"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
I guess I kept at it over late January through February 2024.
Wrote up a story I’d plotted out early in the pandemic.
Typed-up/revised a story I may have first written in a handwritten draft about fifteen years ago. The original typed draft is on the old computer but this new, revised version is better and it fixes a few plot holes.
Sent both stories off to a market. One got rejected, sent it elsewhere. And I submitted about three other full-length stories.
Wrote-up one QSF column, (I have three others already written!) and did the weekly Flash Fiction stories as well as the monthly Draw story.
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
The idea for this story came from a picture on a You Tube video from “Nemo’s Dreamscapes,” which are largely nostalgic scenes of White, Cisgender America accompanying a music playlist. Nonetheless, they are fun and sometimes sweet and romantic. The set up to this one was a picture of a young couple sitting on a front porch in the evening, drinking coffee at a vacation cabin by a lake. The setup read: “1949, sitting on a porch on a Summer night (Oldies playing in another room, crickets.)”
The music was playing soft and the radio and Doug was sitting on the front porch of his family’s lakeside cabin, watching the Moon reflect in the water when Scotty bounded up the steps.
“I got your message,” Scotty said. “Are you okay?”
Doug smiled, as usual, Scotty looked good in slacks, brown shoes and the white button down shirt with no tie. The shirt was sweaty; he’d run from his folks’ cabin nearby.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Doug said. “Just that Mom and Dad and Janie left this afternoon. I’m taking off in my roadster in a couple of days. So we got the cabin to ourselves for a day or so.”
A little over the six lines, but here’s a little more…
“Right now, I want you beside me on this bench, looking at the Moon, the lake, the stars, listening to the romantic music on the radio.” Doug paused. “We can hold hands.”
“Sure,” Scotty said, sitting down. He glanced around and kissed Doug on the cheek. Doug squeezed his hand as they settled down on the bench; the radio playing a fake Spanish romantic song.
“This is nice…” Scotty said.
Yes, it is, Scotty. I usually don’t do spoilers for any story here (or anywhere, for that matter!) but readers will be happy to know that Doug and Scotty get a happy ending!
Reading Report for February 20th, 2024 (Covering Jan/Feb. 2024)
Most of my fiction reading has been short-stories from the middle of January through mid-February.
Read several of Fritz Leiber’s “Changewar” stories (many collected in the book “Changewar,” my paperback dating from 1983.) Started with “The Oldest Soldier.” A perfect story! With the feel of Leiber’s hometown of Chicago. Also read his “Knight to Move,” from the same collection. One of his many chess stories. Set in the future it references a long-distance way to sign a document. Clever ending.
Also read “Nice Girl With Five Husbands,” (from “The Worlds Of Fritz Leiber”) which Leiber said fit into the series and that he based the character on his friend Judith Merrill. Also read “When the Change-Winds Blow,” from “Changewar,” which was more poetic.
For my read of Leiber’s Fafhrd & Gray Mouser series I read the short-short “Bait,” also in “The Worlds of Fritz Leiber. So were the disquieting and brilliant “Waif,” and one of his cat stories “The Lotus Eaters.” As well as “Strange Doings At the Metropolitan Museum.”
Also read two Leiber stories not from “Worlds Of…” Namely “Cat’s Cradle” and “The Death Of Princes,” the latter one of his astronomy-related fantasy/horror stories, and a good one! Title from “Hamlet,” of course.
Also from “Worlds Of Fritz Leiber” (whose contents Leiber selected himself) read “Our Saucer vacation.” A riff on the Heinlein Juveniles and loads of fun! I could imagine the kid narrator’s voice as being in a 60s Hanna-Barbera adventure cartoon and the Dad’s voice as Mike Road.
But neither character is at all human!
Leiber and Heinlein knew each other, and if he read the story I bet Heinlein got the joke! I did!
Speaking of Heinlein, I’d been neglecting reading his “The Rolling Stones,” so I cracked that open and read some more.
The other novel I’ve been reading was recommended to me by a friend. “52 Steps to Murder” by Steve Demaree is a funny detective/mystery story, the first in a series.
The big news reading-wise for this month was the long-awaited last story by the late Tom Reamy. “Potiphee, Petey And Me” was written about 45 years ago for Harlan Ellison’s unreleased “Last Dangerous Visions” and never published. It’s in the recent definitive Reamy collection “Under the Hollywood Sign: the Collected Stories Of Tom Reamy.” It’s perfect. Disturbing, funny, dystopian and probably rated “R.” Reamy was only getting better.
On a few different notes, I got a pamphlet with a Christmas story from Crippen and Landru Publishers of a story by Richie Narvaez; “Raul And Rita In It’s A Wonderful Wife.” Great fun.
Another Christmas story was “Nothing You Dismay” by Ellis Peters. Suspenseful with a twisty ending.
Re-read a few stories like G. J. A. O’Toole’s “Turn Down For Richmond” (which I’d read in “Twilight Zone Magazine” in college.) Also “Little Note Nor Long Remember” by Henry T. Parry, “Drawer 14” by Talmadge Powell, and “The Remember Service” by John Bennett.
All of those from a fine set of anthologies collecting ghost/horror stories from various regions of the U.S. The Kansas entry was Charles Wagner’s “Deadlights,” (set in Beloit!) Spooky, especially the last line! (Not sure if I’d read it before.) And re-read the creepy Wisconsin-set “Death’s Door” by Robert McNear (from “Ghosts Of the Heartland.”) A page turner about a basketball team and an iced-over lake that I read when the anthology first came out, standing there in the bookstore. Yeah, it’s that good!
I bought a crumbling, 80 year-old copy of “Thrilling Wonder Stories” (Winter 1944) After reading a blog post about three (!!!) Henry Kuttner/C.L. Moore stories in the issue and finding out there was a Robert Arthur story in there as well. “Swing Your Lady” (as by Kelvin Kent) was Kuttner’s last story about time-traveling Pete Manx who finds himself among Amazons. (Not the website!) Sort of a wacky Damon Runyon.
“The Hunter” (as by Scott Morgan) is a WWII tale with some racist lines directed at the main character, a Japanese officer, not only from the American character but the editor’s intro. It has a grim and clever twist that I kind of guessed!
“A God Named Kroo,” as by Kuttner. Some humor, a lot of magic, adventure and a sweet ending. The Kuttners in fine form if not up to the standards of “A Gnome There Was.” An unjustly neglected fantasy, maybe because of a few anti-Japanese bits. (It IS set in Burma during 1944, but the racism could have been much more overt.) An enjoyable story.
The Robert Arthur story, “Space Command,” is an okay stuck-on-a-hostile-planet sci-fi adventure story with some problem-solving typical of the sci-fi of the era and something of a character study thrown in for good measure.
Some very clever bits, if not up to Arthur at his best. The story moves along (maybe a bit too long, Arthur was probably being paid by the word and I think the brawl near the end of the story was unnecessary. ) In the story-behind-the-story bit (“Thrilling Wonder Stories” regularly ran them at this time) Arthur said he envisioned the story as taking place in 2011. Wow!
The issue included wartime advertisements, including one for razor blades that had a sign: Win the War in ‘44. The issue came out in early 1944—right before D-Day.
All-in-all, the crumbling magazine was worth the $15.
Also read (and blogged about!) an anthology for writer H. M. Wolfe (who is ailing) called “Love and Hope.” A bunch of M/M Valentine’s Day stories including one by Kaje Harper: “Toby, Doyle And the Cats,” set in her “Hidden Wolves” series. Sweet and fun!
Neglected my Edgar Allan Poe reading this time around, but I did start reading one more by Leiber: “The Terror From the Depths,” a story Leiber started in the 30s but didn’t finish until the 1970s! Got it read about halfway so far!
“Cabs cost money,” Pete said. “Besides, I’m your designated driver, remember?”
“I know! I know!”
I’d had a couple of beers and we’d ordered breaded something-or-other and played a couple of video games at Heroes Sports Bar down town. It was Pete’s and my day off the next day so we stayed until dark. It was Wednesday and the downtown wasn’t too busy. Pete had parked his old VW in a parking lot by a warehouse with the date “1917” carved at the top, a ways away from all the other cars. Now the gate was closed and locked.
“Get down there and cup your hands under me,” he said.
“That’s breaking and entering!”
“We’re not breaking,” he said. “And I’ll only be there long enough to get the car out.”
“How are you going to…” I asked.
Then the large German Shepard ran up to the gate barking and growling. I jumped back.
“Cab,” I said. “Call a cab.”
“Not with this guy!” Pete said, bending down to the fence. “Hi, Kerney!”
The dog wagged his tail and so help me smiled!
“This is Kernel Klink,” Pete said as the dog licked his face through the fence. “My Uncle owns this warehouse. I used to work here in the summer. I’ve known this bad boy since he was a puppy!”
“You could’ve told me that!” I said.
“In between making out on the weekends and playing bar trivia I couldn’t find an opening,” Pete said. “Hey, Kerney! This is my friend Mason! Here, let him lick your fingers!”
“I’m not gonna…oh, hell.” I held my hand up to the gate and the dog sniffed and licked me through the wire gate. His tail was still wagging.
“See? He likes you!” Pete said.
“Yeah,” I said smiling. I hadn’t had a dog since I was a kid. “Does he know how to unlock the gate?”
Pete stared at me and stared at the dog. He shook his head.
“Call a cab?” Pete asked.
“Call a cab,” I said pulling out my cellphone.
“At least we know the car will be safe!” Pete said, glancing at Kernel Klink who was watching us quizzically, his tail flopping on the ground.
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
In Kaje Harper’s story “Toby, Doyle and the Cats,” two guys who are attracted to each other open up when one of them discovers three abandoned, scrawny kittens that need care.
Did I mention that Toby and Doyle are part of a pack of werewolves?
I stepped closer and peered down at them. “Shouldn’t they be fatter? Other than their bellies?” Kitten photos online showed rounded little fuzzballs.
“Yeah. He sighed again.
Here’s just a little more:
My wolf rose up in me, sniffing around, noting a packmate in distress. I shoved him back down. The last thing I needed was my wolf getting involved.
I was already way too obsessed with Toby. I’d lived all of my forty-five years in this pack, pup and man, hunkered down, quiet, moving up in the ranks and not standing out for anything except my swift fangs and my ability to think outside the box. Then, three months after word came down from the Council to tolerate and protect our gay wolves instead of killing them, there was Toby.
Here’s a link to Kaje’s own site https://www.kajeharper.com/ where you can read more of her “Hidden Wolves” series. I can recommend them as well as the stories in (and the cause behind!) “Love And Hope.”
The sirens were blaring, the wind was blowing and the clouds were dark in the sky that Kansas summer afternoon. The radio ant TV were telling everybody to get to their basements.
So, my Dad and I were on the front porch. Of course.
The minute the wind kicked in Dad told me to grab the little TV table while he pulled the box out of the hall closet.
“Front porch, now!” Dad said. I thought he was crazy.
We lived on a little suburban cul-de-sac with houses surrounding a rounded drive in a semi circle. Like the one in the opening credits of the TV show “Knots Landing.”
Dad stood on the porch for a moment looking up at the clouds.
“Dad, what are we…?” I started to say.
“Hang on,” Dad said. “I think the wind’s dying down for a minute.
“Is that…?” I asked nodding at the box Dad was holding.
“Your Great-Uncle Patrick’s ashes? Yup!” Dad said with a grin. “He’d wanted his ashes scattered to the Kansas winds and there’s no better time than now.”
My Dad’s Uncle Patrick had died right after New Years. Since Dad was his favorite nephew, he got custody of Patrick’s ashes, along with the instructions for their dispersal.
The wind had died down to a slight, echoing breeze. Not totally still but eerie. Greenish light from the clouds, tornado sirens still blaring.
“Okay…Now!” With that, Dad ran off the porch carrying the box and I followed with the little folding table. He stopped dead center in the middle of the cul-de-sac. “Set ‘er down right there,” he said. I quickly set up the little table while Dad opened the box and pulled out the bag. He poured the ashes in a pile onto the little table. It was about as much as would have been in a five pound bag of flour.
It had gotten deathly still except for the sirens and I could hear the wind in the distance.
“Now, in a few minutes we…what?” Dad said.
I must have gone deathly pale. I was looking west between the Smith house and the Myerbeer house. You get a good view all the way to Maize Road and the farmer’s field just outside of town. Mom always called it “Smithhenge” when the sun set right between the two houses. I pointed. I was shaking.
Off in the distance, Dad and I could see a strip of clear, sunlit sky on the western horizon. And the unmistakable dark cone of a tornado touching the ground.
How far away was that field?
We ran back to the house. In the instant before I slammed the door I glanced back and saw the pile of ashes swirling and fanning out in all directions in the wind.
We stayed in the basement, listening to the radio. Five minutes in I heard a clattering from the ceiling. I remembered the line from the poem:
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
Twenty minutes later the radio gave the all clear and Dad and I went upstairs. No damage we could see and the sky was actually clearing. A couple of small tree branches down in the neighbor’s yard and an overturned trash can and some scattered paper blowing around in the dying breeze were the only signs of what had happened.
And the table and ashes were gone.
My Dad tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the house.
On the peak of the roof stood the little table, straddling the roof with its legs. It reminded me of Snoopy on his doghouse.
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 snippets this week are from another story I’d forgotten about (from 2017.) “The Optimum Fractured Curve Against The Reality Flow Matrix Theory,” which was posted in October 2017.https://authorjeffbaker.com/2017/10/27/friday-flash-fics-from-jeff-baker-for-october-27-2017/ Nothing quite like bumping into an old college boyfriend. Except when he materializes unexpectedly in your house…
I hadn’t seen Roberto Anyas in about thirty years when I turned around that morning to see him lying there in bed. He hadn’t been there a moment before. He stared at me and a broad smile spread over his face.
“Connor?” the man in the bed said. Roberto’s voice all right.
“Roberto?” I managed to sputter out.
“Looks that way!” Roberto said. “My gosh! You look great!”
“Yeah, you too!” I said. “I mean, you really haven’t changed.” I was convinced I was still in bed asleep and that it was the middle of the night, not mid-morning. Usually when I dreamed about Roberto Anyas he was bare armed and bare chested. Like now.
Juuuust a bit more than six lines but I couldn’t resist! Here’s more!
“So, you zapped here from, like, 1988 or something?” I asked.
“More like the early 75th Century. After I graduated, I got involved with this think tank, we were going to try and reach the future. The tattoos are microdots, linked in with the mainframe and with me. I can work it mentally so I went ahead about eight thousand years. Tried to learn something about future technology.” He shook his head. “They didn’t like that. I got out of there in a hurry. You were the first person I thought of so I homed in on you.”
Hmmmm…I didn’t explain why Roberto popped in without his clothes…maybe he knew what he was doing after all! Next week, something a little newer. Till then, take care and happy reading! —-jeff
Cecil pulled his Volkswagen into the alley and glanced up and down. No one in sight. The men he had been discreetly following had stolen the only sample of the secret miracle serum. They were holed up in the next building.
The police couldn’t get to them in time. Only one thing to do.
Cecil jumped into the backseat and quickly changed into the feathered costume and mask of Pigeon Man!
He stepped out of the car and took a few hopping steps forward and fluttered clumsily into the air. He couldn’t fly very fast, very far or very high but it would be enough. He rose up until he was able to land on the second story fire escape outside the window. There, he listened. Like pigeons do.
Secret plans being hatched. A message was going to be sent via a text from a burner phone. By an accomplice not even in the city at an appointed time.
Clever.
Cecil listened and then, a feather from his costume tickled his nose and he sneezed!
The three men looked up. Had he pulled away from the window in time? They were coming!
The roof! Only place to hide!
He fluttered upward as the men stuck their heads out the window but didn’t look up.
Cecil began to lose altitude before he reached the roof. He plopped down, onto the heads of the three men who were now out cold on the fire escape.
Cecil called the police, didn’t give his name. Didn’t even give the name Pigeon Man. Not yet.
He fluttered back to the Volkswagen and drove off.
The world might not give a second glance at Cecil but they would soon marvel at the awesome might of…
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the February 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge resulted in a Fantasy, set in an Empty Gymnasium, involving a Giant Mallet. My story flashes me back to my much, much younger days… —jsb
As it did once every so often a shaft of moonlight from the upper window shone on the wall of the old school gym, the gym largely used for calisthenics or storage since the new gym had been built.
The walls had been decorated with murals when the building had been part of a Grade School showing cute cartoony animals doing exercises. But this mural was something special. Illuminated by the light, the three jogging little mice in gym shorts suddenly hopped off the wall and began happily running around the gym floor on their hind legs, squeaking as adorably as they could. But the moonlight wasn’t done. It shone on the part of the mural where a tall, scowling cat wearing gym shorts and a shirt with “COACH” on it narrowed its eyes, licked its lips and jumped off of the wall and began scampering after the mice.
The mice looked up at the swiftly advancing cat in terror and scattered. On all fours the cat scrambled on its four feet trying to gain traction on the polished gym floor and slammed into the brick wall, for an instant crumpling like a concertina.
The mice stood and laughed until the cat suddenly uncrumpled and pounced, grabbing two of the mice and holding them down with one paw by their tails. The third mouse jumped back to the mural and quickly pulled out a pocket mirror. Using it to shine the moonlight onto another part of the mural, where the artist had painted a large mallet. The mouse quickly pulled the mallet off the mural, ran over and slammed the mallet down on the cat’s tail. The cat let out a yowl and let go of the mice who ran away. The cat quickly pursued them around the gym until they reached the spot they had been before. The mice ducked under the mallet the third mouse was holding but the cat, in hot pursuit, didn’t notice in time and slammed into the mallet head first.
The cat staggered back, a lump quickly rising on his head, surrounded by cute twittering birds and glowing stars. He shook his head to clear it and began the chase again, keeping an eye out for the mallet.
There was a distant noise, a metallic clatter, footsteps and soft voices.
The cat and mice glanced at each other and quickly raced back to their proper places inside the mural, grabbing the mallet along the way.
The door to the Gym opened and the lights came on, the first man in the suit leading the second man in.
“I don’t mind showing this off even early in the morning,” the first man said. “This is why this building is on the National Register of Historic Places.” He stopped before the mural. “A few years after he painted this, he went to work for a Hollywood studio and created the cartoons about the mice Len, Lon and Lou and their nemesis Catterwaul the Cat. The characters won an Oscar in 1955 and this mural was probably an early version. Right down to the wooden mallet they always had somewhere.” He paused. “You know, that’s odd,” he said.
“What’s odd?” said the second man.
“I would have sworn that mallet was on the other side of Catterwaul. Oh well, it’s two in the morning anyway.”
As they walked out of the gym and turned off the lights, the second man asked “Why a mallet in all their cartoons?”
“Didn’t you know?” the first man said. “Artist Buzzy Hanks’ real name was Henry Isadore Haptish. It means Mallet…”
Addenda: As may be too obvious, my homage to the cartoons I watched as a little kid and the people behind them. —jeff
authorjeffbaker 