"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
It’s been almost a month, but we’re back! Here’s this week’s story! —–jeff
Continental Divide
by Jeff Baker
It was Bay Day so Dad/Mom let me cut school but that didn’t stop him/her from spouting out a few lessons on the way.
“A well-educated citizen is a good citizen” he would quote.
“Aw, Dad/Mom,” I said. “That’s an oldie from the days when we had a government. And States.”
“Glad you caught that,” Dad/Mom said. “But I have a real surprise for you! Just a little ways.”
“What surprise?” I asked, but He/She just smiled.
After a few more minnics I glanced down from the hoverflyer through the tinted glass.
“Hey, that’s a road down there!” I said pointing. I knew about roads. In school, Team J had done a report on them complete with digital of one of the team members walking along an old one and tripping on part of the warped, what did they call it? Pavement? They got the class medal that week. Me, I had only seen a couple of real roads and most of them didn’t go anywhere. But the one beneath us was long and grey and it didn’t look disturbed even after all the time that had passed.
“We’ll just be down for a monment,” Dad/Mom said.
The hoverflyer landed beside the road on a crumpled ground of some red stone. I reached down to touch it. There were big red rock formations all over the area. They weren’t glowing but that wasn’t always an indication. Still, I knew Dad/Mom would not have brought me here if there was anything unsafe to touch.
“Over here,” Dad/Mom said, actually walking on the road. “Just a short ways.”
I followed him, breathing in uncycled air and feeling the flat, hard road under my shoes.
“Right here,” Dad/Mom said. There was a large sign, almost as tall as Dad/Mom and taller than me just off the road. It was some kind of sturdy board. “Do you read Murcan?”
“Of course,” I said. “I did my Languology last year.” I stared at the board. “But this is Ancient Languology. Old Murcan.”
I studied the words. The Ancient words were slightly different but not that hard to read.
Continental Divide
Elevation 7,295 feet
Rainfall divides at this point
To the West it drains
Into the Pacific Ocean
And the remaining words were worn away. Maybe by the curious feeling antiquity with their fingers.
“Some of these signs have been preserved,” Dad/Mom said. “By Antiquarians.”
“Like the number signs they find along the roads!” I said. “40. 66. Numbers like that. And that Ocean thing. That’s Pre-Bay, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dad/Mom said smiling. “But the reason I wanted you to see this is because it’s history. This dates back to when this was a country, a city-state. Before everything was divided. Before the Old World was erased.”
“Ahwow!” I breathed.
“Want another surprise?” Dad/Mom asked. “Look here.”
I walked around to the other side of the sign. There were Murcan words on it too. I started reading them aloud. Then I laughed.
“The same thing as the other words!” I said, still laughing. Dad/Mom laughed too.
“This has been preserved,” he/she said. “Hopefully you can show your offspring this someday.”
I nodded, looking out to the horizon, wondering how far this road still extended; where had it led in the Ancient Days?
“Better go now,” Dad/Mom said.
I nodded. We got in the hoverflyer and headed on to the Bay.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’d taken the picture at the Continental Divide sign in New Mexico along Highway 40 in the desert. And I’d seen San Francisco Bay earlier in the week. So all of that went in here. An old-fashioned sci-fi story? Obvious social commentary? Probably.
Decided to write up a scene for a story I have half-assed plotted out. After I did that, I found that I already had a version of the same scene in a file from a year ago! So I combined and revised them. Looks good! (And now I can’t remember the title! Oh yeah; “Hi, I’m Hector And I’ll Be Your Waiter This Evening.”)
Wrote up a poem based on a line I just zipped out on Facebook late one evening. I’ve been doing that lately; letting a poem breeze out of me occasionally. A couple in the last three months alone. For this one I channeled Garrison Keilior and “Writer’s Almanac,” which I miss!
Piddled around and started another story or two which may be something I’ll finish.
Surprised myself and worked on a story I had barely looked at in ten years, after starting it in 1999 or so! Another historical mystery.
Did some unexpected work on at least a couple of other stories I had in my files. Time does help in seeing how to progress on a story.
And I worked on “Love’s Not Time’s Fool,” the story I told myself I would finish before diving into another long story or something with a deadline. I had a bunch of chunks and scenes but had to pull them together. So I did that, revised some and now I just have to write more on it and tie up some loose ends.
Wrote one (maybe two) of the QSF Columns and posted one way, way early.
And that’s the thing; I took a trip out to California, driving through Arizona and New Mexico to see a few places I knew in the Southwest during the 1970s when I had family there and I really didn’t work on the writing. I wrote the Flash Fiction Draw Challenge story early and posted it when I was heading back to Wichita.
I took a break from writing the weekly stories, I think from the end of May until about June 16th when I got back in town. But I’d posted a picture for the 21st (one I took on vacation!) and wrote the story up in an hour or so! It felt good to be back in harness doing that and the column for next month (July.) I thought I was going to do some writing but I didn’t! Actually got a rejection out there in California and took a bunch of notes. The drive was long but the stay in Livermore was very much a largely non-working vacation, even if I did piddle around on the internet a lot! (Research? Har-har!)
Re-read a story Darryl had given me background for (and he didn’t want his name on it so if we were paid for it it wouldn’t mess up his Social Security!) and found a couple of big gaffes I had in the story when I submitted it a few years ago. Fixed it. Found market, sent it off, with Darryl’s and my names on it.
I’ve been doing pretty good at my pledge to finish stuff in my files that I can send off. I have a project I’ll be co-writing coming up later in the year. Maybe two!
So I have more stuff to finish and polish, even after taking a much-needed break.
For Arthur Conan Doyle’s May 22nd birthday, I head his “The Mystery Of Sasassa Valley.” One of Doyle’s first published stories (from 1879!) and still fun!
Also read Doyle’s Brigadier Gerard story “How The Brigadier Rode To Minsk.”
Read a chapter of ‘Nathan Burgoine’s “Triad Magic.”
Got Stephen King’s new collection “You Like It Darker.” Read “Willie the Weirdo,” a short tale which is one of King’s “go for the gross-out” stories. But the last line has a revelation that ties everything together.
Went out-of-town on family business and a vacation. Actually drove from Kansas through Albuquerque, NM (where I had family decades ago!) and Flagstaff, AZ (Beautiful!) and on to San Francisco, CA and Livermore CA where I stayed with friends and really didn’t do a lot of reading for a couple of weeks, except an in-progress graphic novel (which I will talk about when I can!) and a story by M. D. Neu (“Thanksgiving Pie”)in the anthology “Queer Cheer,” which I bought at Sacramento Pride and he autographed to me!
Went to “City Lights Bookstore” in SF and got the City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology which I’ve been skimming through. (The editor was Lawrence Ferlinghetti, how cool is that?)
Also been reading J. Scott Coatsworth’s weekly serial “Down The River.” And I finally met Scott at Sac Pride and he autographed a few books for me!
Speaking of online reading, I’ve been doing my usual read of Kaje Harper’s fine weekly stories on her Facebook page. Not to be missed. (Links to Scott’s and Kaje’s pages below.)
Got a fun picture book in Niles, CA “S Is For San Francisco.” Pictures and text are perfectly done. Written by Maria Kernahan, and illustrated by Michael Schafbuch.
Read some of Scotty Bowers’ memoir “Full Service” about his days working at a gas station in Hollywood and, uh, servicing Hollywood celebrities. (It took me a bit to catch the double meaning of the title!) The most memorable bit is when he describes living through the horrors of WWII in the Pacific and swearing if he got home he was going to enjoy himself.
And I have more books to read, including one I’m going to write up for a column!
Author’s Note: The Draws for the (early) June 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were; a mystery, set in a roomful of hats involving a giant penny. Pure serendipity let me use two characters I’ve written about before and homage something legendary. —–jeff
“Golly! Look at all those hats,” the young man in the cape, mask and tights said.
Compost Boy pointed at the obvious. He and Captain Ecology had tracked the emanations and traces from their stolen property to this abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. But the first floor was a huge room with hats of every description filling the space on the floor and hanging from the walls.
“Careful, Old Buddy,” Captain Ecology said in a grim voice. “Those hats are doubtless booby-trapped.”
A voice rang out from nowhere.
“Yes, you insufferable menaces! Some of those hats are deadly explosives, but the question is which ones? And you’ll have to navigate my roomful of deadly chapeaus to get to me, because there is no other way out!”
There was a metallic clang behind them. The Daring Duo whirled around just in time to see a steel barrier slam down, covering the entrance they had just used.
“I remodeled the warehouse a bit,” the voice said.
“Haberdasher, you’re a fiend!” Captain Ecology said. “In the name of justice I demand you give yourself up!”
“That’s square even for 1973,” Compost Boy muttered.
“You need to get moving,” Haberdasher’s voice called out. “Or I’ll detonate the hats anyway!”
Across the warehouse was an open doorway. Compost Boy sighed. So near, beyond a gauntlet of deadly hats.
“Wait!” Captain Ecology said, pulling out a small device from his flowing cape. “If he’s not booby-trapped every hat it could mean because he’s too cheap. So, he used an inexpensive and non-ecologically friendly explosive. Maybe I can…” He twisted knobs on the device.
Compost boy shook his head. The Ecco serum they had both taken had enhanced their reflexes and intelligence. It also made him, at age 25, a lot better in bed which both the girls and guys appreciated.
“There!” Captain Ecology said, holding the device with its blinking light at arm’s length in front of him.
There was a sputtering and some of the hats in the room gave off sparks and purple smoke. A moment later they flattened like cakes gone bad.
“Golly, Captain Ecology!” Compost Boy said. “It worked!”
“Now we just step over the flattened hats to the next room…no telling whether the other hats have traps as well!” Captain Ecology said as they started to make their way forward.
“Golly, maybe the Haberdasher’s boast was real and he found a magic hat,” Compost Boy said.
“I doubt that but the emanations trail leads to the next room where we’ll doubtless find our stolen trophy.”
The next room was dark, lit by a single spotlight shining on a giant penny standing on one edge.
“There it is!” Compost Boy said ready to rush toward it.
“Right you are, you environmental do-gooders!” The Haberdasher said from his spot in the dimness, the light glinting off his black silk top hat. “I stole your penny and now I’ll steal you with the powers of this magical topper!”
“I doubt that seriously,” Captain Ecology said, tossing a small disc the size of a discus at the giant penny. The disc clamped itself to the ceiling next to the spotlight and the light shone through it becoming a rainbow like a prism. The penny glittered and suddenly there were several giant sections of a penny standing there, some of them distorted like in a fun house mirror.
“Jumping John Tenniel!” Haberdasher swore. “Who will rid me of this turbulent pair?”
“Not us,” Compost Boy said, grabbing Haberdasher by the collar and giving him a good solid right to the jaw.”
“Out like a light,” Captain Ecology said, looking at Haberdasher sprawled on the floor.
“Had to belt him before he could use his magic hat,” Compost Boy said.
“There was no magic,” Captain Ecology said. “Just elaborate trickery. He was able to home in on the only huge copper object shaped like a penny in the area and remotely used the resonator field and distorted the electrons in the light waves around it to make it look invisible. Just like the duplicate penny that was likewise an illusion.” Captain Ecology smiled. “I used the prism setting on the Ecco-Disc to distort the light waves and that drew down the curtain on this illusionist’s illusion.”
First, here’s the prompts for the June 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Then my usual long-winded explanation:
A Mystery
Involving A Giant Penny
Set at A Roomful Of Hats
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 Four of Hearts (a Mystery), the Three of Diamonds (A Roomful of Hats) and the Eight of Clubs (A Giant Penny.) So we will write a Mystery, set in a Roomful Of Hats, involving A Giant Penny.
Usually I do these draws on the first Monday of every month, but as I may be away from my keyboard for a bit (got to head out of town!) I’m posting this now and will probably post the results around the middle of June, 2024.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2024 Flash Draw sheet at the end of this message, again! (* indicates those have been used.)
Thanks for playing, and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks!
And have fun!
——mike
Flash Draw Sheet for 2024 (“*” indicates prompt has been used.)
Sometime around the fall semester of 1981 when I was in College, one weekend when I had no homework and didn’t have to go work at my job I grabbed a paperback copy of Stephen King’s first short-story collection “Night Shift” at the school Library just before closing time and took it to my dorm room.
After dinner I sat down to read some of the stories, hoping to find out what all the fuss was about the author. I had read “Carrie,” and hadn’t liked it. (I had read “The Long Walk” by Richard Bachman and thought it was superior to this King guy’s stuff!) I read several of the stories that evening; probably “Jerusalem’s Lot” (which I thought was “so-so”) a couple of others and then a few that really impressed me; “The Mangler” (with its clever twist!) “Strawberry Spring” (“trunk” is still an ugly word!) and the one that really grabbed me; “Trucks.”
King’s perfect description of the diner reminded me so much of places I’d been in, and the grisly descriptions later in the story and the gripping pace convinced me that this guy was damn good! (And that I wanted to write stuff like that too!)
I read a bunch of the other stories over that weekend, especially “Sometimes They Come Back,” and loved them! King didn’t hit the bullseye on every story but most of them worked. And I didn’t realize I hadn’t read all of them until years later when I picked up my Brother’s copy and read “The Lawnmower Man,” which has virtually no relation to the movie!
Fast forward to the early 1990s. I was driving a small delivery truck and trying to teach myself to write by writing as well as by reading all the paperback anthologies and collections I could get my hands on.
One of them was King’s “Skeleton Crew.”
I kept it with me in the truck and read it while I was waiting on customers or having lunch. I read “The Mist” over a couple of days and got spooked reading “Mrs. Todd’s Shortcut” sitting on a dirt road in a little Kansas town waiting for the customer to show up. The stories were fun, some were excellent and King’s story notes were half the fun! (“I got to thinking about cannibalism one day, because that’s the kind of thing a guy like me thinks about…”)
“Skeleton Crew” was published a few years before I got my copy. A year or two later, King’s “Nightmares And Dreamscapes” was published and I wound up with two copies. Read through it, loved it.
What all three of these books had in common was they were jam-packed with material. A lot of it was early stuff from King’s days selling stories to “Men’s Magazines” or from his College and even High School days. (“An uneven Aladdin’s Cave of a book” King said in the intro.) Critics have tut-tutted about that but much of it is fun.
In his later collections, he is sometimes a bit more literary and the books are not that huge. But I almost miss the Mammoth Books of King Stories. These were new when I was discovering fiction writing for myself, although I am no Stephen King. I look through those three books every now and then. They bring back memories of dorm rooms lit by a bedside lamp, delivery trucks parked in the sunlight or my old bedroom at my parent’s house.
There’s a new collection of King stories or novellas every five years or so now. But I still miss the old days.
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 promised something newer this week. Last week I gave you something from my friend J. Scott Coatsworth’s “River City Chronicles.” This week, something from the sequel he is writing and serializing on his blog. https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/category/features/serial/ Here’s the opening to “Down the River; The River City Chronicles, Book Two” by J. Scott Coatsworth. Ainsley Kim is taking a customer’s order at Ragazzi.
Ainsley hid a grin. She was good at reading people. “Not a problem. So the tagliatelle?”
Andy nodded. “Sure. With arrabiata sauce. And ask the chef to make it a little extra spicy.”
She tapped it into the POS, feeling more like a glorified data entry clerk than a waitress.
Here’s a bit more…
“Don’t let him fool you. Kel knows what he wants. He just likes to play with his prey.” Andy grimaced, then managed a weak smile. “Sorry for the foul mood. I hate losing.”
Rich, White and a lawyer to boot? You have no idea what losing is. “Not a problem.” She flashed him her best you’re the customer so I’ll pretend I like you smile.
That should whet your appetite! And I’ve worked in restaurants, so this rings true!
And with that, I am going to take a break from snippeting for a few weeks as I am taking a long trip. I should be back at it in the middle of June. Until then, take care! —jeff
It was cold, the kind of cold where even the slightest breeze increases the chill. Tarlos pulled his cloak tighter around him, grateful for his warm boots and that the walk to the Horse Barn from the house was not far. He glanced up at the sky; he could see one of the three moons through the clouds.
He smiled. It had only been a few years since his Father had trusted him, the youngest, to do tasks like this by himself. His older brother would have supervised him, especially at night. But he was just three years away from the Age of Ascension.
Tarlos smiled as he fumbled with the lock and went inside.
Inside, away from the door, the horse barn was relatively warm. He stared in the near darkness then pulled out the light sphere from his pocket. It was small, and with only one moon in the sky it would not give off much light. But it was enough for Tarlos to see the horses, beyond the low wooden gate, standing close together beneath their blankets.
Your blankets are probably warmer than my cloak, Tarlos thought to himself. But as his father pointed out; they had a house with ovens, a fireplace and warming plates.
One of the horses looked up as Tarlos walked closer, checking the food and water. The rest of the horses didn’t seem to care.
After a few more moments, Tarlos checked the little gate and went back outside, being sure to latch the door to the Horse Barn behind him. He approached the back of the old farmhouse which offered protection from the blowing winds coming from that direction.
“The horses are secure, Father,” Tarlos said with a slight bow as he walked into the living room where his father was studying a scroll from a soft chair by the fireplace. The room was warm, wonderfully warm.
“I checked their water, they had plenty of it.” Tarlos said.
“And it wasn’t frozen?” Taroc, his father asked.
“No, not at all,” Tarlos said. There was a low-heat warming plate under the horse’s trough. “And they have plenty of hay and straw.”
“Good,” Taroc said, eyeing his son. He was becoming so mature.
“The barn is secure,” Tarlos said. “None of the horses can wander off. Not that they would want to on a cold night like this. And I counted them just to be certain, but…”
“What?” Taroc asked.
“Have you borrowed a horse or two for some purpose?” Tarlos asked. It was not too unusual during planting season for farmers to loan out a horse to help a neighbor pull a plow but this was not planting season. “I counted eight, and I thought we had only six. I know I have only started doing this and I am away all day at school but…”
“Eight horses?” Taroc asked, staring at his son and setting the scroll down. “You’re sure you counted eight?”
“Yes,” Tarlos said. “I counted three times in case I had been mistaken in the dark.”
“Eight,” Taroc said softly almost to himself. “That’s two more than six…”
“I know that, but…” Tarlos started to say but his father interrupted him.
“Come with me, quickly,” Taroc said walking to the back room of the house barely pausing to grab his own cloak. Tarlos followed, putting on his cloak as they strode through the yard toward the barn as a breeze was whipping up.
Taroc paused at the barn door, putting a finger to his lips indicating quiet. He cautiously opened the barn door and entered, Tarlos right behind him. Taroc pulled out his light sphere and looked around. He counted the horses who paid little attention to him.
“Six,” he said. “There are six.” He turned the light sphere off.
“Father, I was sure that I…” Tarlos said. But his father was not listening.
“Zavid and Zannic,” Taroc breathed to the open air. He turned around to face his son, his own face showing awe. “You have seen a rare and wondrous thing tonight. Come back to the house.”
Seated in the living room, small cups of broth at the ready Taroc explained.
“You know the legend of Zavid and Zannic?” Taroc began.
“The patrons of slaves and horses?” Tarlos said. “Everybody does. It’s just a bedtime story from the ancient days, isn’t it?”
“More than that,” Taroc said. “Zavid and Zannic were slaves who cared for their master’s horses. They loved each other but their masters were going to separate them. The Horse Lords took pity on the two young men and transformed them into horses who would always run free together. They are supposedly seen running on summer nights when the three moons are full and they are said to appear in horse barns to warm their fellows in the cold winter night.” Taroc looked at his son. “This night you saw them, and I think I know why.”
Taroc took a deep breath.
“You know your Mother died around the time you were born.”
“I know,” Tarlos said. “Giving birth to me.”
Taroc shook his head. “No. Giving birth to our second son who died an hour later. It was the harvest season and one of the slaves I had engaged to help came to me with his newborn son. He told me that he believed I was a good man and he did not want his son to grow up marked with slave tattoos to labor in the fields all his life, even for good men.”
Tarlos stared at his father, his mouth open.
“He had named his son, Zabar,” Taroc said. “A slave name. But I took him as my own and renamed him after my grandfather, Tarlos.”
Tarlos sat there speechless. Finally he was able to breathe out “Does anybody else know?”
“No,” Taroc said. “Your oldest brother was boarded at school, too young then to help with the harvest. “Zamas, your…father and I buried your infant brother behind the barn beneath the flowers your Mother loved.” Taroc took a deep breath. “We said prayers to Zavid and Zannic that night. As we finished, all three moons came out from behind the clouds.” Taroc looked at his son and smiled. “And you have been my son since that day. And I am proud of the man, the free man you are becoming.”
“Thank you, Father,” Tarlos managed to say.
“Slavery is an evil,” Taroc said. “Someday we will be able to do something about it and all men will be free. My Grandfather Tarlos always said that. Until then we must treat people decently, slave or free.”
“Yes, Sir,” Tarlos said, suddenly feeling older beyond even the Age of Ascension.
“Maybe that is why Zavid and Zannic appeared to you tonight,” Taroc said. “Or maybe they were just warming the horses.”
The two men smiled and finished their broth. Outside a moon peeked out from the clouds and the horses snorted in the barn.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Eight Years! Wow!
It was eight years ago, May 25th, 2016 that I wrote one flash fiction story for Monday Flash Fics and wrote another the following week just to see if I could do it. Now, eight years and three-hundred-and-eighty-some stories later, most for the Friday Flash Fics Facebook Group and the Monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge and others I have pulled off writing at least fifty-two stories a year. (Not counting a few longer stories I manage to write!)
All this has made me a better writer and taught me the discipline I didn’t learn in school. (My fault, not theirs!) In addition It’s gotten me a few writing gigs as well as a lot of writer friends and even a few followers for this blog. And some of the characters who first popped up here have had adventures published elsewhere!
I owe a lot of thanks to Helena Stone, ‘Nathan Smith, Brigham Vaughn, Kelly Jensen, Elizabeth Lister and others too numerous to mention for their encouragement in maintaining these prompt sites. Again, many thanks!
Many of my readers liked my story “Wild Horses,” which appeared here February 27, 2017 https://authorjeffbaker.com/2017/02/19/monday-flash-fics-february-20-2017-wild-horses/ It takes place on my “World Of Three Moons,” a world I originally conceived for a Lovecraftian adventure-quasi-Arabian-Nights-type story I need to finish from about twelve years ago. The world with it’s weird entities behind the scenes was settled by Middle Eastern and European sorcerers who fled Earth and persecution in the Middle Ages as well as Earth colonists who arrived via spaceship thousands of years in our future. So, there’s a blend of magic and sci-fi (or science-fantasy) and a Medieval Europe/Arabian-Nights feel to it.
So when it came time to do an anniversary story I decided to build on a reference in “Wild Horses.” It’s one of the longest stories I’ve done for a supposed “Flash Fiction” series, but I had fun doing it!
Zavid and Zannic get referenced in more of my stories, and I assure you the issue of slavery will be touched on at some point in this series.
For now, I say “Thank You” to everyone who has read my stories and a special thanks to anybody who let me know they enjoyed them. It usually made my day!
As they used to say on the old Tonight Show: “More To Come.”
And with this, I am going to have to take a break from posting these weekly stories. I have to go way out of town for a couple of weeks and I may not be back online at this keyboard until the middle of June. (I may post some pics, but I’m not sure!) Till then, take care! —-jeff
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