Jeffrey Ricker's Blog, page 3

Reminder: Virtual Launch Event Tonight (Feb. 16) with Left Bank Books (!!!)

Writing a book and sending it out into the world is always a weird process. It takes so long, by the time it’s released, it doesn’t feel like something I did. I look at the cover and read the words and think, did I write that?

Suffice it to say, I did it with a lot of help, my co-authors, ’Nathan Burgoine and J. Marshall Freeman not least of all. It’s been eight years since my last book came out in print, if you except The Final Decree, which is digital-only. (And still totally worth checking out—that’s a hint to go buy it, by the way. I never said I was subtle.) So, I’m a little out of practice.

(That last book in print, by the way, would be The Unwanted, which is also still totally worth checking out.)

ANYWAY. As of yesterday, Three Left Turns to Nowhere is available, like, literally everywhere. (OK, I’m really misusing the word “literally” in that last sentence. Don’t judge me; you don’t know my life. [Be glad of that.]) I hope you’ll join me this evening, Feb. 16, at 7 p.m. Central Time when ’Nathan, Jonathan, and I will be talking with Shane Mullen from Left Bank Books about our book. Details on how to tune in on Facebook and YouTube are here.

And while you’re at it, you could support a local indie by ordering a copy from Left Bank themselves. They’ve been so supportive of my writing since the very first book in 2009, I couldn’t be more grateful.

Three Left Turns to Nowhere now available at boldstrokesbooks.com

Cover by Inkspiral Design

Happy February! At least, I sure hope it’s happy. We could all use some happy. And speaking of happy (see what I did there), my latest book, Three Left Turns to Nowhere, is available NOW (like, right now) at the Bold Strokes Books webstore. Go there and you can get your hands on it (in print or e-book) before the official release date of Feb. 15. It contains my novella, “Roadside Assistance,” which kicks off the anthology of three linked tales co-written with J. Marshall Freeman and ’Nathan Burgoine.

You like being early, getting a jump on things? Here’s your chance.

What it’s about, you ask? I’m glad you asked!

Three strangers heading to a convention in Toronto are stranded in rural Ontario, where a small town with a subtle kind of magic leads each to discover what he’s been searching for.

Ed Sinclair and his friends get stuck in Hopewell after their car breaks down. It’s snark at first sight when he meets local mechanic Lyn, but while they’re getting under each other’s skin, the town might show them a way into one another’s hearts.

Rome Epstein is out and proud and clueless about love. He’s hosting a giant scavenger hunt at the convention, but ends up in Hopewell. When the town starts leaving him clues for its own scavenger hunt, he discovers a boy who could be the prize he’s been searching for.

Fielding Roy has a gift for seeing the past. His trip to reunite with friends hits an unexpected stop in Hopewell, but a long-lost love letter and two local boys give him a chance to do more than watch the past. This time, Fielding might be able to fix the present.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve had something with my name on it in this way, and it’s a good feeling. I really hope people enjoy it.

Virtual Book Launch for Three Left Turns to Nowhere Tuesday, Feb. 16 at 7 p.m. CT

Cover by Inkspiral Design

Join me on Tuesday, Feb. 16 with my fellow writers J. Marshall Freeman and ’Nathan Burgoine for the virtual launch of our YA book Three Left Turns to Nowhere. Presented by Left Bank Books and hosted by Shane Mullen, the event will stream on Facebook Live and YouTube at 7 p.m. Central Time.

Holy cow, that’s really soon, isn’t it? Find out more details at left-bank.com and mark your calendar!

In case you’ve forgotten (OMG pay attention), here’s what the book’s about:

Three strangers heading to a convention in Toronto are stranded in rural Ontario, where a small town with a subtle kind of magic leads each to discover what he’s been searching for.

Ed Sinclair and his friends get stuck in Hopewell after their car breaks down. It’s snark at first sight when he meets local mechanic Lyn, but while they’re getting under each other’s skin, the town might show them a way into one another’s hearts.

Rome Epstein is out and proud and clueless about love. He’s hosting a giant scavenger hunt at the convention, but ends up in Hopewell. When the town starts leaving him clues for its own scavenger hunt, he discovers a boy who could be the prize he’s been searching for.

Fielding Roy has a gift for seeing the past. His trip to reunite with friends hits an unexpected stop in Hopewell, but a long-lost love letter and two local boys give him a chance to do more than watch the past. This time, Fielding might be able to fix the present.

If for no other reason, tune in and see how many times I can say “um” in a single sentence. (Let me tell you, it’s a lot.)

January Flash Fiction Draw: Convergence

OK, so I’m a little bit late this month with completing the Flash Fiction Draw writing prompt. And this year, as you’ll recall, Jeff Baker is in charge of the prompts. This month’s prompt was for a western, in the Tower of London, including artificial grass.

Well, that’s a doozy. And as always, I took a few liberties. The artificial grass is referenced but not actually seen, and the Tower of London is an object in the distance, along with… well, a few other unusual landmarks.

So, without further ado:

Convergence

The farther the traveler went, the stranger the landscape became. About a mile or so back, the trail had changed to a runner of artificial grass beneath his horse’s hooves. Now, he stopped at the crest of the next rise to get his bearings.

Off in the distance, through the midafternoon heat haze, the Tower of London rose at the top of a hill. Closer still, dominating the broad, flat river valley below, was a giant pyramid on one bank of the river. On the other, a gantry and launch platform atop which stood a sleek rocket, gleaming white in the sun.

They should have reached town by now, and the bank, where the guard shift would be changing and the vault would be at its most vulnerable. Instead, they were… here. Wherever here was.

The traveler’s riding companion came up alongside him. He turned to ask her what she made of this bizarre environment, but the sight of her mount left him speechless. She sat astride a machine that looked like some cross between a silver bicycle and a bird, sleek and angular, that hovered about two feet off the ground.

“What the hell happened to your horse?” he asked when the power of language returned to him.

“That,” she said, leaving with her firearms against the handlebars, “is an excellent question. I have no idea.”

He turned back toward the river valley spread below. “It’s like we’re riding through someone’s imagination, or maybe their dream.”

“If someone’s imagination can turn my horse into this contraption, then we have bigger worries than liberating all that gold from the Central Bank and Trust.”

He rubbed the stubble his chin with one hand before looking over at her again. “Worries… or opportunities?”

She frowned. “How do you mean?”

He nodded toward the scene ahead. “Why steal from the bank when you can steal from royalty? Gold, or gold and crown jewels?”

Slowly, she smiled. “I like the way you think. So, pyramid or tower?”

“It’s farther away, but… tower. Definitely tower.”

She gripped the handlebars and stared forward resolutely. “Let’s ride.”

December Flash Fiction Draw: The Results

Who else threw their hat in the ring and wrote a story for this month’s Flash Fiction Draw, you ask? Well, I’m glad you asked. Here are the folks who came up with a mystery, set in a highway tollbooth, featuring a ray gun:

Guns and Roses by E H TimmsMystery of the Vanished Ray Gun by Jeff Baker

Oh, and mine.

Hope you have a wonderful holiday season and a Happy New Year. Be sure to follow Jeff Baker’s blog to keep up with the Flash Fiction Draw writing prompts next year.

December Flash Fiction Draw: My New Roommate

Sliding into homeplate at the last possible moment (well, not the last possible, but still fairly late in the day), here is my story for the December 2021 Flash Fiction Draw. As you’ll recall, our prompt was for a mystery, set in a highway tollbooth, and featuring a ray gun. I played fast and loose with the particulars, as I tend to.

And we end on a bit of a cliffhanger. Maybe I’ll pick up the thread in a future flash fiction draw story, but those won’t be created by me. For 2022, I’m handing the reins to Jeff Baker, aka Mike Mayak, who’ll be posting them on his blog, as well as his Facebook page and Twitter. Be sure to follow him in the various places and get ready to write. Thanks for picking up the baton, Jeff!

And now, without further ado…

My New Roommate

Curt worked at a tollbooth on the turnpike. He said it was a great job, low-key, no stress. But every morning before he left for work, he put on a shoulder holster and drops what looked like a ray gun into it. Who needs a ray gun if they’re working at a highway tollbooth?

One day, I decided to follow him.

He took the bus to work, which is really kind of funny considering he spent his day taking money from people who drive cars. He didn’t own one. Fortunately, I did. It was a piece of crap, but it ran well enough that I could keep up with a bus.

I remembered the first time I met him, when he answered the ad I placed on Craigslist for a roommate. He had decent references and didn’t seem like a serial killer or an axe murderer. Not that I had ever met either a serial killer or an axe murderer before. I would imagine that, as long as you weren’t ever going to be one of their intended victims, that might work out okay? Unless they tied up the bathroom with disposing of bodies. I guess that would be an issue.

But anyway, Curt wasn’t either of those things. He dressed nice, had a good credit history, and he said he didn’t like loud music, didn’t snore, and didn’t sleepwalk. (There was this one roommate this one time, and he did all three of those things. Sometimes all at the same time. It didn’t work out.)

Curt, though, he had a firm handshake and looked me directly in the eye, although not in an intimidating or salacious way. (Which I guess would also be intimidating.)

I pulled into a gas station parking lot just off the turnpike after the Curt got off the bus. He walked toward the squat government building adjacent to the toll plaza, but then he did a strange thing. He kept walking. Where was he going?

Naturally, I followed. It wasn’t a part of town I was familiar with, and soon we were in a fairly sketchy-looking neighborhood. A lot of boarded up windows and doors with bars on them. A motel that looked like it might be out of business, judging from the algae-stained empty pool out front, but whose neon sign advertised vacancies. A couple sex shops and a burger place that looked like it might sell its double cheeseburgers with a side of botulism.

Curt entered the motel parking lot. He moved with purpose and familiarity, as if he knew exactly where he was going and had in fact gone there many times. What was going on?

I couldn’t pull into the motel parking lot without him clocking me, so I parked around the corner. At least my crappy car blended in with the surroundings. Still, I locked it.

I approached the motel from the side. The cinderblock wall flaked white paint and had no windows. I felt vaguely criminal as I edged toward the corner and peered around toward the back. A few scraggly bushes provided some cover, which was good because Curt was hardly ten yards away, and he was aiming his ray gun at the head of a very frightened looking man in an alien costume.

Was Curt actually an actor? Had I stumbled on the set for a B-grade movie? I could understand why he posed as a tollboth attendant. At least it was steady, reliable work compared to acting.

The man in the alien costume raised his arms—arms that were far too thin for any person I’d ever met—and screeched something that sounded like a record needle being scratched across the surface of an album.

Curt grunted in response. “Look, pal. I don’t care if your entire bloodline is in danger. You can’t stay here. This place isn’t any safer. If these people—“

He waved the ray gun randomly in my direction, and the alien man glanced the same way. When he saw me, he screeched again.

Suddenly, Curt’s gun was leveled at me. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

The alien man screeched again. Curt waved his free hand toward him. “Okay, okay, just get back inside, will you? And don’t even think about going anywhere. We’ll discuss this in a minute.”

As the alien man skittered up the concrete stairwell to the second floor—and by this time, it was pretty obvious that his getup was no costume—Curt approached me slowly, gun still raised. “Okay, this is awkward. Did you follow me?”

“Um.” At some point, I must have raised my hands, but it was still a surprise to see them in the air on either side of my face. “Would you mind not aiming that at me?”

Curt looked down at his hand as if surprised that he had a ray gun at all, much less pointed in my direction. He holstered it.

“Sorry. I totally would not have shot you.”

“It’s real, isn’t it?” I looked up at the cinderblock stairwell. “And so was that alien, wasn’t it?”

Judging from the expression on his face, Curt thought about denying all of it. Then he sighed and put his hands in his hips, glancing at the ground between us.

“Well, this is awkward.”

“If you’re not a tollbooth worker on the turnpike, what do you really do?”

“Oh, I do, but the toll plaza’s a front for my real job.”

“Which is?”

“I’m a recruiter.”

For a second, neither of us said anything, and I clenched my fists in frustration. “Come on, spit it out. It was easier getting your credit history.”

Curt flung his hands up. “You. I’m recruiting you, you idiot.”

Idiot? I crossed my arms. “What do you need an idiot for?”

Again with the sigh. “You’re not an idiot. In fact, we think you’d be perfect for the job.”

“What job? Is this some ‘Men in Black’-level shit? Are you gonna wipe my memory next?”

He rolled his eyes. “Those damn movies. No, but it does involve aliens. Are you interested? I know you hate your job. You’ve complained about it enough.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. In the short time since he moved in, my job had gone from barely tolerable to downright unbearable. I groused about it whenever someone was around to listen. Which was usually Curt.

“What’s the job?” I asked.

He smiled and pulled out a slender, wand-like baton. “It’s easier if I show you.”

I squinted at it as he twisted the base of the baton and the end started to glow. “I was right. This is ‘Men in Black’ stuff.”

Curt gave me duck face and reached for my arm. “Just hold still.”

The wand flared, and the parking lot, the motel, and the rest of the city vanished around us.

And that was when things got really weird.

Flash Fiction Draw for December 2021: The Finale!

As the song asks, how do you measure a year? If I measured it in stress, this year was slightly shorter than 2020, but only slightly. If I measured it in happiness, I’d say I’m pretty damn happy, all things considered.

If we measured it in stories, this would be the 12th and final one for 2021. It’s been my privilege to carry the ball after Cait Gordon and ’Nathan Burgoine did for the past few years, and next year I hope to hand it off to someone in whom it’ll be in good hands.

So, in case you’re new around these parts, the first Monday of every month I create a writing prompt by drawing three cards, each from a different suit, which give us our genre, setting, and a random object to include in the story. Your mission (should you choose to accept it) is to write a 1,000-word (max) story by next Monday, send me the link, and I’ll post a roundup of all the stories created using the prompt.

Here’s what we’ve used so far (grayed out ones have been used):

Card drawnGenreSettingObject1RomanceSpaceshipRay gun2Science FictionRestaurant kitchenKey3Fairy TaleStudio apartment in a big cityHairbrush4HorrorAuditoriumLength of rope5MysterySewerPendant and necklace6ThrillerHighway tollboothPotted plant7ComedyFarm fieldTablet computer8FantasyPawn shopFountain pen9Ghost StoryMarshDecorative pillow10SuspenseTulip fieldVacuum cleanerJCrime CaperTrunk of a carBouquet of rosesQAction/AdventureToolshed / Utility closetA stray sockKHistorical FictionShopping mallSuitcase

And here’s what I drew after shuffling these now very thin stacks of cards:

So! By next Monday your goal is to write a 1,000-word:

mystery,set in a highway tollboothfeaturing a ray gun

Post it somewhere online and send me the link, and next Monday I’ll post a roundup of all the stories.

(And have you noticed that there were 13 cards to shuffle during this year of 12 monthly writing prompts? Obviously, if there hadn’t been 13, December’s prompt would have been a no-brainer after the November draw. But that means there are three cards leftover, which create a nice little bonus prompt should you feel so inclined to write a thriller set in a shopping mall featuring a bouquet of roses sometime. You’re welcome.)

Thanks for coming along on this ride with me through 2021.

November Flash Fiction Draw: The Results

Let’s pretend it’s still Monday, shall we? (Although, let’s not pretend to the point where it feels like we’re reliving Monday because, oof, who would want to?) Anyway, we’re pretending it’s Monday so we can pretend I got this posted in time. (You may sense a running trend here lately.) In case you missed it yesterday, our prompt was for a fantasy story, set on a spaceship, featuring a hairbrush. Yeah, that’s… random. But people came through! Here’s what they wrote:

Let Down Your Hair by E H TimmsThe Bright Silver Saucer in the Meadow by Jeff Baker

Oh, and mine over here.

Thanks for writing along! And if you happen to create a story based on this prompt later, let me know and I’ll add you to the list.

November Flash Fiction Draw: (S)tressed

OK, I’m late getting this posted today, so let’s skip the preamble and get right to it. This month’s prompt was for a fantasy, set on a spaceship, featuring a hairbrush. Fairy tales count as fantasy, right? Well, they do in this case. And if my spaceship from the Explorer Corps seems a little Starfleet-y, you’ll just have to forgive that.

Without further ado…

(S)tressed

It was around the time when the captain woke up with hair down to her feet that she realized something about this star system was not what it seemed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with all this?” Captain Corona grabbed fistfuls of the wavy blond carpet and shook them at her first officer. Already, she’d tripped over the mane twice; once while getting from her bed to the comm panel and then over to her desk, where she sat rifling through drawers when Commander Rider came in.

“And it was like this when you woke up?” he asked.

She nodded, not looking up from her hunt. “I haven’t had hair past my shoulders since I was sixteen years old. This is ridiculous. Ah.”

The captain held up a pair of scissors. Rider took a step back as she headed to the bathroom. She picked up a hairbrush and ran it through one length of hair before drawing it taut near her shoulder and starting to snip away at it with the scissors. The cast-off strands floated to the floor like corn silk. “It practically strangled me when I tried to get out of bed.”

“Well, that’s not the only strange thing that’s happened, Captain. Some of the crew have been transformed.”

She stopped mid-snip. “Transformed? How?”

“Lieutenant Rhodopis in engineering reported to duty this morning in a white ballgown and glass slippers. Ensign Hood was seen running through the corridor on deck five wearing a red cape and being chased by Crewman Ursa who had apparently turned into a wolf. Security had to restrain him.”

“A wolf? How is that possible? Did you alert sickbay?”

Rider nodded. “He’s there now. According to the doctor, he seems to realize who he is and what’s happened to him. He’s… distressed, to say the least.”

“I don’t blame him. Puts this in perspective.” She held up a hank of severed hair before dropping it to the floor. She’d succeeded in cutting most of it into a ragged bob. She handed the scissors to Rider. “If you wouldn’t mind taking care of the back.”

He looked at the scissors uncertainly. “You sure about this, Captain?”

“Just try not to make it too uneven. Ouch—and maybe don’t pull it quite so taut.”

“Sorry. Lieutenant Commander White had been scanning the entire system for evidence of some kind of energy disturbance that might explain all these transformations.”

She turned to look back at him. “‘Had been’?”

“Hold still. Yes, before he was transformed into a white rabbit. A giant white talking rabbit.”

The captain lifted a hand to her forehead. “You realize what’s happening, don’t you?”

Snip, snip. Rider nodded. “Fairy tales and children’s stories. People are being transformed into characters out of the lore we were taught as kids. Which I guess makes you—”

“Rapunzel, yeah. Did Commander White offer any theories before he went furry?”

“Nothing concrete. Just some elevated background radiation levels in the system, possibly due to solar flare activity.”

“Solar flares,” she muttered. “A thousand light years from Earth and we have to worry about nursery rhymes. They didn’t mention this among the risks when I joined the Explorer Corps.”

Rider handed the scissors back and picked up her brush. He ran the bristles through her hair and frowned. “I don’t think Rollins has to worry about me taking his place as ship’s barber… you’ll probably wish you could wear a hat on duty for a while.”

The captain gathered her hair and swiped it into a ponytail. “Thanks, Commander. I’m just glad to have it out of the way.” She headed for the door. “Now, let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on before the rest of the crew turns into something like the Mad Hatter’s tea party and—what the hell.”

Commander Rider entered the corridor to find the captain standing a few paces ahead, hands grasping her once again floor-length hair.

“You have got to be kidding me with this.”

Flash Fiction Draw for November 2021… and someone clearly can’t tell time

True confession: I have a hard time with time. I lose track of it, can’t judge it, and fritter it away. So if you tell me that tomorrow’s the first Monday in November, I’ll believe you.

We’ll both be wrong, of course.

Long story short, this prompt should have been posted last week, but I got my dates mixed up. So, here we are, a little behind, with November’s flash fiction draw writing prompt. If you have no idea what the ham sandwich I’m talking about, the first Monday of every month I create a writing prompt by drawing three cards, each from a different suit, which give us our genre, setting, and a random object to include in the story. Your mission (should you choose to accept it) is to write a 1,000-word (max) story by next Monday, send me the link, and I’ll post a roundup of all the stories created using the prompt.

Here’s what we’ve used so far (grayed out ones have been used):

Card drawnGenreSettingObject1RomanceSpaceshipRay gun2Science FictionRestaurant kitchenKey3Fairy TaleStudio apartment in a big cityHairbrush4HorrorAuditoriumLength of rope5MysterySewerPendant and necklace6ThrillerHighway tollboothPotted plant7ComedyFarm fieldTablet computer8FantasyPawn shopFountain pen9Ghost StoryMarshDecorative pillow10SuspenseTulip fieldVacuum cleanerJCrime CaperTrunk of a carBouquet of rosesQAction/AdventureToolshed / Utility closetA stray sockKHistorical FictionShopping mallSuitcase

And here’s what I drew after shuffling these now very thin stacks of cards:

That means your mission by next Monday is to write:

a fantasy,set on a spaceship,including a hairbrush.

Well, that’s random. But I’m sure you’re up to the task! So, write a 1,000-word story, post it somewhere online by next Monday, and send me the link to it, and I’ll post a roundup of all the stories on Nov. 15.

Which, to be clear, is the third Monday in November. See? I’m learning.