"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
Every week we post six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. Posted at Rainbow Snippets here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
My snippets this week are from a nearly-forgotten hard boiled detective novel by Lou Rand called “The Gay Detective.” It takes place in “Bay City,” a thinly-disguised version of San Francisco. First published in 1961 and only recently reprinted. Here’s a link: https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/491567.The_Gay_Detective
One complaint about the book is that the detective Francis “Frank” Morley puts on an effeminate manner. Here, Morely’s tough, ex-football player assistant “Tiger” Olsen is discussing that with Police Captain Starr. Olsen is speaking first in this snippet.
Olsen has apparently learned a few things…
“Yeah we got together. Down at Sandy’s Gym. Morley knocked me on my ass twice in five minutes, just for thinking what you think.”
“Oh, no! You mean that guy can fight too?”
“That I do.” Olsen rubbed his jaw reminiscently.
“Well then, why the hell does he act—”
“I don’t know Captain,” Olsen cut in. “Maybe it’s some kind of Eastern gag.”
There was no breeze but the late September evening was cool. Stephen Bauer stood by the big barbecue grill and watched the flames and sparks rise upward. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. It was tradition, the last cookout of the year.
Stephen’s Grandfather (who he had never known) had started doing the end-of-September cookouts decades before and Stephen’s Dad had continued the tradition. Stephen’s brother, Mom and cousins in town (and their kids) all looked forward to it. It was sort of the last party before Fall really kicked in and schoolwork became intense.
Stephen smiled and glanced around. Over the fence he could see the other trees and houses in the neighborhood. He glanced through the kitchen window; some of the family were piling buns, and hot dogs on plates and grabbing ketchup and mustard. They’d have to get the flames to calm down; they were way too high.
And after the hot dogs somebody would sing the old song about the last rose of Summer.
Stephen closed his eyes and spread his arms, imagining himself rising with the sparks and looking down on the neighborhood.
“Hello, Fall,” he whispered.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This little vignette was not what I planned, but it just popped into being. Happy Fall, everybody! —–j
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 James K. Moran’s fine collection of horror stories “Fear Itself.” https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/Fear_Itself.htmlIn “James Harker Tries to Have the Talk,” a Bisexual college student in sorcery is having a bad day…
James blinked. Now a tall, black man grinned lasciviously at him.
“You didn’t think you could just summon me by saying my name three times, did you?” said the new man in a voice with deep, sweet-as-caramel tones. He threw back his head and laughed heartily.
As he looked at James again, he was a blonde woman with a curl of hair blocking her right eye…
The demon shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair, and revealed herself as a redhead flaunting her bosom.
What the devil is James going to do? Oh, well, at least the last name Harker is a good one to have when you’re facing the unholy.
I hope YOU don’t have to face anything like that this week! Me? I’ll see you next week, when we will walk the mean streets of a very familiar-seeming city! —–jeff
They had heard the sound from outside, a rushing, steaming kind of noise in the middle of a summer afternoon. Sol Gribbs had stepped out of their house in an older suburb of town to investigate.
When he came back inside he was smiling.
“Fire hydrant,” he said thumbing at the door. “The one on the corner at the intersection. It’s opened up and spewing water down the street.”
“The neighbor kids didn’t do that did they?” Jeanne Gribbs had looked up from the table where she was perusing the newspaper.
“Nah! It was the City Water people,” Sol said. “Not sure why. One of the kids told me.”
“What kids?” Jeanne asked.
“The ones from the neighborhood.” Sol said. “They’re out there jumping in the water and playing. First time I’ve seen them play with something other than those damn cellphones.”
“Their parents should watch them better,” Jeanne said.
“Let’s go out and play in the water!” Sol said.
“You’re crazy!” Jeanne said. “We’re not kids!”
“Let’s play like we did in the summers back in New York City when we were kids,” Sol said.
“That was almost sixty years ago!” Jeanne said.
“I know!” Sol said. “Remember when we used to pretend it was Niagara Falls?”
“Niagara falls…” she said smiling.
“Remember when we went to see the real Niagara Falls?” Sol said grinning broadly.
“Slooooowly I turned…” Jeanne said and the two of them started laughing.
It took the couple five minutes to find their bathing suits. Another two to get down to where the hydrant was still flowing into the street.
They whooped and laughed as they ran and danced through the water.
My friend J. Scott Coatsworth’s latest book is out! “The Gauntlet Runner.” Part two of The Tharassas Cycle. But I’ll let him tell you about it. (That’s what press kits are for, isn’t it? 🙂 )
A GUARD AND A THIEF. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
Aik has fallen hopelessly in love with his best friend. But Raven’s a thief, which makes things… complicated. Oh, and Raven has just been kidnapped by a dragon.
Now Aik is off on a quest of his own, to hunt down the foul beast and make them give back his … friend? Lover? Soulmate? The whole not-knowing thing just makes everything harder.
Meanwhile, the world of Tharassas is falling apart, besieged by earthquakes, floods, and strange creatures no one has ever seen before. Aik’s ex, Silya has gone back to Gullton to do try to save her people as the Hencha Queen, and Aik’s stuck in a caravan with her mother and a damnable magical gauntlet that won’t let him be. He has to find Raven, before it’s too late.
Things were messy before, but now they’re much, much worse.
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.
Both the prequel and book one are on sale for just 99¢:
He has to be here. Aik searched frantically through Raven’s pack as the early morning sunlight slipped across the stone windowsill and across the floor, a long, green-tinged ray of light.
He was anxious to be on his way after Raven. His heart was pounding, his thoughts skipping like a spinning stone off hard waters. No one else was awake yet, as far as he could tell, and he wanted to be in and out of the room before anyone was the wiser. Aik glanced at the unmade bed and blushed at what they’d done there the night before. He could still feel Raven’s touch, their bodies entwined….
The sooner he set off, the sooner Aik could rescue him from those awful creatures. The verent must have coerced him; Raven had all but said so. If he could just find Spin, the little familiar could guide him.
He doesn’t love you.
“Shut up.” Knowing that Raven had chosen the verent over him still burned. And that he didn’t say ‘I love you.’ But surely, he wasn’t allowed to be angry about that in the face of what had happened.
His mind was spinning, looking for answers, scared for his love, returning to old, stupid wounds and weaknesses.
Why?
The question reverberated again and again, but not even Aik knew what he was asking. His panic stripped away reason and maturity, and left him dizzy and afraid.
He got to the bottom of the pack, finding nothing but clothing and some toiletries. Farking hell. Where are you?
He started opening some of the side pouches, checking through each one before tying it closed again. Maybe Raven had taken Spin with him?
“Searching for this?”
He spun around to find Tri’Aya leaning against the doorway, looking as fresh as if she’d just slept ten hours, though she couldn’t have gotten more than four at best. How does she do that?
She held Spin’s silver sphere between two fingers.
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, 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).
First off, after last month and my swearing I wasn’t going to get under somebody else’s deadline again I found a submissions call that was too good to resist. The submission period doesn’t even open until mid-November and ends New Year’s Eve. Two-Thousand-Five-Hundred words in three and a half months. I can swing that. As of today I’m at over 800 words. That’s over 1/5 of what I needto write.
Now on to other stuff.
I’ve kept up with the weekly and monthly flash fictions as well as submitting stuff and I got some unexpected good news; a story I wrote that’s a continuation of one of the weekly flash fiction stories will be published next year in “Schlock! Webzine.” Wow! Didn’t see that coming!
Also, I’ve written up several of the Queer Sci Fi columns (I like having a backlog!) and am reading a book I’ll try to review for the November column. I have about six months worth of columns written or almost written.
I’m also doing a Goodreads/Amazon review of James Moran’s collection “Fear Itself.” I’d ordered a signed copy but after Darryl died he contacted me and said since I was having such a crappy year he would send me the copy for nothing. And he did!
I’ve been writing pretty regularly. Usually at the Riverside Coffee House in the afternoons or at the downtown Public Library usually on the second floor with a view of Exploration Place. I like that. I can take a bottled soda to the Library and I usually order a slice of pie at the Coffee House. Plus, I’m around people for a bit at both places (which I like!) and can shoot the breeze for a bit, especially at the Library where I know a few people. Both places with a spiral bound notebook and ballpoint pen.
I also do some writing in the early morning on “our” bed in my bedroom. I like privacy too. Besides, I don’t feel as alone on that bed as I did in the living room for a while.
Right now I’m doing the writing at 1:45 am on the big bed in my Brother’s basement guest room. I like writing in a house full of family. And I scrolled through some of these earlier reports on the blog. It’s a lot better to do them once a month instead of once a day.
And, as I said, I’m reading. I AM trying to read more. I read a few Kipling stories I hadn’t read yet, I have a stack of books (the TBR pile every writer has!) most of which I bought just to read one story! Also, I’m starting to read Steinbeck’s “Travels With Charley,” the book my Dad gave me ages ago when he’d finished it. I had just bummed through it but now I’m reading it in earnest!
I keep a big list of stuff I need to finish NOW and stuff I can write later, so here are a few of the titles from the “now” and “later” list.
“The Apostle Bird.”
“Wayfaring Stranger”
“The Mad Matzo Party.”
“Me And Eddie Birnbocker In the Grass In the Dark.”
“Hark! Hark! The Mummy Speaks!”
“One Dark Night, In the Middle Of the Day.”
I’m not bragging, I’m goading myself to finish these!
In addition to the review I have the weekly story to finish by Friday and it’s already in my head, so I’ll hop to it!
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 trouble was, Joey Bianchi was just as good as he said he was, and he told everybody that too. He was damn good in the water and won most of the events at the State Collegiate Invitational Swim Meet the College held my Junior Year. Joey had a tanned, toned body, “built like a torpedo with biceps” my buddy ‘Berto had said over coffee. Yeah, Joey had the tan, perfect teeth, wavy dark hair and deep green eyes.
The girls noticed him and I’m sure even the straight guys checked him out. My friends and I weren’t all straight and we all liked looking at him. But we didn’t like listening to him. His every word was about how good a swimmer Joey was, how good Joey was with the ladies, how good-looking Joey was. You get the idea.
Okay, broke the rules but it was just too good to resist! Next week, something from somebody who is NOT me! —-jeff
It was about six in the evening, the Friday before Labor Day Weekend when the car turned onto Millington Street in Wichita.
“You’re just in time, Dad,” I said, looking at the row of cars parked on either side of the street. “Any later and festivities would be underway.”
“Festival! Festival!” cracked my younger brother Nick, in his Star Trek shirt.
“Cut it out,” I said. I’d almost decked him when he’d tried to give me that neck pinch a while back.
“If we’re lucky, we’ll find a parking space and—ahhhh!”
Dad slid the car into the driveway beside my Great-Aunt and Uncle’s RV which was parked on the lawn between the driveway and the hedge.
“Okay! Everybody out!” Dad said. “We’ll grab the bags later.”
“Sure!” I said. “Hey, Uncle Randy!”
“Hey guys,” my Uncle said, looking tall, tanned with hair flecked with grey. “You beat the Labor Day traffic?”
“Yeah, looks like it’s all over your street.” Dad said.
My family had been coming here for Labor Day at this house since my Grandparents had lived there in the nineteen-fifties. Nick and I were born in the early seventies and Uncle Randy lived in the house now with whoever he was married to at the time.
Some of my earliest memories were of driving here and grilling out hot dogs. Even the month after Mom died three years ago, Dad had insisted on coming out here.
“Okay, Bill,” Uncle Randy said. “I, uh, have a surprise for you. We’re not barbecuing until tomorrow, so I thought you might want to go out by yourself…sort of.”
Dad stopped. “A blind date?”
The front door opened. The woman who stepped out wasn’t seriously hot, she looked a lot like someone who taught school, complete with glasses. But she was in jeans, a nice print shirt, curly brown hair that hit her shoulders, I mean I was only fourteen and I had realized I liked guys and hadn’t told anybody but I could tell she was pretty.
They introduced themselves (she was “Maybelle”) but I could tell something had happened; they weren’t taking their eyes off each other.
That was the moment I knew this was going to be real.
“Maybe you two would like to get a cup of coffee?” Uncle Randy said.
“Uh, yeah.” Dad said, looking up surprised. He had been staring at her eyes and smiling. “That would be nice. Uh, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Dad asked her.
They both laughed.
They decided to walk down the street (easier than driving through the traffic jam on Millington) to the old Twin Lakes Shopping Center which was a few blocks away. It was where I used to buy my comic books but now about all they had was storage and a chain coffee shop.
“We’ll see you boys later,” Dad said as they both walked away and waved.
“What’s he doin’? We just got here?” Nick said.
I grinned. “You’ll find out!” I said.
These Days, Dad and Maybelle live in the house on Millington, and we still have the family Labor Day get-together. When we all get up there, Nick on his second wife with five kids and me on my one and only husband and whichever cousins decide to show up, we still grouse about the cars, cook out on the grill and sit out and watch the stars in the late Summer sky.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The title “Roads” was taken from an old Seabury Quinn story. It seemed to fit!
NOTE: The draws for the September 2023 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were; A Comedy, set at A Swim Meet, involving an Empty Box. Here’s what I came up with.—–mike
The trouble was, Joey Bianchi was just as good as he said he was. And he told everybody that too. He was damn good in the water and won most of the events at the State Collegiate Invitational Swim Meet the College held my Junior Year. Joey had a tanned, toned body, “built like a torpedo with biceps” my buddy ‘Berto had said over coffee. Yeah, Joey had the tan, perfect teeth, wavy dark hair and deep green eyes.
The girls noticed him and I’m sure even the straight guys checked him out. My friends and I weren’t all straight and we all liked looking at him. But we didn’t like listening to him. His every word was about how good a swimmer Joey was, how good Joey was with the ladies, how good-looking Joey was. You get the idea.
The day’s events were over and a group of us guys (including Joey) were standing around the University pool shooting the breeze. It was my job to lock up but Joey wasn’t going anywhere; he was bragging about how good he’d done at the first day of the meet and how good he was in general.
“Y’know, nobody’s that good,” said the voice with a slight Oklahoma drawl.
Joey swiveled around with that curled lip Elvis sneer he did and stared at the speaker. He was a kid who barely looked eighteen, but he had on a lanyard with an I. D. on it so I guessed he was. Pale, short blonde hair, built like a high school soccer player wearing swim trunks and a “STATE” t-shirt. He couldn’t have been more than five foot nine.
“You know who I am?” Joey asked. “Who my Father is?”
“Yeah,” the kid said. “Your Dad is that superhero with the Crisis Squad, Mister Ocean.” The kid grinned. “You’re Joey Bigmouth.”
The rest of us were snickering as Joey glowered. Yes, people called him that. Usually not to his face.
“Who the hell are you?” Joey demanded, bending down to get nose to nose with him.
I’ll give this to the kid, he didn’t so much as flinch.
“I’m Si Asphalios,” he said. “They don’t let Freshmen compete but how ‘bout we go for a race across the pool right now?”
Joey glared. “Long way,” he said. Si nodded.
“I’ll leave you behind in my wake,” Joey said. He didn’t like being challenged.
“Hold on a sec,” Si said. “What’ll we play for?”
Gambling was against the College rules but I saw Joey’s eyes dart across the pool.
“Tell ya what, Phallus…” Joey said.
“Asphalios,” Si muttered.
“How ‘bout we play for these?” Joey tugged at the elastic waistband of his swim trunks. “Winner gets both pairs. Loser has to make it back to his car,” he glared at Si “or tricycle, au naturale.” It figured that was the only French Joey knew.
“Deal,” Si said. They didn’t shake hands. Joey pointed at a corner across the pool.
“Go grab that box, Kauffman,” Joey said to me. “We’ll keep the trunks in there so you can hold on to them and give ‘em back to the winner.” As I jogged over to get the box I wondered what I disliked more; Joey taking charge or the way I fell into it. But I was kind of the Junior-In-Charge and so I figured I’d be the responsible one. I brought back the cardboard box which wasn’t that big and may have had the plastic flags they used in it earlier. Empty now.
The two competitors shucked off their trunks and tossed them in the box, trying not to look at them. Si pulled off his shirt and tossed it in too. I tried not to look at Joey.
It was over fast.
I yelled “One-Two-Three-GO!” Both Joey and Si dove into the water. As usual, Joey was sheer poetry, a muscled dynamo leaving a magnificent wake on the surface of the pool. But Si darted underwater moving as fast as a fish I’d seen in the shallows of the lake one summer. Si darted underwater to the other end of the pool and then back to his starting point before Joey even made it to the middle of the pool.
We were all standing there, all but falling over laughing when Si hopped out of the pool, walked over to me, hand extended and calmly said “Trunks, please. Both pair.”
I happily handed Si his and Joey’s trunks and Si’s shirt. He had them on by the time Joey stormed back to our side of the pool and clamored out of the water.
Joey glared at Si. “Gimmie my damn trunks!” Joey growled. Before he could reach him, Si tossed Joey’s trunks to ‘Berto who grinned and ran out the door waving the trunks in the air like a flag, pursued by the angry Joey.
We were all laughing again and I shook Si’s hand and offered to buy him a beer.
“Thanks, but I only drink water,” Si said.
“Oh, and I’m Mark,” I said. “Mark Kauffman.”
“Si Asphalios,” he said. “I’m named after my dad.” He grinned again. “Si is short for Poseidon.”
—end–
Dedication: For L. Sprague De Camp, who used a similar setting, but there’s nothing in the rules about re-using a set! —-mike
authorjeffbaker 