Undead Anonymous

Thanks to everyone who submitted an entry for the contest.  Your comments were all kind and flattering and sometimes made me blush with humility.  If the rewards of writing a novel can be measured in the words of my readers, then I would have to say I’m the richest man in town.

Although I wish I could give a book to everyone who responded, alas I have but the one copy up for grabs.  And as I mentioned, making a decision based on your comments was impossible.  So after a very scientific method of writing names on pieces of paper and drawing them out of a Peter Grimm fedora, I came up with a winner…

Congratulations to David Fooden!  You’re the proud new parent of a signed copy of BREATHERS!

Thanks again to everyone!  I hope I get the chance to meet you at a signing or a convention down the road.

Andy Warner here, main protagonist of Breathers, bringing you my updated version of The Wizard of Oz ditty, “If I Only Had a Brain,” originally sung by Ray Bolger and Judy Garland.  In this instance, however, there’s just the one singer who is, obviously, a zombie.

If I Only Had Some Brains
(lyrics by Andy Warner)

I could gnaw away the hours, delightfully devour
Digesting Johns and Janes.
And my mouth I’d be fillin’
While my hands were busy killin’
If I only had some brains.

I’d faddle and I’d fiddle, fat fry you on the griddle,
Sautéing your remains.
On your flesh I’d be snackin’
And your skull I would be crackin’
If I only had some brains.

Oh, ever since I’ve died
I’ve longed for blood and gore
Just to sit and eat the brains that I adore.
And then I’d sit and eat some more.

I would bake you up in muffins, complete you with some stuffin’,
Or maybe some whole grains.
In a shake made with dairy
I would top you with a cherry,
If I only had some brains.

vanity >noun (pl. vanities)  1) excessive pride in or admiration of one’s own appearance or achievements.  2) the quality of being worthless or futile.

It’s interesting that the two definitions of vanity should seem to have such extreme opposites, but it’s actually a pretty good description of what it’s like to be a writer.  Not that all writers take excessive pride in their achievements, but there’s definitely ego involved for anyone who sits down to write with the goal of publication in mind.  After all, if you think something you’ve written is good enough to be read by a bunch of strangers who would actually pay to read it, then there’s a pretty good chance you’ve got a healthy ego.  Hopefully not on steroids, but an ego, nonetheless.

Let’s not confuse ego with arrogance, either.  While arrogance and conceit have negative connotations, an ego is a good thing to have.  Losing your ego can have significant consequences.

John Lennon once admitted that he’d done so much acid in an attempt to destroy his ego that he didn’t believe he could do anything.  By the time The Beatles were creating Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, he’d given up all control of the band to Paul.  I’d like to think The Beatles would have been even better had Lennon chosen to put more of his mark on their last few albums.  But then, I think Abbey Road is a masterpiece.

Once again, I’m off on a tangent.  Which is why I’m my in-person interviews are always all over the map.

Back to vanity.

Okay, so there’s ego and then there’s pride in one’s achievements.  For the sake of argument here, let’s take the word “excessive” out of the definition and just stick with pride.  Of course writers are proud of their achievements.  You spend six months or two years of your life creating something and when you’re finished, you have a sense of accomplishment.  A sense of pride.  And when that first manuscript actually appears in your mailbox in the form of a published book, with your name on the cover and a blurb from Kirkus on the back, the feeling is even greater.  Almost surrealistic.

But along the way, through the writing and publishing process, the second definition of vanity comes into play, as well.  The feeling that what you’re writing is worthless.  That the hours you’re spending sitting at your computer writing about imaginary places populated by imaginary people is futile.  What the hell did you think you were doing?  Who in their right mind would want to publish this?  Or pay money to read it?

But when that first e-mail arrives from some stranger who read your book and they tell you they loved it and couldn’t put it down and didn’t want it to end, those concerns vanish like John Lennon’s ego.

A friend of mine, who is also a writer, once said that having a book published is like jumping off a cliff.  You have no control over what’s going to happen and you just have to hope that you land in something soft rather than in a dumpster filled with broken bottles.  Or something like that.  I’m paraphrasing, but the point is you’re at the mercy of the world, so you might as well enjoy the fall.

(Next entry: W is for World War Z)

Yes, originally I said this post was going to be U is for Undead.  But Z is for Zombies, like that’s a big surprise, and it seemed kind of silly to preempt zombies with the undead, so I tried to come up with something else and, well, this was it.

Why Ulysses?  Because I have a confession to make.  I’ve never read it.  I don’t even know what it’s about.  And I have never understood any of the obscure references Dennis Miller has made about James Joyce in his stand-up routines.

And it’s not just James Joyce.  I’ve never read any Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, W. Somerset Maugham, Joseph Conrad, Jane Austen, Henry James, John Milton, H.G. Wells, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or William Faulkner.  And I hated Crime and Punishment.  Read it in my Western Lit class in high school.  The crime was that the book was ever written and the punishment was that I had to read it.

Oh, and I think Hemingway sucks.  Yes, he sucks.  His writing blows.  I don’t know how the man got published.  Yeah, I know.  His writing style had a significant impact on the development of 20th century fiction and his works are considered classic American literature, blah blah blah.

But A Farewell to Arms?  Absolute crap. It’s filled with run-on sentences, repetitive use of qualifiers (like VERY lame), and frequent stretches of dialogue involving multiple characters with no indication as to who’s speaking. Plus, the death scene at the end, where Catherine is in the hospital and the main character, Frederic, is trying to comfort her?  I don’t have the book in front of me, but I seem to recall the dialogue going something like this:

“I love you,” he said.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you.”
She smiled weakly. “And I love you.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you.”

And don’t tell me that’s how they wrote back in the 1920s.  Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, published four years prior to A Farewell to Arms, had beautiful language and believable dialogue.  Hemingway is an overrated hack.

So what is this blog entry actually about and what the hell does it have to do with Breathers or zombies?  Nothing.  Except for the fact that I am obviously not a student of literature and have drawn on none of the famous literary giants in my own writing.  Well, except maybe for Fitzgerald.  Though someone wrote a review of Breathers and mentioned something about channeling Faulkner, which is funny since I’ve never read him, so I have no idea how I channeled the man.

Oh, and I also don’t know what a gerund is.  Though I’m pretty sure I know how to use it.

(Next entry: V is for van Gogh…or maybe Vampires)

On Friday, July 10, San Francisco’s undead rose up to make their groans and voices heard as they protested for equal rights, love, and brains.

Tired of getting shot in the head, randomly dismembered, and tossed into fires, zombies of all races and states of decay shuffled and dragged themselves to the steps of San Francisco’s City Hall to let the living know that they are fed up with the name calling, the discrimination, and the getting pelted with expired food products.

Just because we feel no physical pain doesn’t mean we can’t get our feelings hurt.

While two zombies were chased away from a wedding photo shoot, causing the police to drive by to make sure things didn’t get out of control, there were a number of Breathers present acting as advocates for zombie rights, including S.G. Browne, who was interviewed by an independent film crew on hand to document the protest.

For the most part the protest was peaceful, with more than two dozen zombies on hand to try to push across the point that zombies are people, too.  A photographer with SF Weekly showed up and took a number of photos of the event.

This is Andy the Zombie, reporting the truth as it’s portrayed by the corporate media.

I will be attending Comic-Con this year at the San Diego Convention Center July 23-26 as part of the Random House / Crown Publishing booth.  It will be my first time ever at Comic-Con.

I’ve listed the Random House booth location and my schedule of signings, as well as the location of Mysterious Galaxy Books where you can get a copy of Breathers at the convention.  The Random House booth will not have copies of Breathers for sale but they will have some free buttons, stickers, and bookmarks.  I’ve also included information for the panel I’ll be on Saturday afternoon.

Hope to see you there!

Random House / Crown Publishing: Booth #1128
Mysterious Galaxy Books: Booth #1119

Signing Location and Schedule
(Note: Saturday’s signing is in a different location and follows the Monster Mash Panel)

Thursday  AA29     11:00 am – 12:00 pm
Friday       AA29     11:00 am – 12:00 pm
Saturday   AA1         4:00 pm – 5:00 pm
Sunday     AA29      11:00 am – 12:00 pm

Panel Location and Schedule
Saturday   Room 2    3:00 pm – 4:00 pm

Monster Mash Panel
Panelists: Amber Benson (Death’s Daughter); Alice Henderson (Voracious);Walter Greatshell (Xombies: Apocalypse Blues); S.G. Browne (Breathers: A Zombie’s Lament); Marlene Perez (Dead Is So Last Year); Rob Thurman (The Cal Leandros Novels); and Samantha Sommersby (Forbidden: The Temptation)

Moderator:  Maryelizabeth Hart, Mysterious Galaxy Books

4000 zombies showed up in the Fremont neighborhood of Seattle, WA, on Friday, July 3rd to break the Guinness Book of World Records.  And yours truly was there to be a part of it.

The event, officially titled the Red, White, & Dead Zombie Party, was put together by Ryan Reiter and his team from the Fremont Outdoor Cinema, who provide “almost” free outdoor movies every summer in Seattle complete with pre-movie entertainment that capitalizes on the theme of that week’s film. An ABBA sing along for Mama Mia.  A styling contest for Edward Scissorhands.  And with Shaun of the Dead being the third film on this year’s schedule, Ryan decided to do up something big and shoot for the largest zombie walk in the record books.

My part in the event kicked off at Fremont Place Books for a reading and signing of Breathers, which was attended by fifteen or so friends, fans, and local authors, including Seattle scribes Mark Henry and Cherie Priest, who were decked out in their zombie finest.   Also attending were surprise guests, Andy and Rita, who stopped by to show their support for zombie rights. 

After the reading, I shambled down the street to the set of parking lots where Ryan and the crew from Fremont Outdoor Cinema were in full countdown mode, taking care of final preparations as the horde of zombies waiting to get in stretched down the street and wrapped around the block.  When 6pm rolled around, the doors opened and the zombies flooded in, bloodied and rotting and sporting screwdrivers and knives that protruded from chest wounds.

Of course, the problem with having several thousand zombies staggering around waiting for direction is that they can tend to get bored and hungry, so to distract them until they were able to begin their walk, they were treated to a Zombie Fashion Show and the musical offerings from Kyle Stevens of Kirby Krackle Music, who sang such hits as “Naked Wii” and “Zombie Apocalypse.”  And for those who wanted to shake their rotting booties, there was a mass “Thriller” tribute dance that was shuffled to by 2000 zombies strong.

There was also a booth set up at the event, courtesy of Fremont Place Books, which sold copies of World War Z, The Zombie Survival Guide, Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, and Breathers.  Fortunately, quite a number of zombies still have enough brain function to read, so I had the pleasure of meeting some fans and signing their books.  Though I did have a couple of people tell me how much they loved World War Z and wanted me to sign it for them.  I had to explain that unfortunately, Max Brooks wasn’t able to attend the event.

Finally, around 10pm, once the record-breaking zombie walk had taken place through the streets of the Fremont Street neighborhood, all the remaining zombies pulled out their chairs and blankets and sat down for the screening of Shaun of the Dead.  At which point, this zombie went out for a drink with some local friends and then climbed back into my coffin to get some sleep.

You have to understand about Tom.

First of all, he lives with his mother. Sure, so do I, but Tom was living with his mother before the pair of Presa Canarios tore into him like Mike Tyson going after Evander Holyfield’s earlobe.

Second, Tom is what Jerry would call a Magoo. A doofus. Sweet and naive. The kind of person others would have made fun of even when he was a Breather. Chances are pretty good that Tom was the kid in your high school who wore corduroy and plaid, who ate lunch by himself, and who routinely had his clothes stolen from his gym locker. The phrase atomic wedgie comes to mind.

Third, even among zombies, Tom is self-conscious. Sure, we all finger our stitches and our wounds or play with little knobs of exposed bone, but Tom obsesses with his loose flaps of skin as though he either can’t get used to the idea that they’re real or else he thinks he can somehow make them go away.

Now his right arm is gone. Stolen. As a prank. Without any regard to his feelings or his sense of equilibrium. And that’s just not right…

The previous entry was lifted from Chapter 14 of Breathers, partly because it’s the best description of Tom, partly because it’s in the voice of Andy, and partly because I felt lazy this morning and couldn’t come up with anything fresh or clever to say about Tom.

But suffice it to say that Tom plays an important role in Breathers, as the crime perpetrated against him by the fraternity pledges inspires Andy to take a stand for the rights of zombies.  True, the dismemberment of Walter gets Andy moving along his path initially, but with Tom, the cause becomes more personal.

(Next entry:  U is for Undead)

On Friday July 10th, starting at 5:45PM, zombies of the world will rise up and demand their civil rights on the steps of San Francisco City Hall.

Zombies have been treated like third class citizens for too long, so come support equal rights for zombies. All zombies and zombie supporters welcome.

Around 6:45pm, we’ll dance to Michael Jackson’s THRILLER in honor of our favorite zombie before hobbling a few blocks over to Books, Inc. at Opera Plaza to hear un-undead Scott G. Browne read from his new book, Breathers: A Zombie’s Lament. After that it’s any zombie’s guess.

Come for the protest.

Stay for the reading and signing of Breathers.

Free “Zombies Are People Too” swag while supplies last.

Bring Signs to show your support. Use your imagination, but here are some ideas.

- Zombies are people Too
- Brains. The Other White Meat
- We’re Here. We’re Dead. Get Used To It.
- Benefits for Zombie Vets
- Stop Trying to Bury Us

See all you zombies there!

The digestive organs and the lungs disintegrate first, for they are home to the greatest number of bacteria…The brain is another early-departure organ.  “Because all the bacteria in the mouth chew through the palate,” explains Arpad.  And because brains are soft and easy to eat.  “The brain liquefies very quickly.  It just pours out the ears and bubbles out the mouth.”

The previous kernel of post-mortem knowledge comes from Chapter 3 of Mary Roach’s STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, a wonderful little book about what happens to the human body after it stops walking around and starts to smell.

STIFF was instrumental in my research into what Andy and the other zombies in Breathers might have to contend with as they confronted the reality of their decomposing existence – sloughage, bloat, maggots feasting on their subcutaneous fat.  All of the everyday things zombies worry about.  In addition, STIFF also provided some insight into the consequences they might face should they get a little too uppity:

Over the past sixty years, the dead have helped the living work out human tolerance limits for skull slammings and chest skewerings, knee crammings and gut mashings; all the ugly, violent things that happen to a human being in a car crash.

From STIFF I learned that when maggots feast on subcutaneous fat it sounds like Rice Krispies, that when the internal organs liquefy they turn to chicken soup, and that up until 1965, necrophilia wasn’t a crime in any U.S. state.  Not really sure what made everyone change their mind then, but since I was born in 1965, I’m sure there’s some cosmic connection.

What made STIFF such a pleasure to read, rather than simply pouring through a bunch of facts about putrefaction and rigor mortis and forensic science, was the funny, matter-of-fact style of Mary Roach.  Her humor and light-hearted irreverence toward the dead makes reading about impact testing and anal leakage a lot of fun.  No, really.

If you like a good non-fiction read with a touch of morbid fascination, then I recommend you pick up a copy of STIFF.  As Entertainment Weekly says, it’s “Gross, educational, and unexpectedly sidesplitting.”

(Next entry:  T is for Tom)