"100 LIGHTNINGS" IS FINALLY HITTING THE SHELVES!

The day has finally arrived, and I have my two contributor's copies in my hot little hands to prove it. 

Ah, there's nothing finer than the smell of freshly drying ink in the morning!

100 Lightnings has been officially launched in Adelaide on 1 April 2016 (yes, that's right, April Fool's Day - a tipping of the hat to the length of time this antho has been in the works) and is now hitting the book shelves. 

The cover looks awesome and the introduction by Stephen sets the scene and mood of the anthology perfectly.

The anthology features three short stories by Yours Truly and is available from Amazon among other book distributors.

So get yours hands on a copy, put on a steaming pot of coffee and find a nice quite nook to sit back and enjoy the great tales just waiting to give you a bit of a shiver and a thing or two to wonder about as you turn the pages. 

Better make sure you're under cover, though... 

There's a storm brewing and there's lightning on the horizon.

CONTINUUM 11: SOUTHERN SKIES

Hi all.

I'm very excited to announce that I'll be in Melbourne this Queen's birthday long-weekend attending the Continuum convention.

I'm honoured to be one of the authors taking part in the "Making Monsters" panel, along side such accomplished writers as Dorian Ellis, Kirstyn McDermott and Amie Kaufman. The panel will be exploring the creation of alien or fantasy non-human animals in fiction, such as dragons, tribbles and monsters - what makes them interesting, compelling and believable.

If this has caught your interest, you can check out the Continuum webpage at http://continuum.org.au

Continuum is an annual Melbourne speculative fiction and pop culture fan convention celebrating creativity across genre and media. From hard-edge science fiction to high-flown fantasy, comic books to film noir, high culture to sub-culture.

This year marks the 11th convention. It will be held at the Ether Conference Centre, 265 Little Bourke Street, Melbourne. 

The "Making Monsters" panel is scheduled for Sunday 7 June 2015 at 5 p.m. If you're planning to attend the convention, make sure to pop in and say hi.   

For now, I'll leave you with this parting thought, a quote from Richard Roxburgh:

"You know honestly I think there's a Dracula, a Wolf Man, and a Frankenstein's Monster in all of us. They are sides of our own character so that's why I think we can relate to them in terms of a 'I know how that feels' kind of thing".

Roxy might have been on to something...kind of thing...don't you think?

Writing Competition - Epic Worlds: A New Adventure!

Howdy Readers.

 
Inkitt has asked me to spread the word: they are searching for the next J.R.R. Tolkien or J.K. Rowling!

What, am I made of glass?
 
Here is their media release regarding their latest writing competition:

Take us to an exciting new place in Inkitt's new Writing Competition - Epic Worlds: A New Adventure!

What is Inkitt?

 

Inkitt is a free writing platform where authors can get creative and watch their stories grow, and they’re opening a new writing contest for entries this spring. Inkitt is a place for writers and readers to collaborate, trade feedback and ideas to improve their work. In the long run, Inkitt’s goal is to help writers get the exposure they deserve and the publishing deals they want without worrying about the impediments and unfairness of traditional printing and self-publishing.

Writing Contest: Epic Worlds - A New Adventure!

 

This month Inkitt’s writing contest is "Epic Worlds: A New Adventure". Take millions of readers on an epic journey with your best fantasy stories. Submit ancient tales about dragons and griffins, or tell your vision of the future through a science fantasy story. Unleash your imagination and show what you've got and write a truly unforgettable fantasy adventure. Write an adventure that Bilbo Baggins would envy, one that enchants and excites, astounds and has everyone on the edge of their seats.

The contest will begin on May 6^th and will close on June 3^nd. It is free to enter and you can submit any fantasy story of up to 15,000 words. As per usual, authors will retain all rights to any work they submit.

 
How to win? Collect the most community votes to get bumped into the top 10% of entries, from there the Inkitt staff will choose the top 3!

Prizes:

1^st place: $100 Cash and 5 printed-and-bound copies of story with cover created by Inkitt’s designer

2^nd place: $50 Cash

 

3rd place: $30 Cash

Get it on the adventure! Enter the competition now and prepare to enter a world of fantastic fantasy where anything is possible! (link)
 

 

 

 

NIGHT GYPSY: JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS - OUT NOW!

Dear All,

I'm pleased to announce that the NIGHT GYPSY: JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS anthology, co-authored by Yours Truly, is out now and available for purchase from Amazon and Barnes & Noble and a number of other booksellers, both in paperback and for Kindle.

 

 

Here is a link to the promotional trailer released by the publishers, Indie Gypsy:

 

View Promotional Trailer

 

Click on any of the links below to download or order a copy:

 

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

iTunes

aLibris

Indie Gypsy

 

Care for a teaser?

 

The Milepost Motel - Reverend Bob returns to the scene of his crime and finds retribution of biblical proportions awaits.

2109 - After being put into a cryogenic tank, a man wakes up and finds out what will keep him alive forever. Will he find Utopia or Hell on Earth?

Fair's Fair - When Bella discovers the truth about the murder of her little brother years before, she sets out to even the score.

                                   This is a customer review from Amazon:

"When I started reading this book, I was not ready for shorts. Shorts is a term I use for short stories. I like my stories full length and full of girth. These bite sized stories delivered more than full sized fun any day hands down and I was shocked. I can't name one story that I didn't like. You won't be unhappy with your choice. However, there are a few stories that I need to see more of, I can't lie about that. Excellent job!"

                                               Thanks for supporting. 

THE NEW YEAR IS HERE!

Welcome everyone to the New Year!

Can you smell that? Smells like promise and opportunity to me!

Just like a ream of fresh paper: a blank canvas ready to fill with wonderful and exciting things.

Lots to report.  Will tell you all about it as soon as I get over my New Year's Eve hangover.

Cheers,

Eugene Gramelis
Sydney, January 2015

"KING OF TIDES" SERIES BY EUGENE GRAMELIS

                                                       
                                                    PART 5: “THE ELLENOR”

When they ventured out of the trench, they were confronted with a setting that had gone from resembling a scene from the 1969 moon landing to looking like something beamed back by the Mars Rover. Craters of all different shapes and sizes pockmarked the desert plain; the ash-drizzle had thinned to a grey-amber fog.

Renaldo looked at Luke, his eyes dull with hopelessness. "Where to?"

Luke motioned toward the curl of dark smoke, which had become a constant feature in an otherwise featureless backdrop. It was still the only real option. Amie sat high on Luke's shoulders, like an exotic princes seated atop her litter. Given that Renaldo had carried her last, it was now Luke’s turn to do the honours. She held him firmly around the ears with clammy fingers.

The trio set off, leaving the safetey of the shelter behind them, and weaved their way between the basins of each impact zone. Renaldo wore Luke’s backpack, using it as a shield, much as Luke had done the previous day, against the gusts of icy wind that battered them from all directions.

A few hundred feet into their journey, Renaldo bent down to pick up what looked like a hefty lump of blackened rock, which stood out against the dirty but lighter sand. Smaller pieces of the same dark-coloured stone peppered the whole area.

“Chunks of meteorite,” Luke confirmed. He thought back to the documentary he had watched with his dad. “I think this is what geologists would call a strewnfield.”

“Cool! It's still warm.” Renaldo hefted the stone up and down in one hand. “A piece of rock from outer space. These might be worth something.”

“Sure,” Luke said, “if there were people around to sell them to.”

Renaldo surveyed the barren plain surrounding them. Point made. He allowed the rock to fall to the ground.

They continued their march in the direction of the column of smoke, like the three wise men (well, technically in this case it was two wise men and one not very talkative girl with spooky eyes) following the star over Bethlehem. There was no sense of time or distance; they could have been walking in circles for all they knew. The hunger in Luke’s belly was now superseded by his thirst.

Finally, the spiral of black smoke grew fat before them and they could see large tendrils of flame just beyond the crest of the next sandbank.

The opaque, ginger-coloured drape that hung over the sky was starting to ripen back to crimson. They would need to find shelter again soon.

Luke paused for a moment to catch his breath. His tongue felt gritty and pasty in his mouth. He put Amie down and she quickly found a new home on Renaldo's back. The muscles in Luke's neck were knotted and tense.

A strange object caught the corner of his eye. It lay on the ground about five feet in front of him. At first he thought that his mind was playing tricks on him, a mirage brought on by a hunger-induced delirium.

It was a fish.

A stinky dead one, but a fish just the same.

Renaldo noticed it also. “What the...”

Luke picked it up by the tail and held it in wonder. There was simply no explanation for this. A fish! Here, in the middle of nowhere!

Luke sniffed at it. Pew! It was at least a couple of days dead, but the lack of sun had slowed the decomposition process.

"What are you thinking?" Renaldo asked.

“I'm thinking we're going to eat it.” Luke waved the fish in front of the pitcher's nose.

"Ergh!.” Renaldo pushed it away. "Not me." 

“Do you see any Seven Eleven stores around?”

“Fishy,” Amie said, lifting her head up listlessly from Renaldo's back and then resting it again, as though finding a fish in the middle of what looked like the Sahara desert was the most normal thing in the world. Renaldo smiled. Luke had told him about his conversation with Amie during the morning, and while Renaldo had not indicated any doubt, seeing (or in this case, hearing) is believing.

Luke opened the backpack, took out his math book, and tore a number of pages from it. He wrapped these around the fish. He’d always dreamed about shredding his school books, but not like this. He tucked both the fish and what was left of his math book into his bag.

Once their luch was safely tucked away, they set off again, scalling the tall crest in front of them. When they got to the top the first thing Luke felt was a blast of heat, and what he saw on the other side made his jaw drop.

It was a huge ship -- a freighter judging by the size of it -- slumped on its side like a fallen giant and engulfed in flames, a juggernaut, roughly a football field in length. The ship lay in a massive pool of oil that seemed to be seeping from a gash in its hull. And it was encircled by sand on all sides as far as the eye could see.

Another object lay half-buried in the sand. Luke pulled it loose. This time it was a red and white life saver, with the words THE ELLENOR printed on it. What was this colossus doing here?

So much for the plume of smoke. Luke turned and looked back in the direction they had come from. Thick cords of fog twisted and boiled on the horizon, limiting visibility to a few hundred feet. But for a brief second he thought he had caught a glimpse of something before the clouds quickly swallowed it. There it was again! A tall obelisk in the far distance: the unmistakable silhouette of a skyscraper.

Huge drops of water began splattering at their feat (not ash-drizzle this time, but real rain).

The city was in the opposite direction, Luke realised. They had been walking away from it ever since they had escaped from the tunnel. All this could only mean one thing...

That they were standing in the middle of what was once Boston Harbour.
                                                        

                                              (c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2012

"KING OF TIDES" SERIES BY EUGENE GRAMELIS

PART 4: "WELCOME TO MY NIGHTMARE"

From their shelter, the trio watched as the fireball grew larger and larger until it lit up their surroundings, turning night into day. Then it seemed to splinter into small fragments, which one after the other slammed into the earth with ground-shaking velocity.

The girl buried her face in Luke's chest. Her tiny body quivered in fear. The drop in temperature couldn't be helping, either. Luke squeezed her tightly, shielding her from the cold and the mushroom cloud of dust coming their way. He lifted the tip of his shirt collar so that it covered his mouth and nose, and motioned to Renaldo to do the same. Renaldo happily complied.

More lights detached themselves from the heavens and plummeted toward them. Most of these seemed to fizzle out before making landfall, but a few thudded into the ground beyond the dune, strafing the corrugated roofing of their refuge with shrapnel and debris from the impact zone.

"I'm telling you," Renaldo insisted through his makeshift ski-mask, "those are nukes. I bet China's behind it... No, wait, North Korea!"

"If those were nukes, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Luke pointed out.

"What do you make of it then?"

Luke still wasn't sure. Part of him wanted to hold on to the belief that this was all some horrible nightmare, but the gurgling in his empty stomach felt pretty real. As for Renaldo's theory that they were under attack from a rogue nation, well, Luke guessed that was a possibility that couldn't be ruled out just yet; but he had a feeling those fireballs weren't man-made. "I think we might be experiencing a meteor shower," he finally ventured. At least he hoped that was all it was. "I saw something similar to this on the Discovery Channel once. In a documentary I watched with my dad." Again, the grief threatened to engulf him; once more he thrust it back into the shadows.

The extraterrestrial bombardment continued throughout the long hours that followed, with wave after wave of these fireballs lighting up the sky and either burning out in the atmosphere or crashing into the nearby terrain. All he could do was pray that none scored a direct hit on their little hideout.

At some point Luke must have dozed off because he was startled awake by something soft poking at his nose. It was a tiny finger. It belonged to the girl. She pointed outside. Luke stuck his head past the edge of the corrugated sheet to take a look. Visibility was still low and there was no sun in the sky as far as he could make out, but much of the dust had settled and the horizon had gone from blood-purple to a milky ginger, which probably meant that it was no longer night. He listened, and heard nothing. This was a good sign. It meant that the aerial offensive had also come to an end.

Luke returned to the girl and sat beside her. Renaldo was still snoozing, and could, no doubt, sleep through World War III if Luke chose not to wake him. What he found almost amusing was the thought that Renaldo might indeed be sleeping through World War III.

The girl rubbed her tummy and gestured with her hand to her mouth, her lilac eyes wide and moist.

"I'm sorry," Luke said, "I don't have any more food. We ate all the mints last night."

The girl pouted her lips and looked away.

"Hey, you don't get out of it that easy," Luke said, gently. He figured she couldn't be more than three or four years of age. "I know you can talk. Forjooleye, remember?"

She looked at him but said nothing.

"My name is Luke. What's your name?" Luke and Renaldo had tried this line a number of times and had received only a curious, lavender stare in response. And it seemed he was being given the same treatment now.

He nestled against his bag and closed his eyes.

The same soft finger poked him in the nose. "Ay me."

"Huh?" Luke sat up.

"Ay me," the girl said again.

"Amie." Luke mouthed her name, trying it on for size. It was a good fit. She definitely looked like an Amie.

Amie smiled, timidly at first, but it soon erupted into a big grin.

Luke held out his arms, and she came to him. He leaned back against his bag with the girl resting her warm cheek on his torso.

Nice to meet you, Amie, he thought. Welcome to my nightmare.

(c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2012

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.

HALLOWEEN: SURVIVAL TIPS!

Whoever came up with the idea of mixing candy with ghouls was a genius -- what a great combo! Actually, some people think it was the Celts who came up with the idea. But most cultures around the world seem to have a day where they pay tribute to their departed, usually in an attempt to fend off any mischievous spirits with scores to settle. In Europe this is called All Saints Day or All Hallows Day.

These days, it all seems to be in good fun, and with each year Halloween appears to be gaining in popularity in Australia. Sadly, though, like most good things, this festive occasion is being usurped by corporations -- yes, these are the same stores and supermarket malls that start lining their shelves with Christmas decorations in July. What can you do? You can't really complain too much because if it weren't for the commercial side of it, we'd be hanging home-made decorations off our doors, probably something made from woven reeds and coconuts. It is what it is, my friend.

So on this eve of All Hallows Day, I thought you might be interested in some trivia about the occasion; I trawled the net and this is what I was able to come up with:

Fact 1: The reason why most historians attribute Halloween to the Celts is because the Celts believed that the barrier between the living and the dead grew thin as the New Year approached, which for them was around October, and so they lit giant bonfires in order to appease the gods and any wandering dead (I say what's the use of having a reputation as a big, tough, savage warrior if you're going to turn into a blubbering mess on New Year's eve?)

Fact 2: There really are such things as Vampire bats (but they don't look anything like Edward Cullen from Twilight) They terrorise farmers in South America and drink the blood of their livestock.

Fact 3: Rumour has it that William Shatner's face was used to make the mould for the mask worn in the classic horror film Halloween (The Shat is a legend; when I grow up I want to be just like him!)

Fact 4: In case you're wondering why all the fuss at your local K-mart or Wal-Mart: Halloween candy sales supposedly average around $2 billion each year in the US alone (My tummy's hurting already -- so is my wallet!)

Now, here are some tips from me on how to have a safe and incident-free Halloween:

Tip 1: If you live in Brazil, don't go trick or treating dressed as a cow or a sheep. It might seem like a good idea when no one in your street is able to recognise you, but, Dude, you won't be looking so smart when that Vampire bat is CHOMPING on your butt!

Tip 2: If you're about to walk up someone's driveway to do a bit of trick or treating and the name on the letterbox is Charlie Manson or Josef Fritzl -- RUN, Dude! Those aren't Halloween sound effects coming from inside his house.

Tip 3: If you ring the doorbell and the guy who answers isn't wearing any clothes -- RUN, Dude! Chances are that's not some kind of ultra-thin, skin-coloured, closest-thing-to-being-naked Halloween costume he's wearing. And, Dude, even if it is, does it really make the situation any better? Think about it.

Tip 4: If you happen to run into some guy with a strange, shambling walk while you're trick or treating, and he asks you to pull his finger as part of a Halloween prank, but the skin peels off in your hands (and it turns out to be real) -- Don't bother running, Dude. You're SCREWED!

With those happy thoughts in mind, I wish you all a very pleasant Halloween.

Whaaa ha ha ha!

WOW! IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?

In 1977 the Ohio State University picked up what has become known as the "Wow!" signal. The signal was detected by Dr Ehman using the University's "Big Ear" Radio telescope. Dr Ehman had been working on the SETI project at the time. The mission of the project was to search the universe for evidence that we are not alone. The duration of the signal was 72 seconds. Dr Ehman circled the signal on the printout and wrote "Wow!" in the margin, which is how the signal got its name. Dr Ehman searched for it again, but was never able to find it.

Why am I telling you this? Because recently I discovered that this blog has a "stats" feature. This feature allows me to see where my "hits" are coming from; it tells me in which countries I have the largest audience, which sites are directing traffic to my blog, and what search terms are commonly used to find my site. When I first printed and viewed these stats I felt a little like Dr Ehman must have felt when he detected his famous signal. I definitely wanted to scribble "Wow!" in the margin.

The stats indicate, for example, that over the last couple of months my blog has been viewed by people from Australia (my home country), the United States, the United Kingdom, Pakistan, South Korea, South Africa, Ukraine, Philippines, Italy, Latvia, Peru, Russia and the Netherlands. My biggest audience seems to be the United States (cheers folks!) followed by Australia, which comes a close second (come on Aussies -- where the bloody hell are ya?). Interestingly, more Pakistanis and South Koreans have viewed my blog than Brits.

I always knew that readers were visiting my site because the digits on the hits counter were steadily on the rise. But I must confess that the revelation that people from all over the world are reading my work made me quite emotional. And I thank each and every one of you for giving me the motivation to keep churning 'em out. I welcome you all and sincerely hope that you have enjoyed kicking around my literary playground; feel free to return any time.

But there is one thing that perplexes me a little: with all this traffic and activity going on, why are only a few of you leaving comments? Writers are needy people, if you haven't noticed. We write for the same reason that actors get up on stage: to please our audience. If you don't let us know that you're there, we can't tell if we've done our job right. So register as a follower of the blog. Or just leave a comment. Tell me where you're from; what's happening in your neck of the woods; what you think of my stories; the "King of Tides" Series; the blog site in general. Tell me about the things you'd like to read about. Heck, tell me about the weather! Just make some noise!

Commence transmitting the Wow! Signal now ... Big Ear is listening.

WHERE DO I BEGIN?

What a whirlwind of literary activity the last few months have been.

The first gusts of the maelstrom hit around July when my short story "2109" earned an Honourable Mention in the flash fiction category of this year's AHWA Shorty Story Comp. It sure does feel great to have placed two years in a row. Congrats are due to Christopher Green and Jason Fischer who took out the comp this year and to all the very talented AHWA writers who participated.

June saw "The Last Roast" making it into print for the third time. It was published as a reprint by Twisted Tongue in issue 16. There's something about that story that I can't quite place my finger on. But whatever the secret ingredient is, it's turned it into a damn good yarn. I just wish I could distil that "something" and use it to drizzle over some of my other work.

In July I continued to delve into the world of micro fiction with "Bad Blood" making its debut in Flashes in the Dark. Writing micro fiction is hard work. It's a bit like trying to pen haiku on a grain of rice.

Also in July my ghost story "I came Back" hit unsuspecting household computer screens when it saw the back-lit light of day at House of Horror.

The cyclonic activity continued in August when The New Flesh informed me that "Mangeni's Lullaby" had been selected for inclusion in their Year One Anthology, which is now available on their website.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, the legendary Stephen Studach confirmed that "Dirty Laundry" (probably the best work I've ever produced) had been accepted for publication in an anthology edited by Stephen called 100 Lightnings. The anthlogy is being published by Paroxysm Press. I have a great deal of respect for Stephen. I know that he sets the bar very high, and that means that his anthology is promising to be of mind-blowing quality. I can't wait to see the final product.

The publication credits continued to tumble in during September with "In this Life or the Next" making it into Issue 14 of Sex and Murder Magazine. This story can also be downloaded from their website.

"Playing with Knives", a story with a bit of sting in its tale (excuse the pun), is available for your reading pleasure in the Autumn/Fall edition of Midnight in Hell, which is out now.

More recently "Happy as Larry", which is my attempt at an Australian-flavoured horror tale with a twist of sci-fi, seemed to cause quite a stir at Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers. Also during this month "Natural Selection" has made its debut appearance on TKnC. You can read this story on their website right now. It's set in South Africa, and it's about a safari tour that turns out to be no walk in the park. If you get the chance, check it out and let us know what you think.

And now for the big news: my novelette "Digging for Dandelions" is due to be released as a chap book. The publisher has yet to set the release date, but it's currently expected to hit the market later this year. So keep an eye out for it.

Phewww! That about sums it up. I sincerely apologise to those who frequent this blog for not having posted updates sooner. As you can see, I have had my hands full of late.

I especially regret not having had the time to post the second instalment of the "King of Tides" series. You can rest assured, however, that I'm on to it; I hope to have instalment 2 up in the next week or so.

Mmmm, I wonder what Luke and his friends will find when (or should I say "if") they arrive at the mysterious column of smoke. I bet you think you know the answer. But I'm also prepared to wager that you're dead wrong. I wonder.

"KING OF TIDES" SERIES BY EUGENE GRAMELIS

CHAPTER 1

***

"The heart of a man to the heart of a maid,

Light of my tents be fleet,

Morning awaits at the end of the world,

And the world is all at our feet."

-Rudyard Kipling (1885-1936)

***

PART 1: "TOWARDS THE PLUME"

Luke lifted his heavy sneaker out of the muddy sand and sunk it back into the bog in front of the other. With every step the sludge held onto his foot tightly, releasing it only after a game of tug-of-war. It had been like that for hours (thwump! as he pulled his waterlogged boot out and shlump! as he stuck it back in). He'd lost all feeling in his toes. And now his legs felt like they were dragging boulders.

The letters spelling out Luke's last name--Wakefield--on the back of his baseball jersey were barely visible through the grime and layers of ash. He wore his backpack over his front torso to shield him from the oncoming rush of wind. His sneakers had been blue once. They were Nikes. Top of the range. His Mom had given them to him on his sixteenth birthday, last April. The boots would have set her back about four hundred bucks. Luke was pretty sure she'd be dead -- or gone -- like the rest of them. He wanted to cry, but his face was too numb.

A sharp, stinging gust tugged at his wet hair and clothes. He was surrounded by a nightmare. No skyline. No buildings. No people. Nothing. Just a ghostly darkness and soggy, blackened earth shrouded in a grey-purple haze as far as the eye could see. And looming in the distance, barely visible, was their only beacon of hope, the only discernible landmark: a long, black plume of smoke extending high into the bleak stratosphere like the funnel of a tornado.

A mixture of cold rain and powdery ash sheeted from the sky. It was everywhere: in his hair, on his clothes, up his nostrils. Something caught Luke's attention. He kneeled and pulled an object out of the ash. It was a brown beer bottle. When he tipped it, sand, gravel and green sludge dripped out. He let the bottle fall back to the ground.

They had been making their way towards the plume since it had happened. But the darn thing never seemed to get any closer.

Renaldo thought this was a bad idea, but was too claustrophic to stay in the tunnel. Luke wasn't exactly sure this was a good idea, either, but right now there seemed to be a shortage of good ideas.

The game had been called in the seventh inning thanks to the mercy rule, sending the team back to the awaiting busses early.

It had been just before noon when all hell broke loose.

After they had forced open the back window of the wrecked bus, their only other option had been to stay at the scene with their team mates until help arrived. They had waited for about two hours, but there hadn't been any sirens or flashing lights. Not even an automated emergency broadcast over the PA system. No one seemed interested -- or able -- to come to their rescue. Luke had felt like a trapped rat in that tunnel and hadn't been keen on staying holed up in that tomb any longer than he had to. The Coach had warned them not to go, but his leg had been broken, and there wasn't much he could do to stop them. That was when the realisation had set in that he would have to resort to self help if he wanted to see daylight again; Luke had been prepared to take his chances with whatever awaited him on the outside.

When they had crawled out of the escape hatch leading from the tunnel they'd been met by a fierce wind and an otherwordly darkness. There had been so much dust in the air that they could scarcely take a breath. Then the dreaded ash-rain had started to fall.

They had found the little girl in the Boston Tunnel while they were searching for a way out. She had been alone in the dark, sitting on the blacktop beside an abandoned Chrysler. They had heard her soft whimpering. Luke, Renaldo and Gerald -- who was also affectionately known among the team as the Fat Kid -- had been taking turns giving the girl piggy-backs since they'd crawled out of the manhole. But now it was just Renaldo and Luke doing the carrying (currently it was Renaldo's turn) because the Fat Kid had given up. They had left him laying in the mud about eight or nine miles back. They had refused to leave him behind at first, and they'd dragged him by the feet while he pleaded with them to just let him be. So, reluctantly, they had left him behind, promising to send someone to get him when they found help. If they found help, Luke now thought. The Fat Kid's whining was still buzzing in Luke's ear: My shoe's stuck! My back hurts! I have a stitch! I'm hungry! I'm dizzy! I'm going to faint! That was all they'd heard since finding their way out of the tunnel, and Luke was horrified to find that a part of him was glad for the relief. Luke knew that the odds were the Fat Kid wasn't going to make it, but would their own fate be all that different?

Now Luke, Renaldo and the girl settled back into silence. And Luke welcomed it; mostly because he was afraid to talk. Conversations led to questions. Questions with no answers were frightening--especially the one weighing most heavily on his mind:

Where in God's sweet name had the world gone?!

So instead of talking Luke continued to trudge through the mud, his sole focus: putting one foot in front of the other.

Thwump! and shlump!

Perhaps they had made a mistake leaving the bus. But he needed to know what was going on. The world he had known had disappeared. And so had the people who had been living in it. They had all simply... vaporized. Bafflingly, the sun, too, had vanished, plunging them into an unnatural gloom. Boston was gone, the great city and its suburbs replaced by the charred wasteland that now encircled them.

The mysterious column of smoke was still an unfathomable distance away.

Each step was bringing them closer to answers.

Thwump! and shlump!

Each step was probably also bringing them closer to death. But Luke figured they were dead anyway if they stayed here in the freezing mud. So they might as well keep moving.

Here there was nothing, but towards the plume there was fire.

And where there is fire, Luke reasoned, there is something for it to consume.

(c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2010

***

I hope you enjoyed the first instalment of "King of Tides". This is a work-in-progress. New posts will appear periodically. So please feel free to let me know what you think of each piece as I put it up.Your comments are highly valued and much appreciated.

COME WARM YOUR HANDS BY THE FIREPLACE

"Cold Hands, Warm Heart" (originally published by New Flesh Magazine) is now live at Flashes in the Dark. I like this shorty. It's short, but I think it taps into some primordial fears that we never seem to grow out of. See what I mean:

http://flashesinthedark.com/2010/06/04/cold-hands-warm-heart-by-eugene-gramelis

PLAYING WITH KNIVES

My latest story "Playing with knives" is due for release in the Autumn/Fall Edition of Midnight in Hell in September this year.

Bad things happen when you play with knives --especially at Midnight... in Hell!

http://www.midnightinhell.com/