Busy times, I know. But perhaps sometime today, during halftime of the Lakers-Celtics game or while you’re waiting for dinner to be ready, click here to read Doing the Dead – 1983, a novella by K. C. Wilson presented by Faraway.
We’ve also got a Christmas story by Michael Pitassi, Baptism By Ice Water: A Christmas Tale.
And, two poems in a series by Katie Friedman, First Date and Physical Love.
Baptism by Ice Water: A Christmas Tale
By Michael Pitassi
December in Augusta, Maine, just after the unveiling of the town lights and decorations, is loved by nearly all who experience it. I say nearly because there does happen to be one rather vocal dissenter among the otherwise joyous inhabitants of this enchanting town.
Eugene Ash, a man only forty-five but thought by most to be many years older, was the town crab. He had gained a reputation for growing exceptionally bitter, year after year, as the month of December advanced toward Christmas Day. He was rather cheerful the other eleven months of the year, but as the rest of the town began to perk up for the holiday, Eugene Ash took on the persona of a cloud of soot. And he didn’t mind the negative attention, in fact he more or less asked for it. He purposefully wore darker clothing around this time, perfected his scowl, and needled the townsfolk with caustic and satirical remarks. Eugene Ash had become as much a part of the holiday traditions in Augusta as the giant Christmas tree in the center of town or the lights strung along Kennebec River.
Because Eugene Ash lived alone, and more so because of his Christmastime theatrics, he came to be known to some as Augusta’s Ebenezer. It was an expected association, but one that wasn’t entirely warranted, for Eugene Ash wasn’t a miser or a “scrooge.” He had very logical and intellectual reasons for disliking the Christmas season. Continue reading
For those of you who have been waiting to get your hands on a copy of the latest issue of Faraway, today is the day! Copies still warm from the presses are now on display at Second Story Books of Claremont, California. In the coming days there will also be copies in Borders Bookstore in Montclair, California, and in Needlesandpins Records of Pomona. Now you can read all one hundred splendid pages without burning your retinas off looking at a computer screen.
Allow me also to take this opportunity to plug Second Story Books of Claremont, which has been one of our staunchest supporters. They’ve got a great selection of new, used, rare, hard-to-find and interesting titles to choose from. More importantly, they are one of a rare breed of independent bookstores. If you’re tired of going into Barnes and Nobles and seeing a million copies of the latest James Patterson or Dean Koontz book, stop by Second Story. More importantly still, the proprietors of Second Story support writers and artists like those who contribute to and publish Faraway.
So stop in to pick up the latest copy of our journal and browse around for a book to read afterwards. And don’t forget to let us know what you think!
Click the thumbnail below to download the pdf of the newest issue. For optimal viewing, download and save the file, then, in the Adobe Acrobat window, click view: two-up continuous.
You can also click on the miniviewer below to stream the new issue via www.Issuu.com/faraway. NOTE: Because Issuu.com is not compatible with the latest versions of Adobe Acrobat, some material in this issue will not display properly. We recommend that you download the issue from the link above.
This issue features stories, poems, and artwork from two dozen contributors, including Andy Mills, Suvi Mahonen and Luke Waldrip, Jeff Crouch and Diana Magallon, Jim Lyons, Jim Fuess, Michael Woodcock, Josh Mitchell, Jared Hernandez, Michael Pitassi, T.R. Healy, Ellen Perry, David Kowalczyk, William Walsh, Joseph Grant, Vic Fortezza, Gay Degani, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, Steve Cartwright, Ron Savage, and Christian Pinchbeck.
And please be sure to tell us what you think!
Marathon For the Arts
I just got back from my long run for the week and I am beat! I ran nine miles in 1:19:37, well below my goal time (1:21:39), most of it along the Pacific Electric Bike Trail. I also took a detour down Euclid Avenue through Upland, where there is a large, grassy median that would be perfect for running–it if weren’t muddy. I must say, though, that the cities of Claremont, Ontario, Upland, and any other city involved in the Pacific Electric is really to be commended for seeing that project through. I wish there were dozens of such trails, unobstructed and set away from cars–but one will have to do for now. I arrived back from my run utterly famished. I quickly downed two thick, buttery, syrupy Belgian waffles, followed them with a slice of pizza, four cups of Gatorade, and a tall glass of milk, and I feel like I could eat the same again right about now. When I stopped at the corner at the end of my run to cool down as I walked back to my house, it felt like I had no legs, which was a strange, worrying sensation. Next week we’re going up to ten miles.
Read more about the Marathon For the Arts Fundraiser, or click below to donate!
NaNoWriMo
In other news, National Novel Writing Month approacheth, and there’s been strong interest right here in our own ranks. NaNoWriMo calls for the writing of 50,000 words, or 175 pages, between November 1 and November 31, which equals about six double-spaced pages a day. I have it on good authority that our very own Jared Hernandez and Michael Pitassi are biting at the bit to get started. And who would I be if I let them outdo me? I don’t know that I can write that much in the time constraints I have, but I’m going to throw my hat in anyways. Wish us all luck!
Bookmark Faraway on www.Issuu.com to view all of our publications in an awesome new format. And be sure to check back soon for new works like. . .
Two drops of mist. Early morning. Landing softly on the tip of a leaf, being regal wading pools for Oberon and Titania. The orchids arose in unison like the awaking dead of Dwimorberg. They glowed white, and it seemed each flower underwent its very own Transfiguration—with speechless spiderworts looking on as astonished apostles. The hydrangeas hobnobbed, while the cannas chuckled. Dawn unleashed its fierce rays like the Achaians spewing forth from their equine gift.
Read more: http://www.farawayjournal.com/michael-pitassi/gardenia/
