Paolo were the only customers in Demeter’s Bar that summer afternoon. The fifty-somethings sat at the table Roger sipping a glass of Merlot, Paolo tapping a glass of whiskey on the side with a straw.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
That was from Zack, the bartender with the long stringy red hair whose soccer player build got more than one approving glance from the customers.
“No, we’re fine,” Roger said. “We’re enjoying the cool in here.
“Yes,” Paolo said, toasting Zack with his glass.
“Yeah, Zack said. “This heat is something else. The song ought to have said something about feeling as popcorny as Kansas in August.”
The redhead and the two graying older men laughed.
“Yeah, that’s just our bad timing,” Paolo said. “Coming back into the heat after two weeks in the cool of the mountains.”
“Mountains, wow!” Zack said. “Too bad you couldn’t bring some of that cool back with you.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t bring something else back with us,” Roger said. Paolo nodded and took another sip of his whiskey and Zack thought, shuddered.
“Pull up a chair and we’ll tell you all about it.”
It was about three weeks ago (Roger said) and Paolo and I had some time off work. My family has a cabin in the mountains they’ve owned since forever. We weren’t in any hurry so we stopped and stayed the night before we hit the Colorado border. The drive was nice, the weather was pleasant and the scenery was spectacular.
We made it to the cabin in late afternoon after a winding drive through part of a national forest and some low hills.
The cabin has been kept up and refurbished over the years; about a thousand square feet, two stories with electricity, running water…
“And a convenience store just down the road,” Paolo said. The three men laughed again. Then Roger went on.
The area was high enough for spectacular views of the trees and the mountains in the distance, especially from the second story bedroom.
It was after the second day that I noticed what I thought was a bear in the distance as I looked out from the bedroom window at dusk. It was large and lumbering and it disappeared through the trees, brown fur tinged orange in the setting sunlight.
We saw the bear again a couple of days later right at dawn, and this time there was more than one. I would have sworn one of them looked back at us as it was lumbering away. That afternoon Paolo and I walked up the hill to examine where we’d seen the bears. The little clearing we had seen them in was near a tall, gnarled tree so the spot was not hard to find. We were cautious though and we were sure to make plenty of noise so as not to surprise any bears.
In the clearing we noticed scuff marks in the dirt but no real footprints as there was a cover of leaves and the like. We could see a pattern of some of them flattened from something walking on them and this almost made a trail going into the denser part of the trees. Neither Paolo or I was interested enough to follow.
The doors to the cabin were pretty secure so we did something we weren’t supposed to do; we took some food, some grapes, an apple and the like and put it at the edge of the trees in sight of the cabin. Then we staked out the site from the bedroom. We fell asleep after dusk but the food was gone the next morning.
We put out some more food that afternoon, this time in front of the cabin to the side of the driveway, far enough away we hoped. Then we sat and waited by the upstairs hallway window.
After a couple of hours, Paolo realized he hadn’t seen any birds or squirrels or other small critters come and investigate the food. We realized that we hadn’t seen any squirrels, raccoons, foxes even birds.
They came when it got dark.
It was a family of four. We guessed a set of parents and two offspring not quite their size. They towered over our car as they walked past it. Big, hairy, with hands and human faces.
Sasquatch. Bigfoot. A family of Bigfoots. Or Bigfeet. Either way they were there.
Paolo pulled out his cellphone and tried for a picture in the dim light as the furry family helped itself to the food we’d left.
One of the apples rolled down into the driveway, under the car.
Mama Bigfoot calmly walked over, lifted the front end of the car with one hand and grabbed the apple. You’ve seen that old Superman comic cover where he lifts up a car? It was like that.
The Sasquatch finished the food and lumbered off. As they left, one of them looked up at our window and flashed a big smile.
It knew we were there.
Paolo and I talked and figured that the reason we had seen no more critters in the area was they didn’t want to come onto Bigfoot territory. Maybe the Bigfoots were encroaching on more territory, maybe eventually man’s territory. If there are enough of them.
Roger finished his drink and sighed.
“Paolo and I decided to cut our vacation short. We drove down to a motel in town and then headed back, trying not to think too much about an army of Sasquatch driving people away.”
“Yeah,” Paolo said. “Maybe they are some kind of elder race that’s been hidden. I used to read stuff like that in old paperbacks.”
“Hey, what happened to those pictures?” Zack asked.
“Oh, not much,” Paolo said pulling out his smartphone. “You really can’t make out anything in the dark through the window. That blurry thing there is the glint of light when the Bigfoot lifted the car. It’s blurry because I was so shocked I dropped my phone.”
Remember, it’s never too late to write a story of your own, post it in the comments and join in the fun! We’ll be back with more draws on Monday, September 9th, 2024.
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
This week’s snippets are from an unpublished erotica story of mine. James is reminiscing about an encounter with his friend Horacio at his apartment. This is from “Afternoon In Numitor.”
Horacio pulled the sweatpants down slowly, teasingly shaking them as they passed over his muscular legs. Under the sweats he was wearing a tight pair of bright red bikini underwear. They blended nicely with the tight black t-shirt Horacio was wearing. He was hot and he knew it. He stepped out of the sweatpants then twirled them over his head and let them fly. They landed in a corner of the living room.
Can’t leave you in suspense. Here’s more…
Horacio kept an eye on me as he put his hands behind his back, flexed his biceps and began posing like a male model. He bent his knees, bringing himself down then up several times, He spun around facing me and spread his hands rubbing his palms on his chest, bringing them down to cradle the bulge in his shorts. He grinned and nodded as he saw me rubbing the bulge in my pants.
“Yeah,” he breathed. You like that.”
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” I said. Horacio had once told me he’d worked as a male stripper. I believed it right there in the dimly-lit apartment in the A. C. that hot Summer day.
Hope that’s steamy enough for Summer! (It was 103 here the other week! Naturally when I’m posting the steamy story it’s on a nice rainy weekend with temps in the 60s!) Next time I’ll try for something cooler. Till then——jeff
“Not that crazy,” Woody replied. “Nobody’s going to come here! The sign’s a perfect deterrent.”
The sign on the old power pole by the side road read “Dead End.” The dirt and gravel turnoff from the old highway led to a wall of greenery blocking any entrance.
“But it’s not a dead end, is it?” Ernie asked.
“Nope,” Woody said. “Just got to be discreet.”
The car turned onto the dirt road and Woody double-checked that there were no cars coming. Traffic was unlikely since it was mid-afternoon and there was a big four-lane highway a mile or so east of there.
Woody quickly grabbed a hidden pole in the leaves and branches and in another minute the green swung inward like a door. Driving the car through Woody then shut the gate behind them.
They were in a one-lane corridor with the trees on either side forming a canopy of branches and leaves overhead. They drove slowly for a few yards.
“There we are,” Woody said.
There was a cluster of small houses under the canopy, most of them with a car parked to the side.
“We have some rules,” Woody said. “No lights on outside the houses, especially at night. No cooking with fire. The lights and the smoke would give us away. And obviously no driving around here at night. Headlights.”
“Do you have electricity?” Ernie asked.
“Yes. One of our guys jury rigged a patch to an underground city electrical cable. We don’t use much so it goes unnoticed.”
“Plumbing?” Ernie asked.
“We have a communal bathroom in that building over there.” He pointed to one side. “It’s sanitary and clean and warm. Unfortunately it’s the only building with running water. It’s attached to a city water and sewer line. Again, the usage is so small that so far the city hasn’t noticed.”
Woody smiled. “If you remember your Grandmother’s old washbasin on the farm, we use those for real now. Every home keeps a couple of jugs of water and a couple of basins.”
“What about winter?” Ernie asked. “How do you keep warm?”
“We have a system involving pipes and steam.” Woody said. “We have to monitor it but it seems to work and it’s discreet. And when it snows, the snow and ice come in handy.” He grinned. “We actually have an ice house. Perfect for storing meats and the like.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ernie said. “After forty-plus years in the rat race with no family left I’m ready to just chuck civilization and kick back.”
“Luckily some of us have money,” Woody said. “A necessary evil. And we make occasional trips to the store.”
“And nobody has found out about you?” Ernie asked.
“So far, no.” Woody said. “We aren’t that far from the city but we are off the beaten path. And nobody is going to come looking in a wooded area just off a highway hardly anybody uses anymore.”
“No taxes, no bills…” Ernie mused.
“Nope.” Woody said with a smile. “It’s kind of back to nature except we use a grocery store. Discreetly.”
“Does this place have a name?”
Woody laughed. “Somebody started calling it Dead-End Junction, but we don’t have a train.”
“Okay,” Ernie said with a smile. “Show me around and I may sign up.”
NOTE: The draws for the August 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were A Thriller, involving a Box of Rubber Bands set in a Field Of Lettuce. Here’s what I came up with. —-jeff, a.k.a. mike
“How dangerous are these things?” Stone asked they pulled up in the van beside the old barn.
“Very dangerous,” said Anson. “These hornets were mutated in a lab. Their sting is debilitating. And if you are allergic to any of the stinging insects, you’re dead.”
“Why did Lowell develop these things anyway?” Stone asked, stepping out of the car and adjusting the hazmat suit he was wearing. “Is he some kind of mad scientist?”
“Maybe,” Stone said checking the seals on his hazmat suit. “Lowell said he wanted to push us all into the future and supposedly he even tried stuff on himself.”
“Hey, what is this?” Stone asked, looking at the lumpy ground they were walking on which had clumps of green leaves sticking out of the ground in uneven spaces.
“Lettuce,” Anson said with a smile. “Lowell is a working farmer as well as a biologist.” He smiled. “I can tell you’re a city kid. Just watch your step and…”
Something small and fast zipped past his head. Another struck Anson’s face mask.
“Hornets!” Stone said. “We’re under attack!”
There was a quick TAP! TAP! And the two men ran back inside their van.
“See any?” Anson asked looking out the window.
“No,” Stone said. “And I…wait a minute…”
Stone plucked a small, reddish strip out of a fold in his suit.
“A rubber band,” Anson said examining it.
“We’re being attacked by swarms of grade-school kids.”
The two men rushed from the van as rubber bands continued to hit them zipping through the air. It was a simple matter to find their origin point. They grabbed Lowell who was crouching behind an overturned old tractor with what looked like a miniature crossbow and a big box labeled ACME RUBBER BANDS.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Lowell asked.
“No,” Stone said. “The Organization is prepared to buy out your hornet studies and formula so neither you or the government will be able to use them against anybody.”
“Won’t do you any good,” Lowell said. “The augmented hornets did okay in the lab under test conditions but they couldn’t survive outdoors with various germs and pollen and pollutants.”
“War Of the Worlds,” Stone murmured.
“But I’ll come up with a new and better formula!” Lowell said excitedly.
He knocked the men aside and rushed behind the corner of the old barn. Stone and Anson followed him just in time to see Lowell take off on what looked like a motor scooter.
“He had to have designed that,” Anson said.
“Or souped it up,” Stone said as they watched him roar through the lettuce field to the road at unbelievable speed.
“Hope he’s got a helmet.” Anson said.
Lowell was caught, of course. He was so predictable.
He should never have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.
authorjeffbaker 