"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
Did the weekly Friday Flash Fiction stories and the monthly Flash Fiction Draw story.
Wrote up at least one Queer Sci Fi column for later. I have a nice backlog of them now.
Wrote up a couple of essays I posted.
A couple of oddball things happened to me (maybe just coincidence or carelessness) but I think I am meant to finish “Love’s Not Time’s Fool” before anything else. We’ll see how that goes, I did work on it a bit. Sporadically.
Went through my NOTES file and pulled out two or three stories I ought to finish, including “Going Across the Bay To See the Hippies” and “In this Corner, Rodrigo Rodriguiz.” Wrote just a bit on the latter.
Also did a little plotting out on both of the above.
Probably did more reading than writing this time around but that’s not bad!
My friend J. Scott Coatsworth has posted in a column, a list of seven things, as he put it “Seven good things in my life that make life worth living.” He was commenting that this year has already seen the death of several of their friends and it isn’t even April yet.
The last few years being the total wrench that they have been for me, losing my Husband, my Mom & Dad (in their 90s, but still) I’ve also found good things. Reasons to be optimistic. Yes, I get down but I don’t stay there very long.
MY FAMILY:
I was luckier than I had any right to be with my Mom & Dad. Loving, supportive, way over-protective but always there for me. They were proud of me and largely in good health for 90 years each. Likewise I got to know most of my older relatives and my Aunt and Uncle who are now also gone but their memory is a good one that fills the summers and holidays of my younger years.
MY EXTENDED FAMILY:
My Honorary Brother Rick and I unofficially adopted each other 36 years ago and we have been together ever since. He and Amy have welcomed me into their home, let me be the Uncle to their kids and grandkids (!!!) and the wonder of a new birth all of which made a year that could have been very bad very sweet.
THE READING AND WRITING:
I’ve wanted to do something creative since I was a little kid. The fact that I’ve worked at it, gotten better at it and seem to have a career at it is something that still amazes me. I have officially published forty stories in magazines, anthologies and e-zines as well as having posted almost 350 weekly flash fiction stories since 2016. I have a career and not only have I impressed some people I should be jealous of, I marvel at it.
And I have my books and the library and I have been not only reading more but blogging about it.
FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD:
I live in Wichita, Kansas a city where you can get about any kind of food you want. And I know some of the basics of cooking and am learning how to do more. (Darryl showed me a little; he would be proud.)
MY FRIENDS:
When Darryl died almost a year ago I felt lost and I realized I didn’t have any friends I see in town regularly. So, I started going out more (not dating, hanging at the library) and I also realized that I have a lot of caring friends online. I also made a new friend or two at least one of which I shoot the breeze with online every day. Sometimes, the internet can be impersonal and hostile. Sometimes it can be warm and loving.
MEETING SOME OF MY INSPIRATIONS:
Before I wanted to be a fiction writer, I wanted to be a stand-up comic. I started appearing in local clubs toward the end of my College days with an act full of topical comedy songs influenced by Mark Russell and Tom Lehrer and not only did I meet Russell a couple of times I submitted some material to him a few years ago. He liked it, but he had retired by then. Still, a nice word from one of your heroes.
And I was thinking I wanted to write science-fiction when I started reading some of the anthologies edited by Mike Resnick (as well as his own stories.) I got to meet Resnick at a convention in 2017 and he signed one of his books surprised that anybody had it!
DARRYL:
Ever supportive, ever loving, I am blessed that most of the memories of my late husband are good and make me smile. I loved him and we were blissfully happy to have known each other for fifteen years, actually together for about twelve and a half, married for six (we felt married right after he moved in back in 2010.) While I get sad that he is not around I still laugh at some of the things we used to laugh at.
THE KITTIES WITHOUT PITY:
And an Eighth thing: I share my house and life with “The Kids,” my three nearly year-old cats. They are sweet, snuggle in my bed at night and have been ripping through the house in the last hour.
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
Wearing my Green as I type this up this weekend. For this week, a little more from J. Scott Coatsworth’s new book “The Hencha Queen.” https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/book/the-hencha-queen/ Here we see some of Silya’s coronation to the rank of queen of the Hencha hive-mind, the human point of contact for them.
Silya shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat of the throne. Her cobalt-blue robes itched and her muscles ached from the hours she’d spent on the training field with Hesen. The Temple’s swordmaster had pushed her as hard as when she’d been an initiate and she had the bruises to show it.
“And why shouldn’t I?” Even the Queen needed to stay in fighting form. Still, her aches and pains argued for a little relief.
The ceremony goes on, but not quite according to plan…
“By the power vested in me as First Aide, I hereby name you the Hencha Queen. Seventh in the Royal Line. Sister Tela, the staff please…”
She stood, took the black staff and lifted it into the air, her various aches and bruises vanishing in an instant. It was lighter than she expected yet filled with the weight of years. It felt alien to her touch, setting up a strange buzzing in her arm and yet it felt comfortable as if it had always been a part of her.
Just a little more…
Someone gasped again. She opened her eyes. She had grown. Or the room had shrunk.
The Sisters drew back in fright, their faces washed in blue by the light that emanated from her.
She held out her arms and they were black as the staff, gnarled like wood.
A flight of wisps appeared from the doorway, dancing toward her like embers from a fire. They encircled her, spinning around her like bright blue sparks. She felt alive and electric.
Scott can describe magic and magical objects in a way that brings back the wonder that has been deadened by dozens of bad knockoffs of bad movies. “Hencha Queen” is good.
Next week, something unexpected. Meaning I’m not sure what I’ll put up! —-jeff
Marcus stared at the audience through the little opening in the stage curtain.
“Holy mackerel! There’s a crowd out there!” he breathed.
“Don’t look through that!” Erik said, slapping his arm. “Someone’ll see you.”
Millington College was doing “The Two Noble Kinsmen,” for their Spring Drama Production. It was, (as the posters put it) “A Shakespeare Play Probably Not By Shakespeare.” William Shakespeare probably had written some of it, with most of the rest being written by someone named John Fletcher.
Marcus Wayland and Erik Castaigne had met their Junior year when they had bit parts in another production, and had dated (discreetly, Erik wasn’t out) since last spring. Now they both had the leads in “Two Noble Kinsmen,” playing two best buddies whose friendship “hits some big bumps” Erik had said.
“Yeah, I get the girl but I get killed accidentally,” Marcus said to his Mom.
“Oh, good,” she’d said. “You’re more into boys, aren’t you?”
Erik sighed. The hat with the feathers he was wearing felt silly. He had it pinned to his hair so it wouldn’t fall off.
“First night,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, glad the rehearsals went well,” Erik said.
“Yeah. Hey, come here. I gotta use the bathroom,” Marcus said.
“You need my help to use the bathroom?” Erik said, following him.
“No, I need something else.” They walked back around to the ancient men’s room and stepped in. A couple of stalls and a urinal and it was empty. Marcus blocked the door shut, grabbed Erik and kissed him.
“The play doesn’t end well for these guys, but at least we get a happy ending,” Marcus said.
“Or a beginning.” Erik added.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Not too long this week. Wanted to avoid all the cliches about theater stories. Someday I’ll write a good haunted stage story although it’s hard to top Fritz Leiber’s “Four Ghosts In Hamlet” or “The Tale Of The Walking Shadow” from the old “Are You Afraid Of the Dark?” series. —–jeff
My friend J. Scott Coatsworth is releasing Book Three in his Tharassas Cycle: “The Hencha Queen” blends science fiction, fantasy, epic worldbuilding and LGBT characters. Scott’s work has led to comparisons to Tolkien and Heinlein. But I should let him tell you, it is his story after all…
SILYA COMES INTO HER OWN, BUT WILL SHE BE ENOUGH?
Silya finally has everything she always wanted. She’s the Hencha Queen, head of the Temple, and is working to master her newfound talents. So why does the world pick now to fall apart?
Her once-nemesis Raven is off riding dragons, and their mutual friend (and her ex) Aik is nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, a new threat menaces the Heartland from the East, and if she can’t convince a reluctant Gullton city council to prepare for the worst, she may lose everyone and everything she’s ever cared about.
As she uses her magic-like abilities, wit and sheer determination to try to save the city, she’s joined by Raven and his new friends. Will their help tip the scales? And will they finally find out what happened to Aik as a dark storm threatens to sweep them all away?
Forget messy. Things just got apocalyptic.
Series Blurb:
The Tharassas Cycle is a four book sci-fantasy series set on the recently colonized world of Tharassas. When humans first arrived on planet, they thought they were alone until the hencha mind made itself known. But now a new threat has arisen to challenge both humankind and their new allies on this alien world.
First Two Books On Sale (& Get a Free Book)
Use the included tharassas-sale.jpg graphic with this section.
Books 1 & 2 are on sale through March 31st for just 99¢ each (eBooks, all vendors). And if you buy one (or all three) of the main series books, email scott@jscottcoatsworth.com</a> and let him know and he’ll send you a free copy of Tales From Tharassas, the prequel.
A sharp crack filled the wine cellar. Kerrick swung the heavy mallet back and then assailed the flopwood boards that blocked the tunnel entrance again. The ancient wood splintered under the blow, sending shards clattering across the stone-paved floor.
It felt good to work out his frustrations. Still, the stubborn wood held out against his assault.
He rested the mallet on the black-tiled stone floor, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Even after a hundred years, the barrier was strong. He’d tried to pry the boards out of the solid stone, but they’d been fastened in too tightly. Brute force it is.
“You’re doing great!” Cor’Lea’s voice was artificially bright, and she was as tall as he was, maybe a little taller, peering over his shoulder at the sealed tunnel entrance.
Silya had tasked her with bringing him down here to check out these hidden caverns under the Temple, in preparation for the coming war. Important, sure, but also clearly an excuse to get him out from underfoot while she prepared for her official Raising.
He grunted. “Thanks. These boards are hard as iron.” And hard as Silya’s will.
One day things would be different between them, once this crisis was over. I just have to be patient.
Coral laughed. “I’m sure a big, strong man like you can break through them easily.” She squeezed his bicep appreciatively.
He shrugged her off. He wasn’t sure if the gawky initiate was flirting with him or just trying to encourage him to get on with it, but either way, he wasn’t interested. “Stand back.” He hefted the hammer again, and she scurried out of his way.
He suppressed a smile, swinging the mallet around for another heavy blow.
Craack.
This time the board buckled inward visibly. Another few hits should do it.
He pulled back the heavy iron hammer again and hit the same spot with blow after blow. Craack. Craack. Craack.
The mallet broke through and a board fell away into splinters, clattering across the stone floor. One down, three more to go. “Why did they seal this cavern up?”
Cor’Lea gestured at the natural chamber. “There was a winery here before the Temple. Sister Dor said they used to use it for extra wine storage.” She looked around the natural chamber, which was now filled with wooden shelving holding a variety of bottled food stores. “When Jas ordered the Temple to be constructed, they kept this wide cavern and blocked off the rest of the tunnels.”
“Just in case the gully rats got in?” That thief Raven had apparently made his home in one of the underground tunnels. Who knew who else—or what else—lived down there?
Cor’Lea snorted. “Maybe.”
Are tunnels all connected, somehow? That was one of Silya’s most urgent projects, to map out the network of caverns beneath the city. Another reason she sent me down here—to get me out from under her robes.
A few more whacks at the next board served to both break it and let out his frustrations at the situation preventing him from doing his sworn job and keeping them apart. And at what she said was coming.
Craack. Craack. Craack.
The board snapped in half, and he judged that he’d cleared enough space to step through into the blocked-off tunnel. “Hand me that lantern?
Cor’Lea complied, taking the opportunity to brush his hand.
He rolled his eyes. I should be flattered. But his heart was already taken.
It was times like these he wished his brother Enrick were still alive. He’d know what to do. He’d been absurdly confident about everything, even though he’d been younger than Kerrick.
Kerrick wasn’t great with women.
He took the lantern and stepped over the bottom board, holding it in front of him. The bright light temporarily blinded him as he sought to get his bearings.
“What do you see?” Cor’Lea peered through the hole behind him.
His sight adjusted, and the tunnel’s walls came into focus.
He whistled. Stacked along the side of the tunnel were hundreds of crates, all strapped together in groups and sealed. “It’s… I don’t know what it is. But I’ll bet Silya will be surprised.” They’d have to find a place to put all this stuff—whatever it was, it was likely rotten after all this time. Silya needed somewhere to store people, not ancient goods.
Cor’Lea stepped carefully over the splintered boards to join him. “What do you think’s inside them?”
The long row of crates disappeared into the darkness. Who knew what the ancients had considered valuable enough to stash down here. Coin? Lost treasure? “One way to find out. Does the Temple have a crowbar?”
Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.
He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).
J. Scott Coatsworth with his “The Hencha Queen..” Photo by Coatsworth & Guzman
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, a prolific novelist and the guy behind Queer Sci-Fi has a new novel out! “The Hencha Queen” is the third book in Scott’s “Tharassas Cycle,” and that’s not even his only novel series! The book is coming out this week, here’s a link https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/novels/ to Scott’s website.
These snippets are a preview…
“You’re doing great!” Cor’Lea’s voice was artificially bright, and she was as tall as he was, maybe a little taller, peering over his shoulder at the sealed tunnel entrance.
Silya had tasked her with bringing him down here to check out these hidden caverns under the Temple, in preparation for the coming war. Important, sure, but also clearly an excuse to get him out from underfoot while she prepared for her official Raising.
He grunted “Thanks. These boards are hard as iron.” And hard as Silya’s will.
One day things would be different between them, once this crisis was over. I just have to be patient.
I am not putting myself out on a limb by saying that anything J. Scott Coatsworth writes is well worth your time.
See you next week with more Rainbow Snippets! —–jeff
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This one was written when I realized my initial idea for a story would be too long and I could try to send it to an anthology or magazine! The story here is one I’d been diddling around with in my head after seeing videos of people who really do this! —-jeff
11:15 PM
It was dark and the four High Schoolers in jogging shorts and running shoes ran under the streetlights towards the center of town.
“Okay,” the first kid said holding up his phone. “It’s eleven-fifteen and this is hour number three in our yearly marathon. Twenty four miles in twenty-four hours. One mile…an hour.”
He panted, he was getting winded.
“Hey, Skeeter,” Horacio said from a few paces behind him. “Our phones don’t work anymore. What’re you doing?”
“’Net is down but this thing still records and tells the time. Recording this for posterity,” Skeeter panted. “I’ll put it on my laptop later.” Skeeter was glad he had a cable that could do that.
“Yeah, we could show it to our grandkids someday,” Jamie said. “If we have ‘em.”
Someone else laughed and they ran on.
1:21 AM
“One twenty-one, hour five,” Skeeter said as they ran past several shopfronts. “Goin’ through town. Couple of shops boarded-up. Amazed…we still have…power…”
“Yeah, and groceries. At least so far.” Keith panted.
“Probably gonna run out of that real soon,” Jamie said. “Hey, did you see that cart in front of the store the other day with free bags of ice?”
“And that sign saying Free Ice.” Skeeter said. “Yeah, I got a picture of it.”
3:40 AM
Skeeter was sitting on the front porch of Jamie’s folks’ house and speaking into his cellphone.
“Okay, we are back at home base, just chillin’. I’m guessing that about hour seven we may start taking naps.” Skeeter looked up. Horacio was snoring in a lawn chair on the porch. Skeeter smiled.
Jamie sat down on the steps by Skeeter and offered him a soda.
“One of the last,” Jamie said.
“Yeah,” Skeeter said. “I wonder why we’re doing this. I mean, New York is gone, L.A. gone. We aren’t too far from the big city and the air base. Eight miles due south. We could be next.”
“That’s why we’re doing this.” Jamie said. “To try and keep normal going.” He sipped his pop. “The Pharmacy closed. Anybody surviving with their meds is just out of luck. We’re probably going to starve soon.”
“We become hunter-gatherers again,” Skeeter said. “Hey, the pop’s cold.”
“Fridge still works but this is in a cooler with some of that free ice.”
The two of them clinked their cans together and grinned.
7:24 AM
“Okay, seven twenty-four. Got a late start for hour…what?” Skeeter said.
“Hour ten,” Horacio said with a laugh.
“Yeah, ten,” Skeeter said. “Sun’s been up about an hour and everything looks beautiful.”
They ran on, seeing a couple of the stores had people in them. Probably not looters.
9:05 AM
“Nine-Oh-Five!” Skeeter shouted. “Halfway there!” They all cheered. They had been napping between miles. Their legs hurt.
11:40 AM
Skeeter felt someone shaking him awake on the couch.
Keith was standing there.
“I didn’t tell anybody but…” he looked away for a second then looked back. “My Mom’s gone, Skeet.”
“Gone?” Skeeter said wiping the sleep from his eyes. Then it hit him. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“Her pills ran out last week,” Keith said. “She had some kind of an attack Tuesday night and another one yesterday morning. I got the neighbors but there’s no doctor around…”
Keith’s Dad had run out on the family when he was in Junior High. Keith started to cry quietly.
“Okay, it’s eight thirty-eight,” Skeeter said. “And we are winding down hour twenty-three.”
“Yeah, twenty-three.” Horacio said.
“For the record, I am with Horacio Villapando, Jamie Sanderson, Keith Rogers and I’m Skeeter McCabe. And we are gonna do this again next year.”
There was a chorus of “Right” and “Yeah,” from the runners.
8:59 PM
“Okay, starting up hour twenty-four,” Skeeter said.
“Finally!” Keith said.
“We’re starting at my house,” Skeeter said, angling his phone so it could get a picture of the four of them. “At least, we’re in front of my house. I just loaded what I’ve been recording onto my laptop.” Skeeter looked around. “Ready?”
There was a noise.
North, over the houses there was a slowly building ball of orange, like a malignant, awful sun.
Horacio squeezed Keith and Skeeter’s arms. “You’re my brothers, I love you,” he choked out.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, as the ball swelled.
“What do we do?” Keith asked.
“We RUN!” Skeeter yelled, taking off in the direction of the same route they had been running for the past twenty-four hours. The other three followed him.
Was it moments? Skeeter saw the orange light illuminating them and the neighborhood. He felt the wind, hot, heard the roar, felt cool not warm, felt something slam into him…
And in his mind, he was running on top of the light, towards the sky, towards the stars…
Author’s Note: The Draws for the March 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were: A crime story, involving a comic book, set on an outdoor stage. Here’s what I came up with.—jeff
I was sitting right in front of the stage when the man disappeared with the comic book.
I’d better explain.
My name is Marty Baxter. I’d been coming to the local Comic Book/SciFi convention since my best buddy “Street” Allan had helped start it up when we were kids in High school about twenty-five years ago. This year I’d finally decided to go in costume, as “The Jack Of Hearts” from Marvel Comics. I’d had a boyfriend who had gone to a party as a big playing card so I just adapted the outfit and painted half my face dark blue. I thought the character was pretty obscure but a couple of kids recognized who I was supposed to be which was pretty cool to a forty-something kid who hadn’t read a comic book in about a decade.
There were a bunch of other cos players there. A few Supermen, Batmen and Wonder Women as well as a guy dressed as Robin who looked just like Burt Ward. I saw a Nightshade, several versions of Catwoman and one guy dressed up as The Scarlet Spirit, right down to the flowing red robe and the red full face mask. Plus a lot of Doctor Whos.
The big attraction that year was a near-mint copy of Detective Comics #45, this one actually signed by Bill Finger. Finger was the uncredited co-creator and writer of Batman. The book was going to be auctioned off toward the end of the convention. It was expected to bring in a bundle.
I was there mainly to gawk and to listen to the panels. They held several of them outside, which is risky in Kansas but the weather cooperated and it was nice and warm. The table was long, they had it draped with a floor-length cover and they were in front of a big curtain. I sat through about three outdoor panels; they even had Marc Tyler Nobleman (the guy who had written a book about Bill Finger and gotten the late writer some long-overdue recognition.)
They were between panels and one of the panel moderators was on stage adjusting the microphones, when I heard a commotion. The man dressed as the Scarlet Spirit rushed onto the stage, carrying what I realized was the vintage comic with the Finger autograph.
The Scarlet Spirit shoved the moderator to the side and dove under the covered table. The moderator pulled the cover up from the back and looked under the table. After a moment he crawled out from under the front cover, his jaw dropped shaking his head as a security guard and my old buddy “Street” who was one of the convention officials ran on stage.
“That man with the valuable comic book, dressed like a red Klansman,” the security guard said.
“He’s gone…” the moderator said. “He just disappeared…just like the Scarlet Spirit…”
I jumped up to the stage. The security guy about threw me off.
“It’s okay, I was an M. P.” I explained.
“Member of Parliament?” the security guy asked. You gotta love rent-a-cops.
But Street vouched for me, so I quickly examined the full-length curtain behind the table. The rest of the stage was behind there and I remembered seeing a Shakespeare play here one evening years ago. I noticed a door at the back. From the placement of the building I gathered it led to the convention hall. I pushed on the door. Unlocked with the convention hall on a lower level behind it.
I stared down at the crowd and the vendors. The cos players were conspicuous. I did some quick mental math as Street and a couple more security guys and the moderator walked up to me.
“Street, trust me. Don’t let this guy go,” I said, pointing at the moderator. Street (who was bigger than I was) grabbed the moderator, who protested as I grabbed his cellphone. “Let’s hope I’m right,” I said as I hit re-dial keeping my eyes on the crowd.
Street and I watched as the valuable comic book was placed back under the glass case which the Scarlet Spirit had opened with a spare key.
“The cops took the moderator and his accomplice away and they’ll want you to go down to the station and explain everything, but I want to know; how did you know the panel moderator was part of it? How did the Scarlet Spirit disappear? And how did you know how to find the Scarlet Spirit when he’d taken off that costume?” Street asked.
“She,” I said grinning. “In the comics, the Scarlet Spirit could turn invisible but you can’t do that in real life. When that moderator made like he couldn’t see the Spirit it was a good act but I realized they must have been in on it together. The Scarlet Spirit must have ducked under the back curtain and handed the moderator that comic book, which we found under his jacket. He, I mean, she ditched the Scarlet Spirit costume in the trash and had a Catwoman outfit on underneath, to throw us off. But I’d taken notice of the Catwomen in the crowd and she was the only one dressed like the one from the 1960s TV. show. I’m not a Bi comics geek for nothing. I noticed that slinky outfit right off! All I had to do was hope the last person the moderator had phoned was her and that she had her cellphone on her and would answer when it rang.”
Street shook his head.
“She was, and she did.” I said.
I looked around the convention for a little bit before I went down to the police station, even though I probably wasn’t dressed for it. As I left the hall I saw some kid carrying a 1970s comic featuring The Scarlet Spirit.
authorjeffbaker 