Sat down about 10:00p.m. and wrote the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge story. Sometime around 1245a.m. I wrote two more; one of them the weekly Friday Flash story. Phew! I have a column and a flash story I’m going to write for Christmas that I want to finish this week.
That’s it for now!
Actually wrote a full story today! Got up early about 5:00a.m., bummed around the web and thought I’d write a bit on the Christmas story I’m planning to post on the web in a couple of weeks. Two hours later I had about 1300 words and a finished story that looked pretty good! Good enough that if I revise it a bit the unsalable story will become marketable and I can send it to a paying market and maybe have it sold for a Christmas issue! Not bad!
That’s about it for now!
On The River
By Jeff Baker
It was hot on the river.
The water was the green of late morning, not yet the gold of afternoon.
Duoaud was grateful for the hat as his strong arms rowed the boat forward. He was not going fast. It was good.
The tall man with the silver carrying case stood on the bank waving. Duoaud dutifully moved the boat over to where the man could get in. He recognized him.
“Hello, Hyew,” he said as the man sat down in the front of the boat. The boat was sturdy, made of firm, old wood. Hyew did not need to indicate the direction; they had been on this route before.
“I feared it would be humid today,” Hyew said, not really paying much attention.
“On those days, I wish I could stay in,” Duoaud said. The cool shade of a tree or a glass in a cool, shady house had an appeal, but he had to make money. His expenses were meager but they included upkeep of his boat. He smiled to himself. There was always the river.
“It’s a nice enough day,” Hyew said, “that in an earlier era I would have walked into work today.”
“In the days before the river expanded across the world, you could have,” Duoaud said.
But then, there would have been no leisurely trip down the river for the two men, the river making them equals for a short while. They heard the lapping of the waves, the sound of the oar, the wind whistling.
Duoaud glanced up and saw the pale Moon in the bright blue sky. He could make out the ridges and the blotches of cities. His passenger could afford to travel there, to live there, to breathe the cool Moon air from the Luna tanks.
Duoaud moved the boat along. No. He had the boat and the river and the payments of his passengers. For him the sky was for looking, not attaining things out of his reach.
Duoaud brought the boat to a stop at the destination. The man paid his coins and left the boat, walking along the stones set evenly on the bank.
Duoaud pushed the boat back into the flow of the river. There would be other passengers. Tonight, maybe there would be fish to catch. Fish to cook over a hot, outdoor fire, beneath the stars.
It was good.
—end—
Haven’t done any real writing for maybe a week. Thanksgiving and general laziness are the culprits. Did find more time to read; various short stories, one novel and parts of a couple other novels I need to finish reading. Read through some story notes of mine and did some more notes and a little research. And tonight, I did write the Friday Flash Fiction story for this week. (We took a break for the holiday!) The story didn’t jell in my head even though I had the basic setup in my head. Then I suddenly thought of doing a riff on Hemmingway! (You can judge for yourself Friday!)
That’s it for now!
‘Nathan Burgoine’s first Y. A. novel “Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks” is another damn good read from this author who is just getting better. It throws a bit of an X-Men curve into a kid’s last days in High School with excellent results.
Cole Tozer is just a few weeks shy of graduating from High School and getting away from the pressures and bullies an openly gay kid faces. Fortunately, he’s had the support of his friends (a mixed bag of out LGBT kids) and some teachers, but then Cole steps through a door and suddenly finds himself miles away; he can teleport. This sudden and unwanted power which he can barely control gives Cole, a meticulous planner, a whole new set of bullet points to work on. (What do you do when you accidentally pop yourself into your school locker and can’t pop out because you need to open the door to do that but can’t from the inside of the locker?)
Add to Cole’s list; finals, mysterious people who are shadowing him and, oh yes, Malik. The cutest guy in school who may just like Cole too! What follows is a blend of fantasy, humor and adventure, all told in Burgoine’s usual fine style. Cole (who narrates the story) comes off as likable and very real.
“Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks” (2018, Bold Strokes Books https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/exit-plans-for-teenage-freaks ) is an excellent read and is highly recommended. And if there is no immediate sequel, anything with Burgoine’s name on it should immediately be snapped up and read.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I posted this a few years ago, and wrote it about twenty years ago for Thanksgiving. Enjoy!
Oh Stately Bird
by Jeff Baker
Oh stately bird
Who is there that does not love you
Our family gathered together, you the centerpiece of the table altar
Old Ben Franklin, I am told
Wanted you as the symbol of our fledgling nation
Not the Eagle.
If things had gone the other way, I cannot imagine us sitting down
To a meal of tough, sinewy Eagle.
Wild, bred, captured, fighting, wandering, independent, forever free.
In many ways, our national symbol you may well be.
–end–
Gobble-Gobble
By Jeff Baker
“Hello? This is special agent Gobbler calling agent Goosey-Loosey. I’ve found Agent Tom Turkey, and it doesn’t look pretty. Yeah, like we figured. Plucked. Stuffed. Cooked. No, not the Pellegrini Boys, not this time. And not B.U.T.T.E.R.B.A.L.L. either. No, I think it was an inside job. Turkey-Lurkey. Yes. I’m having him picked up. What? Why? Easy. Turkey-Lurkey was wearing an apron. Something he wouldn’t have done unless the act was premeditated. Motive? Jealousy, I guess. Tom had all the hens following his wiggling tail…”
—end—
Bragging on myself here, but I did a bunch of writing in the last few hours. Mainly fragments of other stories, the ending for “Summer Job,” my story from the 90s I never really did much on then. Really re-wrote the ending from memory, but I have a synopsis and the characters and am waiting on some background from a friend. Also, wrote a fragment, a scene having two characters in a regular mystery series I’m writing talking about something that happened when they were kids. The talking is happening in about 103 B.C. Also wrote a really short-short Friday Flash Fics story I will post tomorrow!
That’s about it for now!
Okay, I haven’t been posting these lately, but I did do a little more writing than I thought I would! (Been lazy lately!) I finished the QSF column, started another, wrote both the Friday Flash Fics story and the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge story. Nice to have both of those things around! I appreciate the distraction even if it is “not unlike having an English theme hanging over your head for the rest of your life.” (Paraphrasing Charles M. Schultz.) Not really sure when I posted the last of these!
AND I finished a full-length fantasy pulp-type adventure story early this morning (about 3:30a.m. or so) that I’m aiming for Cirsova Magazine when they start accepting submissions again!
What with every messy thing that’s going on, I told myself I wouldn’t get under any big deadlines, so I’m only going to start one longer story; one originally called “Summer Job” which I started in the mid-90s when i was heavily under the influence of Tom Reamy. (I am no Tom Reamy!) I tried to find my handwritten notes and part of the story I’d started, but as it was all just a lengthy prologue, I will ditch that as I remember the setting, the characters and the kicker. I’m probably a better writer now than I was 25 years ago (!!!!) I’ll try to have it done sometime in January, so I’m going to type up the notes tonight.
AND I got my copy of Steven Saylor’s novel “Throne of Caesar.” On that, more anon.
That’s about it for now!
Incident in an Elevator
(A Bryce Going Story)
By Jeff Baker
My hand still smarted under the bandage; at least I only needed stitches and hadn’t cut off anything on the slicer I was using in the back kitchen I was working at. Also, the emergency room doctor didn’t ask too many questions; he believed me when I said I was nineteen and that my name was Bryce Going and I was travelling around the country. Only the last part was true.
When he told me to get upstairs to get a couple of shots, I went. I was just glad nobody asked for my address.
The hospital was being expanded and construction was everywhere, which was probably the reason I needed to get my shots upstairs. Luckily I found my way to the elevator. I’d never liked elevators and I liked this one even less; it was in the original part of the building and had probably been designed by Ben Franklin or something. When I was little I’d liked to run my finger over the rounded button in an old elevator shaped like a globe with ridges but I still didn’t like being in them. And I liked this one even less when it shuddered to a halt and the emergency light went on when the other lights flickered out. I pressed the call button when I heard a noise up above and I looked up to see a panel pulled open and a man in some sort of uniform, complete with a rifle strapped to his back looked down at me.
“Here, take my hand,” he said, reaching down to grab me. I reached out with my unbandaged hand, I thought to fend him off but he was strong enough to pull me up to the top of the elevator. In the dim light of the shaft I noticed a carved stone doorway to one side, not the side the doors opened on.
“We’ve got to go,” the man said. “This way.”
He pulled me through the doorway and we had to crouch down, as it wasn’t very big. The man quickly explained that this was an emergency tunnel that they were closing before the construction exposed their “operation.” I was ready to make a crack about a hospital being a good place for an operation, but I kept my mouth shut. He closed a door behind us and pulled out a flashlight that looked like it had been carved out of wood, but with a lightbulb as we proceeded through the tunnel. After a bit, we could stand up and I realized we were heading downward. We made a few turns and came to another door. We stepped in and I felt a rush of air in the near darkness. We walked on towards a dim light that grew brighter. I could see and feel some carvings on the wall beside me. Just as I was able to make out shadows on a smooth stone wall a distance away, a burly figure stepped into the flashlight beam and held up a hand. His other hand had a mean-looking rifle in it. (To me, all rifles looked mean when they were pointed my way, even by a guy with a broad chest and deep, blue eyes.)
“Who enters the Sanctity of the Cavern?” the figure demanded.
“I, Davhos,” my companion said. “I have brought back our straggler, see?”
Davhos indicated me and I was given the once-over by the big man.
“This is not Imohk!” the man said. “You have brought a stranger here!”
There was a moment of silence. I had the feeling that I was in another world.
“It cannot be helped,” the large man said. “Come.”
We were led further along and I saw a small area with domed, stone buildings and a few people milling about. Davhos began to explain that they were all the descendants of workers on the various buildings and even the subways who had come upon this underground city and had been charged with keeping it alive.
I stared at the people. There clothes seemed to be a jumble of styles, maybe grabbed from clotheslines on forays to the upper world. I realized what I was wearing probably fit in which is why I had been mistaken for their straggler.
“What now?” Davhos asked. “Do we keep him here?”
I wondered for a second: I had been on my own for quite a while and I was getting a little tired of running from place to place. This could be a good home. But I didn’t like that word “keep.”
“We cannot have him here, he must leave!” This came from an old man who had (I was somehow not surprised) a long white beard. “Davhos, you are responsible for this error. Return this one to the surface and find our straggler!”
Davhos bowed and escorted me through a row of domed buildings to a dark side of the vast cavern. There was a long flight of stone steps leading up the cavern wall. Davhos indicated I should go upwards. I looked up and took a deep breath. It was a long way. I started climbing, glancing back once. Davhos was smiling.
“You remind me of my son,” he said. Maybe that was why he watched very carefully to make sure I did leave. The door at the top of the cavern led to a dimly-lit corridor which slanted upward, then to a series of doors which led to a basement room that felt normal. I saw costumes hanging from racks and posters on the wall: a theater.
I closed the door behind me and found my way out of the basement, to the area under the stage. Feeling like the Phantom of the Opera, I crawled up through a trapdoor and headed for an exit.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Cait Gordon’s card draws for the Monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge for November were an urban fantasy, involving a gun, set in a hospital elevator. I’ve written about the wandering Bryce Going (not his real name) before: Out on his own after his parents bail and looking older than sixteen, he realizes that the mid-1970s are no time or place to be even discreetly gay in a youth center, so he runs across the country, stumbling across the weird and unusual. This is his latest adventure.—jsb
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