SHAKE HANDS WITH THE NEW YEAR

It's always around this time that I'm reminded of a quaint little poem by William Cullen Bryant called A Song for New Year's Eve, which he penned in the mid-ninteenth century. The first stanza reads: "Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay, -- Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way. Shakes hands, and leaves us here. Oh stay, oh stay, One little hour, and then away."

As I hand the Old Year its well-worn coat and see it to the door, I'm struggling with mixed emotions. My definition of a good year is one in which nobody close to me died and in which, despite the setbacks randomly strewn by life across our path, we finish the year with an overall sense of having made progress in our goals. I'm happy to announce that I can tick both of those boxes for 2011.

We tend to cling to "good years" until the final chime of the clock. We do this, I believe, because the last days, hours, minutes of the departing year represent a port of safety; they are the edge of the diving board before the inertia of time forces its hand against our backs, plunging us forward into the dark waters of the uncharted year ahead.

I wish I could say that I've written consistently all year round, but that would be a fib. As is usual for me, my creativity has come in fits and bursts -- scaled-down versions of the Big Bang, you might say. But these chronic bursts have given birth to some great stories, like rare life-bearing planets scattered and glimmering in an otherwise cold, dark and barren universe.

Three of my pieces (Dirty Laundry, Jacob's Ladder and Things that Grow) have been selected by Stephen Studach for publication in his forthcoming "100 Lightnings" anthology to be published by Paroxysm Press in the new year, which I am absolutely stoked about. Below is the link to Paroxysm Press's home page, for those of you sticky beaks who want to look around: http://www.paroxysmpress.com Jacob's ladder was also published in issue 160 of "Antipodan SF" in October this year. The story featured both in print on AntiSF's e-zine and in its on-line radio program (narrated by yours truley). This was the first time that any of my stories have been beemed from a radio (even if of the internet variety). I must say, that, alone, pretty much made my year! There really is something special about radio; it adds dimension to a story, bringing it to life. I'd love to have a story fully dramatised for radio one day. Something to chew on for now. Here is the link to the story for those of you wishing to read it: http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/10063/20111005-0029/www.antisf.com.au/the-stories/jacobs-ladder.html

And for those of you too lazy to hold your eyes to a computer screen long enough to read a 500 word piece of flash fiction, here is the podcast from the AntiSF Radio show (my story starts at about 22 minutes and 45 seconds into the broadcast): http://antisf.libsyn.com/webpage/the-anti-sf-radio-show-160-alpha

Two of my most favourite creations, Thirty Seconds and Digging for Dandelions, have been published by Black House Comics in issues 3 and 4 of its "After the World" series. These are available now from any good Newsagency, so if you're into zombies and post-apocalyptic mayhem, go grab a copy. This is a really fun universe, and I hope that the opportunity arises for me to romp about in this world in future issues. You can purchase hard copies on-line from Black Boox at: http://www.blackboox.net

Another milestone of 2011 is the acceptance of three more of my stories (Fair's Fair, 2109 and The Milepost Motel) in Shelley Halima's "Night Gypsy: Journey into Darkness" anthology scheduled for release by Indie Gypsy Press in September 2012, just before Halloween. I'm really excited about this one. Here is a link to the promo video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvDc3SMudW4

A peppering of my micro fiction, which I penned between larger works throughout the year, has found its way into "Flashshot". These spicy pieces include Babe in the Woods, What Ails Her, The Kraken's Hand, Dutiful Desolation, The Ties that Blind, Faith Lift, A Trip to the Zoo and You Crack Me Up. I like micro fiction. I think of it as poetry in prose. I'm hoping that one day I'll have enough of these tidbits to put together a collection. If you're after quality daily micro-fiction, then you really should sneak a peek at the "Flashshot" webpage: http://www.gwthomas.org/flashshotindex.htm

This year also saw me return to grass roots with my contribution of Forever and a Day and The Devil You Know to "MicroHorror", an awesome e-zine which was responsible for (or perhaps "guilty of" might be a better phrase) publishing my first story The Chanting in July 2008. It's a cool site full of great stories (all 666 words or less). It's worth visiting and taking a poke around: http://www.microhorror.com/microhorror/category/author/eugene-gramelis

Neighbourhood Watch made its debut in "Apollo's Lyre Magazine" in September of 2011. You can read that story here: http://apollos-lyre.tripod.com/id316.html

Last but not least, Live Girls is slated for publication in "Night to Dawn Magazine" in April 2012. Can't wait. You can keep an eye out for it at: http://bloodredshadow.com/about/night-to-dawn-magazine-and-books/night-to-dawn-magazine-reviews-2

Regrets: one or two ("but then again too few to mention", as the song My Way goes). I would have liked to have had more episodes of "King of Tides" up on the blog, but as you can see from the above, I've had my hands full with other projects. Still, no excuses. I'm hoping to have the next instalment up in early January. So hang loose, it's coming.

In bidding farewell a year that's been kind to us there is always that tiny twang of performance anxiety lingering in the pit of our stomachs, the unspoken thought being, Will we acomplish as much in the New Year? Well here's the sweet truth: the New Year is a blank canvas, yours to fill with sketches or paintings (pick your own metaphoric artist's tool) of epic lanscapes and flights of fancy to your heart's desire. The Old Year has given us all that it can give; the New Year knocks at our door, full of hope and promise ("brand new and still in its wrapper" to swipe a line from one of my own stories).

Let's not keep it waiting in the dark any longer; afterall, it has been waiting our whole lives to greet us. Open the door, shake hands with the New Year, and welcome your new friend into the warm light.

Wishing you and yours a safe festive season and best wishes for what lays ahead (whatever that might be!)

"KING OF TIDES" SERIES BY EUGENE GRAMELIS

PART 3: "FORJOOLEYE"

Luke scrambled to his knees.

Finally, he thought. Help has arrived!

But what Luke saw as he crawled out from beneath their make-shift shelter was not the floodlights of a helicopter or a search-and-rescue plane.

Tendrils of green light erupted in the heavens and streaked silently across the starless night sky, fading to nothing.

He gazed up at this display for a long time, mouth open, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Do you think they're nukes?" a male voice asked.

Startled, Luke turned to find Ronaldo and the girl standing beside him.

"Not sure," Luke admitted. But he doubted that they were. There were hundreds of them, if not thousands; they blazed across the atmosphere, darting randomly in all directions, burning in and out of existence.

Despite the flying grit, the girl's lilac eyes were wide with wonder. Emerald shadows radiated across her upturned face, and her mouth was creased by a smile. She pointed with a tiny finger: "Forjooleye."

Both Luke and Ronaldo turned to each other, surprised. At first they had no idea what she had just said. Then it dawned on Luke that she must think the lights are fireworks and that today is the Fourth of July. If only it really was Forjooleye. This was the first time either of them had heard her speak. She looked up at them and giggled. Her laugh was sweet, melodic and so out of place in their current surrounds.

Then one of the lights grew large, and a strange whistling sound trailed in its wake. It seemed to be headed straight for them.

That's definitely not fireworks, Luke thought. "Run!"

"What?"

"Just run!" Luke repeated. He shoved Ronaldo in the direction of their rusty refuge.

As the wistling sound turned into a supersonic roar, Luke scooped up the girl and dived for cover.

(c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2011

Well, there it is folks: Part 3. The plot thickens. Hope you enjoyed.

WHAT AILS HER?

Hi guys.

Thought I'd let you all know that Flashshot will be featuring my micro-fiction piece"What Ails Her" around the 6th of this month, so if you get the chance please check it out and tell me what you think. Back with more later.

In the meantime, here's the link to today's flashot:

http://www.gwthomas.org/flashshotindex.htm

"100 LIGHTNINGS" UPDATE

Stephen Studach has asked me to spread the word: he is now looking for previously unpublished flash pieces for his 100 Lightnings anthology (Paroxysm Press). He will be accepting submissions until the end of June. Any collection of stories bearing Stephen's stamp of approval is bound to be full of nasty things. So get typing because this is the last call!

For those who'd like further details, here is a link to Paroxysm Press's webpage: http://www.paroxysmpress.com/

EASTER BUNNY: WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE!

I almost feel bad about putting this post up. I'm not sure that I would want my kids to read it, which makes it a good thing that they don't know how to read yet. I hate to put a damper on Easter, but let's face it: you don't come here because of my good looks. You come here so that I can unsettle you a little, perhaps even put a little chill down your spine, so that when you turn the computer off and go back to the real world you'll take nothing for granted. Isn't that why we all come here? To quench our thirst from the same communal watering hole?

Most of us are aware of the religious meaning behind this great holiday; being a good Christian myself, I wish to take nothing away from that. But since I am also a connoisseur of the macabre and bizzare -- like you, my drinking buddy -- I feel duty bound to share with you some Easter trivia about our furry friend the Easter Bunny, the kind that you won't normally hear about while watching those innocent, wholesome cartoons on Easter Sunday morning.

Consider this while you're nibbling away at those chocolate ears:

The origins of the Easter Bunny are pre-Christian and date back to the pagan holiday of "Ostara", which celebrated the re-birth of nature and fertility; the rabbit has been revered as a symbol of fertility since ancient times.

90 million chocolate Easter bunnies are reportedly produced each year. In 2000 Americans spent nearly $1.9 billion on Easter candy while Halloween sales were nearly $2 billion, Christmas $1.4 billion and Valentines Day just over $1 billion.

The world record for the largest chocolate bunny appears to have been set in South Africa by artist Harry Johnson. The bunny was 3.82 metres tall (12 feet, 5 inches) and weighed more than 3 tons (2,721 Kilos).

The record for the oldest living rabbit is apparently held by a bunny called Heather who is believed to be between 15 and 16 years old.

The lugholes of Nipper's Geronimo, said to be the rabbit with the world's longest ears, measured in at 79 cm (31.125 inches).

An early pregnancy test developed in 1927 was called "the Rabbit test". Rabbits would be injected with a woman's urine. The rabbit's ovaries would then be examined a few days later for any hormonal changes. This gave rise to the phrase "the Rabbit died" as a referrence to a positive pregnancy test. However, the reality was that all rabbits died during this test because they had to be surgically opened during the examination of their ovaries. In 1978 a motion picture was released called "Rabbit Test". It was a comedy starring Billy Crystal about the world's first pregnant man.

Rabbits are not native to Australia. The first rabbits were introduced down under by Thomas Austin in 1859 for sporting hunters. Farmers have been cursing his name ever since. Rabbits have increased to plague proportions in many parts of the Great Southern Land. They're considered vermin, and have had a devastating affect on the local ecology, including being responsible for erosion and the loss of some native plant species. Every attempt is made to cull these illegal aliens. The government has even gone to the extent of waging biological warefare against this proliferate enemy by releasing diseases specifically engineered by scientists to wipe them out (the rabbits, not the scientists), with moderate success.

Millions of Rabbits are tortured and killed each year in laboratories in animal testing and experimentation by scientific institutions, the military, private sector companies, and agricultural organizations.

The killing of rabbits for their fur is the fastest growing part of the global fur trade with an estimated 50 million animals slaughtered worldwide each year.

In many countries rabbits are hunted and farmed for food as a staple part of the local diet.

Rabbits have been known to cannibalize their young.

So there you have it. Thanks for joining me for a slurp. Here, let me wipe your chin. You're welcome back any time, as long as you don't mind sharing this watering hole with the sniggering hyenas and the other creatures that crawl to the water's edge on their fat swollen bellies at sun down to fill them up. And remember: the drinks are always on me!

Hope I haven't ruined your perception of the Easter Bunny too much.

Now go to bed, and maybe, if you've been a good boy or girl, you might feel the Easter Bunny's whiskers tickling your wam cheeks in the middle of the night when it comes to bring you a basket of goodies.

It's still a cute, fluffy critter with buck teeth and pink eyes.

VERY pink eyes!

"KING OF TIDES" SERIES BY EUGENE GRAMELIS

PART 2: "STRANGE FIRE"

"I don't think I can go any further."

Luke gazed over his shoulder and saw that Renaldo had come to a dead stop about fifteen feet behind him; the girl had fallen asleep on Renaldo's shoulders. Their conjoined silhouettes resembled that of a tall, humanoid squid monster emerging from the haze that seemed to ouze from the sky and trickle down the walls of the Earth like an eerie, dark-purple drape.

"Here, I'll take her," Luke offered.

"It's not that," Renaldo said, his voice thinned out by the wind. "I can't go any further." He had threatened to stop before, but this time there seemed to be an air of finality in the tone of his voice.

Luke raised an arm to shield his eyes from the flying grit and ash. This wind had teeth, and they were snapping at his face. The screen on his wrist watch was cracked. It wasn't working. Hadn't since the accident. And Renaldo didn't wear one.

It felt like they'd been trudging through this quagmire for something like five or six hours. That would put the time somewhere between 8 and 9 p.m. No wonder his legs were turning to jello. And to top things off, he was wet, cold to the bone and hungry. Really hungry. This was as far as they would be going for now.

Fighting the sludge, Luke ambled back to where Renaldo was standing; he took long deliberate strides as if he were wearing snow shoes instead of Nikes. Renaldo had gone from star pitcher of the East Boston Catholic Boys sophomore baseball team to a haggard old man in the space of a few hours.

Luke shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground then reached up and gently took the girl from her perch. They didn't know her name. She hadn't spoken since they'd found her. Grey ash powdered her wet golden hair, like snow on the hood of a car. The girl awoke at Luke's touch and blinked her strange lilac eyes. She looked around her for a moment as if hopeful that she had woken up to a bad dream and that whatever she had been dreaming about moments earlier was the true reality. The girl went willingly into Luke's arms.

An instant look of relief washed over Renaldo as he fell to his knees.

Luke sat the girl on the backpack. "Stay here for a bit," he said. She was reluctant at first, and it took more than one attempt to get her to unlace her small hands from around his neck. "I'm going to have a quick look around," Luke said to Renaldo.

Panic flared in Renaldo's eyes. "In this visibility? You'll get lost!"

"I won't go far. Just up to that dune. If we lose sight of each other, call out. I'll follow your voice back. See? All those years of boy scouts are finally paying off. My dad would be proud." The thought of his dad brought a painful twang to his stomach. He was probably dead, too. He quickly pushed the thought away.

Renaldo nodded. A bruise had developed on his brow where his head had struck the seat in front of him when the bus had flipped. As Luke trudged off Renaldo lay down, his body making a snow angel in the wet ash.

***

From his vantage point atop of the dune Luke made a mental note of what he could make out of the topography. Thanks to the perpetual darkness and ash-blizzard, that wasn't much. It was the same story in every direction. Except for the ribbon of smoke, which stood out as a curly black smear against the magenta-coloured horizon. It seemed a little closer now but sill hopelessly out of reach. On his way back, Luke almost fell over a long rusty sheet of corrugated iron roofing, half-burried in sand and ash. It was too heavy for Luke to carry on his own, so he pulled it out and poked it into the ground like a post, where it flapped in the wind and made a sound not unlike a traditional country instrument Luke had once heard accompanied by a banjo. That would make it easier to spot.

***

When Luke got back to Renaldo and the girl he told them about a natural trench-like depression he had come across at the foot of the dune. They managed to find it again, thanks to Luke's musical sign post, and used the sheet of corrugated iron to hole themselves up for the night. The sheet had a fair-sized hole in one end, and their makshift shelter was open on two sides, but it held the wind at bay and kept most of the horrid ash-rain out.

***

They passed around the last of Luke's Gatorade and the half packet of Memento Mints Luke found at the bottom of his backpack then huddled together, sharing body heat. They listened to each other's breathing and to the low whine of the wind outside the trench. No one spoke about what they would do come morning. Maybe because they were too exhausted. Maybe because they didn't have a clue. Luke's eyelids began to sag. His bones ached. He had never felt this tired and this hungry before in all his life. He wanted to sleep. He wanted the weirdness to go away. He wanted his old life back. He wanted to wake up in his warm bed, to see the jasmine vines growing along his bedroom window instead of the starless, oily plum of a canopy that was visible through the rusty hole in the iron sheet.

Ronaldo was snoring now. The girl had curled up into a ball between them and had fallen asleep with her thumb in her mouth. Luke was also starting to drift off when a burst of green light erupted overhead.

Suddenly, the night sky was alight with strange fire.

(c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2011

***

Hope you enjoyed the long-awaited second instalment of my "King of Tides" series. I apologies to my readers for taking so long to put it up. Hope it was worth the wait, and I will do my best to make sure Part 3 doesn't take as long. Feedback and comments are appreciated.