"…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: [LINK]
This week, an exciting preview of a story I haven’t been able to sel…I mean, a hitherto unpublished story of mine. The gay protagonist of “The Moon on the Breast of the New-Fallen Snow” mirrors what happened to an out Gay College friend of mine who moved out of the dorm because of some harassment (somebody smashed a melon and some other fruit against his door.
He moves in with Merle, a platonic friend, in Merle’s off-campus apartment and things get a little weird. Okay, a LOT weird.(Oh, and the club he mentions was a real place back in the 1980s.)
Maybe nothing would have happened if we hadn’t held the New Year’s Eve party, nothing big, just a few friends from school who had no place else to go. I knew Travis from my one journalism class and Chris, I think, had a thing for Merle. As a matter of fact I had met Merle for the first time when Travis and Chris had dragged me to Fantasy, the big gay club in town. Travis and Chris were out, I mean really out, I was kind of out. A few days later I saw Merle on campus and we struck up a conversation and the friendship kept going. And we both agreed that Chris could be a pest who acted like he was about thirteen years old.
Here’s the aftermath of the party: after he sees something very strange in the moonlight:
In the morning I found Travis and Chris asleep under a blanket on the floor. I checked the fridge for milk and wondered if Merle ever stocked the fridge with raw meat to eat after he changed. Not for one minute did I think I’d imagined it. Especially after the wary glance Merle gave me when he came out of his bedroom. Neither of us had to work that day so we grabbed some more beer when we dropped Chris and Travis off. Then we sat down and I flat out asked him about his being a werewolf.
Fiona Glass has done me the kindness of saying some very nice things about my Halloween poem “Halloween 2020” which is up now on RoM/Mantic Reads. It’s spooky in a different way.
Lonnie Magruder grinned at the big, carved pumpkin and pulled his jacket around him in the dark.
“How long has it been since we went Trick-Or-Treating, anyway?”
That was George Gordy, Lonnie’s best friend. The two of them were walking down the street from the houses they’d grown up in. Now they were in college.
“Probably sixth grade,” Lonnie said. He was the taller of the two with brown hair. “A million years ago.”
“And when’s the last time we went to a Halloween party?” George asked with a grin. He was shorter, a little chubbier with reddish-blonde hair.
“Together? Mmmmmmmm, probably Junior High. The one at the old Community Center.”
“Too bad you can’t pull off the same costume you did then!” George said laughing. “You got third prize as the Wolfman.”
“Yeah, just they didn’t know it was real!” Lonnie said. “Moon’s waning, so it isn’t gonna make me grow any extra hair tonight. Besides it won’t rise till a lot later.”
“You’ve still got Moonrise and Moonset pretty memorized, huh?” George said.
“Yup. Since I was a kid.” Lonnie said. “Used to have it hung in my room and taped to the folks’ refrigerator. Now, I got it on my phone.”
“I’m just amazed nobody else found out,” George said.
“Long as I shave and stay away from social functions when the Moon’s full.” He laughed. “But I crashed this Halloween birthday party a couple of years ago. Necked with this girl in the garden as the Moon came up and I grew a bunch of hair. She thought it was cool!”
Lonnie stopped for a minute.
“You know, it just hit me…I may have been named after Lon Chaney!” Lonnie said.
“You’ll have to ask your folks!” George said.
The Werewolf gene had skipped a generation and was fairly diluted by the time it got to Lonnie. His Dad wasn’t affected but Lonnie’s Grandmother had actually turned into a wolf when the Moon was full. They had a picture of Lonnie’s Granddad sitting happily in an overstuffed chair, what looked like a big dog happily curled at his feet. A bit chauvinistic but very sweet.
“Speaking of necking, how are we gonna do this?” George asked.
“Play it cool, ‘bro.” Lonnie said. “I’ll just be happy with a couple of glasses of punch and a sandwich.”
“No beer?” George said prankishly. “You know, Silver Bullet?”
“Not funny,” Lonnie said with a smile. “No, after the long week I’ve had I just want to kick back.”
A couple of kids dashed past them in costume carrying bags.
“Remember when we used to do that?” George said.
“When everybody used to do that,” Lonnie said. “Before most of it went to the mall or something.”
“Remember malls?” George said.”
“Yeah, but we’re old.” Lonnie said.
The house was around the corner, big with a lit pumpkin on the porch and an open door, promising a calm evening for old friends and kids of old friends.
“Hey, Happy Halloween!” George said.
“Yeah,” Lonnie said with a grin. Then he threw back his head and let out a howl.
The two young men laughed as they headed up the porch steps past the glowing pumpkin.
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
8.) Sometimes, when you haul a can of gasoline upstairs to the Spanish doctor guy your Aunt rents the room to, you find he’s kind of hot, too.
9.) Some people are crazy enough to have their own gas-powered air-conditioner in their room to keep their room really, really cool. But sane enough to pipe the exhaust outside.
12) Be honest about your inability to fix a broken air-conditioner, especially a jury-rigged air-conditioner with the guy in the bathroom swearing in Spanish.
13.) When your Aunt offers you money to go get a lot of ice, say yes.
14.) Strange doctor disappears from your Aunt’s apartment, play dumb when the police come over.
The world went haywire just before the game was supposed to start.
I’d won the tickets and had driven all night from Albuquerque, sleeping in my old Woodie station wagon and was sitting in the upper deck at Candlestick there in San Francisco waiting for Game Three of the World Series to start. I’d just lost my job and didn’t have a lot to loose. Besides, my Mom’s Uncle had played for both teams a century ago when they’d been on the East Coast. The Philadelphia Athletics they’d been called back then. Now, the Giants were playing there in San Francisco and the Oakland A’s were just across the Bay.
Sleeping in the back of the Woodie wasn’t a bad deal. And I’d gotten a prime seat and could see the whole field.
I was shooting the breeze with a couple of guys in our section when I heard and felt the rumble like a bunch of people were stomping their feet on the floor of the upper deck. I looked around and was going to say something when I noticed the shaking and the swaying of some of the lights across the stadium. About that time, the message board displayed gibberish and then went blank.
Behind me, somebody yelled “Earthquake!”
Do tell, I thought.
It wasn’t even a minute when the shaking subsided and a big cheer went up from the crowd.
“This may not be anything to cheer about,” the guy sitting next to me said. He’d told me his name was Mitchell.
A few minutes later I got what he meant. They canceled the game and told everybody to leave “in a calm, orderly fashion.”
While we were waiting to get out of the stadium, the guy pointed up toward the top of the stadium.
“See?” He said. “I knew that felt pretty bad.”
There was smoke rising from beyond the stadium. Ar first I thought it was in the parking lot, but no.
We finally made it out to the parking lot and my Woodie. I remembered he’d said something about springing for a cab to the stadium, so I asked Mitchell if he needed a lift home.
“Sure,” he said. “Do you usually give rides to total strangers during earthquakes?”
“Only in October,” I said with a grin.
“I live a ways away from here,” he said. “Where are you staying in town?”
“Right here,” I said patting the Woodie. “I kind of bailed from everything to come here. No job anymore so I said what the hey?”
“I live over in Fremont,” Mitchell said. “You really want to drive that far?”
“I got no place else to go,” I said with a shrug.
It might not have been the smartest thing to do, driving someone I’d just met home but this was no ordinary night. While we waited to get out of the parking lot, we listened to the radio and heard more about the damage citywide and in Oakland. Bridges collapsed. People killed.
Needless to say, we stuck to the regular roads.
We saw a lot that night. Buildings in rubble, power out all over. People getting around using flashlights. A civilian, not a cop, directing traffic at an intersection where the lights were off and people following his instructions. People helping people like it was one big neighborhood.
We stopped to help a few places ourselves.
We did a lot of talking on the trip in the Woodie. A lot.
It was around One-thirty in the morning and dark when we arrived at Mitchell’s apartment. At least the lights were on in Fremont.
“Just let me stay out here in the parking lot,” I said.
“Parking lot, nothing!” Mitchell said. “I got a couch and some extra pillows. And a blanket.”
I nodded smiling.
He unlocked the apartment door, turned around and looked into my eyes. I came this close to kissing him.
I stayed on the couch that night. He slept in his bedroom.
But I did wind up staying in Fremont.
I guess that’s one way to meet a boyfriend!
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The October 17, 1989 earthquake hit the Bay Area during game three of the World Series. The casualty list would have been a lot longer if people hadn’t been home watching the game or at the stadium instead of on the streets. My thanks to my friends who have shared their memories of that day. This story is for you.
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. For this week, a story by the great Clive Barker, back when he was a young master of darkness. In fact I first read this story in Dennis Etchison’s fine anthology “Masters of Darkness” where horror writers select a story of their own they regard as special. Barker selected his “In the Hills, the Cities” which he said his editors hadn’t liked but he did.
So do I.
It wasn’t until the first week of the Yugoslavian trip that Mick discovered what a political bigot he’d chosen as a lover. Certainly he’d been warned. One of the queens at the baths had told him that Judd was to the right of Attila the Hun, but the man had been one of Judd’s ex-affairs, and Mick had presumed there was more spite than perception in the character assassination.
If only he’d listened. Then he wouldn’t be driving along an interminable road in a Volkswagen that suddenly seemed the size of a coffin, listening to Judd’s views on Soviet expansionism. Jesus, he was so boring.
Sounds pretty contemporary, doesn’t it? Here’s a little more of the story (stretching that line limit a bit)
It was not until their trip—that endless, motiveless caravan through the graveyards of mid-European culture—that Judd realized what a political lightweight he had in Mick. The guy showed precious little interest in the economics or the politics of the countries they passed through. He registered indifference to the full facts behind the Italian situation and yawned, yes yawned, when Judd tried (and failed) to debate the Russian threat to world peace. He had to face the bitter truth: Mick was a queen, there was no other word for him. All right, perhaps he didn’t mince or wear jewelry to excess, but he was a queen nevertheless, happy to wallow in a dreamworld of early Renaissance frescoes and Yugoslavian icons. The complexities, the contradictions, even the agonies that made those cultures blossom and wither were just tiresome to him. His mind was no deeper than his looks; he was a well-groomed nobody.
Some honeymoon.
Again, sounds pretty contemporary for a story from 1984, doesn’t it? I’ll be back next week! See you then!——jeff
Andrew Dominski puffed out the words in rhythm as he jogged along. He wasn’t at the front of the group but he wasn’t bringing up the rear, either.
He let his gaze wander down the road; he could just make out the top of a familiar building over the trees. Yeah, the old Alma Mater.
He had to have been crazy entering his College’s “Run-A-Thon,” but it was for scholarships. Besides, he’d turned down the High School coach when he wanted Andrew for the track team and never tried out for the one in college.
He kept jogging on, feeling the pavement pound under his feet. How old was he physically, anyway? Not chronologically, but physically? He could pass for being in his early thirties, he knew
He thought: The Taking had happened when he was about twenty-five. He’d aged about five years over nearly a hundred years being out in space and back in time. He’d been returned about two weeks after he’d left and his aging had been starting up as of a few years ago, albeit very slowly. Within a few years he would probably be aging like everybody else.
Yeah, like any other thirty-something who had been born over fifty years ago.
He thought again: He’d graduated College in 1984, he’d been working at the warehouse outside town early one morning when the spaceship had showed up and the aliens told him they needed someone with his metabolism for an incredibly important mission “with everything at stake.”
The job was going nowhere so Andrew had said “yeah.”
What followed was nearly a century of being in outer space and reliving parts of Earth’s history during the nineteenth century. Twice in some cases.
It was when he’d been in space he realized he had outlived his folks and probably most of his friends. He’d cried a lot for a few weeks.
He shook the memory out of his head. When it was all over, he’d been returned to Earth, just two weeks after he’d left. He wasn’t sure his folks believed him but he didn’t care. He’d never expected to see them again and he’d broken down in front of them and hugged them. They’d thought he’d been kidnapped. He had to find another job though, but he didn’t mind.
When you’ve been through what he had the world looked different, and the little things either didn’t matter or they were wonderful.
He looked at the runners ahead of him. He smiled. Just the kind of athletic guys he’d have checked out in college.
They were coming up towards the finish line in front of the college, by the old brick Administration building and the old Gymnasium. A bunch of spectators were standing in the early-afternoon sun on both sides of the finishing line. Somebody had already broken the tape and several of the first group of runners who’d crossed the finish line were lounging or collapsing on the grass.
Andrew heard something familiar. Over the other cheers and applause of the crowd was a familiar name: “An-Drew! An-Drew!”
His Mom and Dad, almost in their eighties were standing at the front of the crowd cheering him.
Andrew grinned broadly and put on a last burst of speed.
He glanced down at the number they’d handed him: 42.
He suddenly remembered—wasn’t that the number they used in that Hitchhiker In the Galaxy show?
Andrew was laughing as he crossed the finish line.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
I hadn’t expected to write another story about Andrew Dominski, one time time-traveling space agent but this one just popped into being. His first appearance, at his school reunion, can be read here: https://authorjeffbaker.com/2021/02/26/long-time-no-see-friday-flash-fics-by-jeff-baker-february-26-2021/ I wrote the original story after stopping in at my old school and thinking “It feels like a hundred years since I went here.” —–jeff
Presenting the latest anthology from Queer Sci Fi: “Clarity.”
Stories from the 2022 QSF Flash Fiction contest, all stories 300 words or less, all dealing in some way with the theme of “Clarity.”
Stories by authors like Steve Rasnic Tem and Mere Rain among others.
As someone who knows his way around a good flash fiction story I can vouch that crafting one is not easy. The writers here rose to the challenge.
It’s excellent, as are the other anthologies in this series: Bite-sized tales of fantasy, science-fiction, horror, the paranormal and a dash or two of romance thrown in for good measure.
Four definitions to inspire writers around the world and an unlimited number of possible stories to tell:
1) Coherent and intelligible
2) Transparent or pure
3) Attaining certainty about something
4) Easy to see or hear
Clarity features 300-word speculative flash fiction stories from across the rainbow spectrum, from the minds of the writers of Queer Sci Fi.
Series Blurb:
Every year, Queer Sci Fi runs a one-word theme contest for 300 word flash fiction stories, and then we choose 120 of the best for our annual anthology.
Non-Exclusive Excerpt:
From the Foreword
It’s hard to tell a story in just 300 words, so it’s only fair that I limit this foreword to exactly 300 words, too. This year, 312 writers took the challenge, with stories across the queer spectrum. The contest rules are simple. Submit a complete, well-written Ink-themed 300 word sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal or horror story with LGBTQ+ characters.
For our ninth year and eighth anthology, we chose the theme “Clarity.” The interpretations run from an “Aha!” moment to the bubbling laughter of water to a private, life-changing realization. There are little jokes, big surprises, and future prognostications that will make your head spin.
I’m proud that this collection includes many colors of the LGBTQ+ (or QUILTBAG, if you prefer) universe—lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, queer, and asexual characters populate these pages—our most diverse contest yet. There’s a bit of romance, too—and a number of stories solidly on the “mainstream” side. Flash fiction is short, fun, and easy to read. You may not fall in love with every story—in fact, you probably won’t. But if you don’t like one, just move on to the next, and you’re sure to find some bite-sized morsels of flash fiction goodness. There are so many good stories in here—choose your own favorites.
We chose three winning stories, fiver judges’ choice picks, and one director’s pick, all marked in the text. Thanks to our judges—Angel Martinez, B.A. Brock, Ava Kelly, Lexi Ander, and J.M. Dabney—for selflessly giving their time, love, and energy to this project. And to Ryane Chatman too, for editing.
At Queer Sci Fi, we’re building a community of writers and readers who want a little rainbow in their speculative fiction. Join us and submit a story of your own next time!
Allan Dyen-Shapiro – Oysters and Other Slimy Creatures
Alma Nilsson – Meet Me at the South Gate
Amanda Meuwissen – Willows
Andrea Stanet – Bathtub Gin
Anne Smith – A Glimpse
Anton Kukal – Detonation
Antonia Aquilante – Through the Glass
Avery Vanderlyle – Taking the Plunge
Barbara Krasnoff – Age Cannot Wither Her
Beáta Fülöp – The Unicorn Handler
Belinda McBride – The Choice
Blaine D. Arden – No Crime Unseen
C.T. Phipps – The Chase Was Enough
Camryn Burke – Burden of the Blurred
Caro Soles – The Truth Sayer
Catherine Yeates – Outpouring
Chloe Schaefer – Matthias
Crysta Coburn – The Ghost Maid
D.M. Rasch – Crystal Clear
Daria Richter – Make Me Real
Darrell Z. Grizzle – The Vampire and the Werewolf Priest
David Viner – The Best Solution
Derwin Mak – Software Update
Devon Widmer – Post-Apocalyptic Goo
Drew Baker – The Only Question I Could Ask
E. W. Murks – Earth Day
Elizabeth Hawxhurst – Inflection Point
Emmy Eui – Sunset
Gina Storm Grant – Clearing the Heir
Ginger Streusel – Lovers’ Letters
Gordon Bonnet – Refraction
Isa Reneman – The Furthest Horizon
Isabel McKeough – The Art of Not Blowing Up
Isobel Granby – Sea-Glass
Izzy Tyack – Magically Induced Clarity
J Sigel – Hindsight
J.S. Gariety – Bloom
Jaime Munn – Impulse
James Dunham – Brain of Theseus
Jamie Lackey – The Cursed Princess
Jamie Sands – Remote Working Gothic
Jana Denardo – Unexpected
Jane Suen – Bowls of Steaming Noodles
Jason Sárközi-Forfinski – ACAB
Jaymie Wagner – Harmony
Jendayi Brooks-Flemister – Heartsbeats
Jennifer Haskin – Cold Conviction
Jess Nevins – Stagecoach Mary Versus the Ghost of Cascade
Joe DeRouen – The World Around Her
Jordan Ulibarri – Franklin
Josie Kirkwood – The Blue Capsule Experience
Julie Bozza – Verity
K.L. Noone – The Unicorn’s Knight
K.S. Murphy – Looped
Kaje Harper – Beneath the Surface
Kayleigh Skye – Blue
Kim Fielding – Shared Language
Kiya Nicoll – The Satyr and the Wishing Pond
Kora Knight – Sunrise
Kris Jacen – Visus
Krystle Matar – My Poppy Fields Are Burning
Lloyd A. Meeker – Ruti’s Prayer
Lori Alden Holuta – Magic Mirror
M. X. Kelly – Muddy the Waters
Marie Victoria Robertson – As Foretold
Mary Kuna – Late Bloomer
Megan Baffoe – Ribbon Thread
Megan Diedericks – The Closet is Made of Mahogany
Megan Hippler – The Gift
Mere Rain – With Clear Eyes
Minerva Cerridwen – Secundum Artem
Monique Cuillerier – Through This Window
Nathan Alling Long – The Shadow of Doubt
Nathaniel Taff – The Gauntlet
Nicole Dennis – Orange Dust
Oskar Leonard – Murcorpio
Patricia Loofbourrow – There’s Something Weird About Joe
Phoebe Ching – The Killer Cupid
R.L. Merrill – The Sitter
Rainie Zenith – Crystal Clear
Raven Oak – Wrinkled
Rdp – Alice!
RE Andeen – Male Female Nonbinary Other
RE Carr – A Woman’s Reward
Rie Sheridan Rose – The Night Witch
Rin Sparrow – Never Alone
RL Mosswood – A Trick of the Nerves
RoAnna Sylver – The Face in the Mirror
Rob Bliss – PSI Ecstasy
Rory Ni Coileain – One Night in Troy
Sacchi Green – The Star Beast
Sage HN – Impact
Scott Jenson – Cycles
Sheryl Hayes – A Smoking Hot Proposal
Shirley Meier – Upon Reflection
SI CLARKE – If the Shoe Fits
Siri Paulson – Blood and Water
Stacy Noe – Demons Need Love Too
Stephen B. Pearl – Sad Reality
Stephen Dedman – Through a Glass Clearly
Steve Fuson – Translucent
Steve Rasnic Tem – The Man in the Mirror
T.J. Reed – New Memories
Terry Poole – A Grey Man
Tori Thompson – A Visage of Home
V. Astor Solomon – Blood Will Show Us Who We Are
W. Dale Jordan – Ascension
Warren Rochelle – Ghosts
William R. Eakin – Overcoming Entropy
Yoyoli – If Deliberate Avoidance Fulfills No Dream
About QSF:
Queer Sci Fi is the brainchild of J. Scott Coatsworth, a blog and website that’s all about LGBT characters in science fiction, fantasy, paranormal and horror fiction. We’re dedicated to promoting the inclusion of LGBT characters in these genres.
We started the site in January of 2014, with the intent to create a community for writers and readers of LGBT-themed speculative fiction. We post regular discussion topics, news, book announcements and reviews. We have an AWESOME Facebook discussion group, and a great admin team – Angel Martinez, Ben Brock, Ryane Chatman, and J. Scott Coatsworth.
Once a year, we put out a call for flash fiction submissions based on a single word theme, and get anywhere between two hundred and four hundred entries. Clarity is our eight annual anthology.
