Worked on the Queer Sci-Fi column (about Joanna Russ) last week. Right before deadline. But the last-minute additions only helped, and I got a nice comment on Facebook from a writer who had taken a class from Joanna Russ!
Haven’t written anything in the last few days (working on getting the roof replaced!) but I have started reading Ivanhoe! Never read any Sir Walter Scott.
That’s about it for now!
by Jeff Baker
It’s always nice to have a famous author living in your hometown. Bryan Dietrich lives here in Wichita and teaches at my alma Mater, Newman University. He’s published several books of poetry and has been nominated for a number of awards (including the Pulitzer!) He and Marge Simon have published “The Demeter Diaries,” a collection of poetry telling the story of Dracula and Mina Harker (from Bram Stoker’s novel) in their own words. Appropriately, the collection was a nominee for the Bram Stoker Award. I’ve met Bryan on a couple of occasions and he was kind enough to sign my copy (through the mail, not in person!) Marge Simon (who I have not met!) is likewise no slouch as a writer of prose and poetry; she has a Rhysling Award to her credit!
The book is a dark delight! I highly recommend its blend of romance and dread. (“Demeter,” by the way, is a reference to the ship in Stoker’s novel “Dracula,” a ship you would not want to book passage on as it has some very dark cargo and a very grim passenger.)
Grandfather and the Star-Bird
By Jeff Baker
I must have been about two or three when my Grandmother started telling me the story.
“I was a little girl, like you,” she said. “When the big ship came down from the sky. It almost landed in the rice fields and my Grandmother was furious. The people stepped out of the ship and declared that they were gods.”
Grandmother snorted. “Well, in my village, we knew the Gods and these people weren’t the Gods. Still, we waited to see what they had to offer. It was my Grandfather who went up to speak to them. They were a little taller than he was and wore metal masks, but they were men.”
“Well, the men from the ship told my Grandfather that they needed something to make the Star Bird (as they called it) move. My Grandfather said; ‘Oh, you mean fuel, like for an Ox.’ The men told him what they needed, and after a few moments, my Grandfather realized what it was they were describing, and set out to make a bargain.”
“A bargain for what, Grandma?” I asked.
“Coffee beans,” Grandma said. “Can you imagine? Well, yes you can, you’ve heard your Grandfather after his morning coffee. Anyhow, my Grandmother knew that if they realized how common it was we would get nothing. So the deal was made, the beans procured and the men and their silver ship left.”
And Grandmother smiled and hugged me.
“And someday I will show you and your brother what Grandfather gave me; the gift from the strange men in the Star-Bird.”
—end—
Author’s Note: The draws for September’s Flash Fiction Draw story were a Young Adult story, set in a warehouse, involving a single shoe or boot. Here’s the result.
There Was an Old Woman Who Lived In a Shoe
By Jeff Baker
It was Labor Day Weekend and the Warehouse was closed. All of the Old Town area surrounding it seemed deserted. Scotty and Linc brought the beer, Jo and Laura brought the soda. Chris brought his Dad’s key to the warehouse. Scotty and Laura were making out in the office when they heard the siren. Scotty fumbled for his phone and couldn’t find it. He saw the old clock radio on the desk in the moonlight and switched it on.
The voice crackled from the small speaker.
“Again, we are urging everyone in the city to seek shelter indoors and above all, stay away from animals, including pets. If you’re just joining us, shortly after sunset, packs of roving animals, believed to be feral dogs and cats, began attacking people. Partiers celebrating the holiday were the first targets. The mayor is urging calm…”
“Hey, guys!” Scotty yelled.
“Whaddya want?” Linc’s voice came from the darkened next room.
“You’d better come here and listen to this!” Scotty said.
“Is there a tornado?” Jo’s voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Don’t think so…get back here and listen,” came Linc’s voice.
“It’s something on the news,” Laura said. “Something about roving packs of wild dogs.”
“Hey, where’s Chris?” Scotty asked.
“Probably finishing the last of the beer.” Linc said.
“You guys hear something?” Laura asked.
Scotty heard the scream this time. He jumped up, falling over the wastebasket. In the outer hallway he nearly ran into Jo and Linc, as they rushed out to the main dock of the warehouse.
The four story brick building dated back to 1917 and the old loading dock still had the big wooden door which opened out onto the railroad tracks. Chris’ father remembered unloading crates of produce from trains when he was a kid. Now the tracks trailed into nothing, having been ripped out years ago and the crates were brought in on trucks. Jo and Linc ran up to the big dock door and looked out as the screams started up again. There was a five foot drop to the ground below. Outside in the moonlight they saw Chris cowering against the gate to the parking lot, brandishing a can of beer like a weapon. In the dark pool of shadow in front of Chris the others could see movement. Not quite dogs or cats, but something moved and growled and hissed.
“Chris!” Scotty yelled. Chris turned, his face a mask of pure terror.
Back on the dock, Linc looked around. Jo ran back into the darkness of the warehouse. A moment later she ran back, carrying a tan package of turkey wrapped in plastic.
“Here, open this!” she said. “I found it in the cooler!” A chub of honey-glazed turkey. Scotty’s nail clipper cut open the plastic and Linc grabbed it.
“Here boy! Fetch!” Linc said as he hurled the turkey into the shadow. There was a ravenous tearing sound. Linc jumped down and pulled the terrified Chris over to the dock and pushed him up into the warehouse. He jumped and managed to scramble onto the dock as the snarling and growling became louder. Linc rolled across the concrete floor as Scotty, Laura and Jo slammed and barred the door, just as the ravenous sounds reached the other side.
“You guys okay?” Jo asked.
“Yeah,” Chris managed. “I was sittin’ on the edge of the dock with my beer, trying to get some rock out of my boot and I dropped it down there. I went to pick it up and, and…” he shuddered.
“We’ll grab your other boot later,” Laura said, eying the dock door. “Hey, are the other doors locked? Tight?”
“Yes,” Chris said, calming down but still shaky.
Scotty had ducked back into the office and returned with his cellphone. “Look at what I found,” he said. He started reading from the screen. “Horror on the streets. Vicious creatures prowl cities. Beginning at dusk, East Coast cities were swarmed with creatures attacking men, women and children in the dark. Unconfirmed reports say these are feral animals which have gone berserk for some unknown reason. Speculation puts disease as the cause…” Scotty looked up. “Want me to go on?”
“This started at sunset,” Jo said. “About an hour before sunset in Wichita and it started here. Maybe it will end at sunrise.”
“Maybe,” Chris said. “Maybe not.”
“Let’s stay here for the night,” Linc said. “And when your Dad and the warehouse guys show up in the morning, we’ve got a good explanation for being here…” He grinned. “Sort of.”
“If they show up,” Jo said.
Chris pulled off his remaining boot and stared into it.
“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,” Chris murmured.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is actually a prequel to a story I have synopsized somewhere and need to write. The warehouse was a real place I worked out of in the early 1990s. I think it’s a disco now. (Do they still call them discos?) —–jsb.
The photo is my husband Darryl with his birthday present; a drawing of three very recognizable figures by Brent Silveria, a longtime friend and a fine artist. I am adding a link (maybe in the comments) to his site where he sells his artwork and takes commissions. I am also adding my heartiest and most sincere recommendations (Darryl loved it!) https://brentsilveria.com/?fbclid=IwAR3B7x4W8xW5LHPeSMcRfUy_jb_d4tE675ICoUZcsL1x4AlwrmND9vnw184
Just finished the Friday Flash Fiction story for this week (actually a prequel to another story I haven’t finished!) Also finished the Monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge story for next week which is actually another prequel to another unfinished story!
That’s it for now!
Wrote most of the Flash Fiction Draw story for this month. Actually a prequel to a story I had the idea for about 25 years ago! I have a column and another flash story to do and a longer story I want to get done by the end of the month.
That’s it for now!
You Want Fries With That?
by Jeff Baker
I am sitting outside Dinglehoff’s Bar and Grill with my laptop, on account of they will not let me back in after the incident with the soy sauce when I see the first flying saucer.
I am sitting there on the sidewalk because the light is better and they will let me call in and order take out. They have fries with the best dipping sauce in the world so I do not complain.
So anyway, I am in the middle of the article that is due the next day when I notice the first saucer which has coasted to a stop over the parking lot on the other side of the building right next to the closed battery store. I check on the news website and there is no buzz about it, nor is there any on Facebook, so I crane my neck to see (not wanting to get up, it is only a flying saucer) when the second saucer lands right in front of me with no sound except a “click” when the three metal legs touch the pavement. Hopefully not cracking it, as Mr. Dinglehoff gets very upset when the eighteen-wheelers park there. It is, you will see, not too difficult to upset Mr. Dinglehoff. A few minutes later a tall man exits the ship on a ladder, looking a lot like the ordinary guys you see going to baseball games, wearing (so help me!) a silver suit and walks across the lot to meet up with the other silver-suited man who has exited the other saucer via a similar ladder extending from the ship. They then walk in to Dinglehoff’s.
Now I am just glad the ship did not land one of its metal feet on me (they are about nine feet long and about as wide as the chair I am sitting in) but I am still curious about whether this is the beginning of an alien takeover of Earth. If it is, I figure I need to save the story I am working on and cover this one. A few minutes later, one of the spacemen walks out of the restaurant with Mr. Dinglehoff; points to the spaceship and Mr. Dinglehoff stares up at it open mouthed. They then walk back into the restaurant, and I am starting to write all about the spacemen and describe the size and shape of the saucers and eat the rest of my fries with the last of the sauce.
It is about fifteen minutes later when the two aliens leave the restaurant and return to their respective spaceships, and the spaceships take off a few minutes later with barely a sound and vanish into the sky. I walk over to the restaurant, as I see Mr. Dinglehoff standing there staring upward.
“What did they say? “ I ask. “I’m covering the story for the Daily Beacon,” I explain when he glares at me. He understands the need for good publicity and so he tells me, and I will tell you what he said.
“They were passing by and monitoring our radio broadcasts, heard one of my commercials and got curious,” Mr. Dinglehoff says. “We say that we have the best dipping sauce in the world and they wanted some. So I gave them a complimentary bag of fries and a cup of the sauce and they liked it. So, they placed an order for take out the next time they’re passing by.”
“And when,” I asked, being M. Reporter, “will that be?”
“Middle of next week,” he said. “Hey, that reminds me.” He sticks his head in the door and hollers out to Buddy, Eric and Stephen to call everybody in, saying they will be “working late.”
“What exactly did they order?” I am asking. He shakes his head and sighs.
“One thousand, three hundred and twenty-four orders of fries with sauce,” he said.
“This could be an historic opening in interplanetary relations,” I say. “And you will want good publicity on this story from the reporter on the scene. Shall we continue this interview inside in my old booth?”
He is holding the restaurant door open for me as I walk inside.
—end—
(With apologies to Damon Runyon.)
Wrote about a page worth on the longer story (for the market that opens this Fall!) and wrote up the Friday Flash story.
That’s it for now.
Wrote the weekly flash story on Thursday, wrote about a page and-a-half on the story I’m sending off in Fall (when this market opens up.) Also went through (all) my notebooks, looking for the notes to the story, finally realized it’s from 2018! Found it, including an ending I wrote when I was considering writing this story!
That’s it for now!
authorjeffbaker 