Sorry for the delay. Our sixth issue is out. We were in the process of getting things ready when we received an emergency call to report to Southern Patagonia. You see, Ms. Perkins and I are both volunteers for an organization known as Editors Without Borders. A conflict in the great publishing houses of San Grande Lobo, Patagonia had erupted into full scale warfare. Offset presses spewed red, yellow, and cyan into a dark brown miasma of air clogged with the screams of injured freelance authors. 

 

The travails we experienced during our work there were most travailous. Suffice to say that as we were leaving a village far in the hinterlands — where gaucho reporters cranked inflammatory opinion pieces by oil lamp on ancient battle-hardened mimeographs — we encountered of all things an old man in a battered dinghy. 

 

He bade us to get on his boat and — as the mimeograph reporter was upset that we had taken the last few remaining mimeo stylus sheets left on earth as souvenirs — we complied. To our shock, we discovered our erstwhile Charon was none other than Ambrose Bierce, missing since 1914. None the worse for wear in all this time, he proceeded to take us down river where we awaited transportation.

 

As he confidently pulled the oars, he told us of his narrow escape from Ciudad Juarez, and the time he'd spent during the '40s in a troupe of interpretive acrobats. The sound of night insects, the flapping of bat wings, and the sensual sound of said bats eating said noisy night insects, filled the air. Ambrose Bierce continued to drone on and on about the time he'd been struck out by an aging Satchel Paige. Seeing us nodding off, and perhaps wishing that one of us would relieve him of the oars, he told us that he had picked us to reveal a secret to the people of the world. "It's very important."

 

Our eyes drew close. Time slowed down. Out of the sturdy goatskin bag he kept with him, he withdrew... some baloney! ... And that's all this was. My apologies. We're late. There were valid reasons, I swear. 

 

And there are five really great flash fiction pieces this month. You can read as well as I can, and they're looming right there on the left so go click on them. No point in me mentioning the names. Some of them you are familiar with if you've read here before. If you haven't read here before, stop whatever productive thing you are doing and catch up on the back stories. If your lazy just click on the audio link. Put it on your Ipod gizmo or your cranial implant.

 

Where was I? Right. Five good stories. And an interview with one of my favorite authors, William Barton. (The interview will show up in a day or two.)

 

Oh, and Karel Smolders, you are on the Vampire Wall of Shame. You know why. Shame on you!

 

Take care!

 

Jonathon