Undead Anonymous

First of all, you have to understand that I’m a SportsCenter junkie. I love watching highlights on ESPN during every SportsCenter broadcast. And when the NFL season comes along, you might as well just hook up an IV to my television and leave me on the couch.

Which is why I don’t have a regular cable TV package.  I have what is called Basic Limited Cable at a cost of about $20 per month, which provides me with about 40 channels — including FOX, CBS, NBC, ABC, Discovery Channel, Travel Channel, Golf Channel, FX, and the Sci-Fi Channel (which is now the SyFy Channel – a separate blog if there ever was a need for one).  But no TNT, TBS, USA, CNN, MSNBC, Comedy Central, or ESPN.  That’s how I cured my addiction.  I took it away.  Made it impossible for me to get my fix.  Which is probably why I spend all of my time on Facebook and Twitter now.

So I don’t have On Demand movies.  I don’t have HBO or Showtime.  I’ve never seen an episode of Weeds.

I don’t have TiVo.  A DVR.  A Blue Ray.  Or a Wii.

I don’t own an iPhone or a Blackberry.  My cell phone is an LG ENV.  I have texting.  But I don’t have e-mail capabilities.

While I do own an iPod and a laptop and have my entire library of music on iTunes, I still enjoy buying CDs.  I even own a turntable and I love vinyl.  It sounds better than digital music.  Maybe not as convenient, but it’s much richer and warmer.  Go out and get Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon or the Beatles’ Abbey Road on 180 gram vinyl and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

While not a complete Luddite, I’m definitely averse to getting sucked into becoming dependent upon all of the modern technological amenities.

Which brings me to Kindle and e-books.

While I understand the convenience and economy of using e-readers and realize, as someone who loves trees, that e-books reduce the need to chop trees down, I still enjoy the tactile feel of a book in my hands.  And, I have to admit, I enjoy seeing my novel sitting on my bookshelf amid all of my favorite authors and books.  It’s the narcissist in me.

My issue with the deletion of the Orwell novels in the recent fiasco involving Amazon and Kindle isn’t so much that the books were removed from the Kindle library.  I understand that.  They were bootlegged copies uploaded using the Kindle stores’ self-publishing system, so the publisher of 1984 and Animal Farm asked for them to be removed.  Fine.  But the customers who had already purchased the novels should have been able to keep them. Yes, I know Amazon admitted it made a mistake by deleting the customers’ copies, but apparently they did the same thing previously with books by Ayn Rand and J.K. Rowling.  So why didn’t they learn their lesson then?

Reaching into your Kindle electronically and replacing your book with a credit is not only unacceptable but it raises questions as to the ownership of electronic book and music collections.  Apparently, because of the Kindle terms of service, you don’t actually have full ownership of the books you purchase.  Amazon can delete anything it wants from your e-reader.  The justification on the basis of intellectual property is beside the point.  The power to be able to do this at all is, while not exactly Big Brother, definitely disconcerting. And another example of why I’d rather have to dog-ear a page to mark my place.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go listen to Van Halen’s first album on my turntable.

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)

Calling all zombies!  Calling all zombies!

Put on your best funeral clothes, apply that liquid latex, stock up on stage blood, and shuffle, shamble, and stagger your way to the Pacific Northwest for a pre-Independence Day party of the undead.

On Friday, July 3, 2009, Fremont Outdoor Movies in Seattle is hosting the Red, White, & Dead Zombie Party – a zombie bash to end all zombie bashes that includes a screening of Shaun of the Dead, a Zombie Fashion Show where you can strut your decomposing self to the delight of your fellow zombies, a group “Thriller” dance for those zombies stuck in the 80s, and a Zombie Walk to break the Guinness World Record.

And to kick everything off, I’ll be reading from and signing copies of Breathers at 4:00PM at Fremont Place Books and then later at the event.  I’ll even have some free zombie schwag that I’ll be giving away, though supplies are limited.

You can find all the details and times and other good zombie info by checking out the official blog for Fremont Outdoor Movies.

Spread the word and the contagion!

And remember, zombies are people, too.

“Rita’s face is a pale moon hovering in the black hood of her sweatshirt. She has on a black turtleneck and black pants. The only color she’s wearing is on her lips, which are Eternal Red.”

This is the first glimpse of Rita, a suicide who slit her wrists on her twenty-third birthday and who consumes formaldehyde in trace amounts by eating lipstick, fingernail polish, and other cosmetic products.  She’s the only character, other than Andy, who made the jump from my short story “A Zombie’s Lament” to Breathers.

Rita is also the love interest for Andy, who becomes increasingly attracted to Rita in spite of his feelings of guilt and loss regarding the death of his wife.  As Andy puts it when dealing with his conflicting feelings about his wife and Rita and describing the differences between the two:

“One who is dead and cold, the other who is undead and hot.”

When I started out writing Breathers, although I had the character of Rita in my head, I didn’t intend for Andy to develop feelings for her and for the two of them to fall in love.  Their relationship just seemed to develop as the story went on and it only made sense for the two of them to start up an undead romance.  I think the first moment when this happened is in Chapter 10, when Andy goes for a walk on a Sunday morning and ends up meeting Rita just at the moment when he’s feeling like he’s made a big mistake.  Which is actually one of my favorite chapters in the book.  I remember finishing the chapter and thinking, “Well, that was fun.”

Obviously Andy is my favorite character in Breathers, and while Jerry holds a very dear spot in my heart as my second favorite, Rita was an absolute pleasure to discover.

(Next entry:  S is for STIFF)

I originally planned on having this post be Q is for Quitting, which would address the voice in the head of the writer that often speaks up and says:  “Why are you doing this to yourself?”  But I wasn’t really happy with the way the post was developing.  Plus it had such negative connotations that I ended up going in another direction.  So instead, I decided to address some of the general questions I’ve received about influences, favorite films, books, music, that sort of thing. I know, not particularly deep but I’m feeling lazy today.

To keep it simple without elaborating too much while at the same time paying homage to High Fidelity (Nick Hornby) and the male instinct for making lists, here are some of my Top 5 Lists.  I stayed away from my Most Memorable Split-Ups and Top Five Dream jobs and instead focused on artists, musicians, and films that inspire or influence my own writing.

Favorite Authors
1) Chuck Palahniuk
2) Christopher Moore
3) Stephen King
4) Kurt Vonnegut
5) Gregory Maguire

Favorite Books
1) The Stand by Stephen King
2) Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk
3) Lord of the Flies by William Golding
4) Lamb:The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore
5) Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut

Favorite Bands
1) The Beatles
2) Green Day
3) The Doors
4) Sublime
5) Cake (before they got rid of their horns)
(Honorable mention goes to the Pixies, Weezer, and the Violent Femmes)

Favorite Music to Listen to for Inspiration
1) Green Day
2) Pixies
3) Sublime
4) Morphine
5) AC/DC (before Bon Scott choked on his own vomit)

Favorite Films
1) Fight Club
2) Being John Malkovich
3) The Big Lebowski
4) Unbreakable
5) Donnie Darko

Favorite Soundtrack Moments in Films
1) “Tiny Dancer” (Elton John) – Almost Famous
2) “Build Me Up Buttercup” (The Foundations) – There’s Something About Mary
3) “Down With the Sickness” (Richard Cheese) – Dawn of the Dead (2004)
4) “Where Is My Mind?” (Pixies) – Fight Club
5) “Bullwinkle Part II” (The Centurions) – Pulp Fiction
(If I had a theme song to play whenever I walked into a room, this would be it)

(Next entry: R is for Rita)

“Another thing is no matter how much you think you love someone, you’ll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.”
—Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

If you’ve checked out Bio and Q&A on the Founder’s page on my web site or been following Breathers From A to Z (L is for Lullaby), you know that Chuck Palahniuk is one of my major influences and favorite authors.  I’m especially fond of his novels Lullaby, Survivor, and Invisible Monsters.  And Fight Club is at the top of my list of favorite films.

“On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.”

But while Chuck gets props for helping me to find a narrative voice that resonates with me, there are other writers, both in fiction and in film, who inspire my own writing and have unknowingly participated in my development as a writer:

Christopher Moore (A Dirty Job / Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal / Fool)
Nick Hornby (About a Boy / High Fidelity)
Charlie Kaufman (Being John Malkovich / Adaptation / Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)
Wes Anderson (Rushmore / The Royal Tenenbaums / The Darjeeling Limited)
David O. Russell (Flirting With Disaster / I Heart Huckabees)
Joel and Ethan Coen (Fargo / The Big Lebowski / Raising Arizona)

As you can see, screenplay writers are as big of an influence on me as fiction authors, though I also appreciate reads by Bret Easton Ellis, Kurt Vonnegut, William Golding, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.  And although I don’t tend to read him as much as I used to back in the late 80s and through the 90s when I was devouring a steady diet of Peter Straub, Robert McCammon, and F. Paul Wilson, Stephen King is the reason I wanted to become a writer.

(Next entry:  Q is for Quitting)

So I’ve had some on-line publicity the past week and finally figured I’d get around to putting them all together in one convenient location.  So here you go…

First, I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Zombies & Toys, which is actually running a contest for a signed copy of Breathers.  Plus they have some fun zombie schwag.

Second, two new reviews popped up on the zombie radar, one from HorrorScope in Australia and the other from Bookopolis, which is affiliated with the LibraryThing’s Early Reviewer Program.  Both of the reviews were very kind, with the Bookopolis review mentioning Christopher Moore and Chuck Palahniuk, which I find flattering.

Third, I participated in my virgin Podcast last week courtesy of The Fearshop.com.  I have to admit, I realized about halfway through that I filled the gaps of the interview with “ums” and “ahs,” but I think I managed to mine those out of my vocabulary toward the end.

And finally, though this has nothing to do with interviews, reviews, or podcasts, the image above completes the theme of the title and is my brand, spanking new T-shirt I bought from Noisebot.com.

So my undead friends over at Lost Zombies, a community generated zombie documentary, are hosting a contest where the prize is a signed copy of Breathers.

In order to enter the contest, you have to follow these RULES:

Write a letter instructing friends, family, fellow survivors or anyone else what to do in the event that you are bitten by a zombie. Your entry should begin…

“In the event that I am bitten by a zombie…”

There is no restriction on length. It can be as short or long as you like. The winning piece will also be published in the Lost Zombies Scrap Book.

For more info and to see how to post your entry, visit the Official Event Page at Lost Zombies.

You wake up on Wednesday morning after a restless night with a cold inflating your head and dripping down the back of your throat.  You pump yourself full of Emergen-C and Day-Quil, then catch the 6:30AM Super Shuttle to SFO for a flight to Denver.  After a two-hour layover in Denver and a vegetarian burger on a crunchy role with questionable tomatoes and limp lettuce, you climb aboard a subway car disguised as an airplane for the two hour flight to Winnipeg, Canada.

You land in Winnipeg and, on the cab ride to the hotel, you look out the windows and see condemned buildings and vacant lots and people shuffling along the sidewalk in a daze and you think, “If the zombie apocalypse started here, no one would notice.”

You check into your hotel, grab some questionable sushi, meet a few of the volunteers and invited guests from the convention, then call it an early night so you can get some sleep.  At 1:50AM, you’re woken up by the couple in the next room having wall pounding sex and you realize the walls are as thin as the Bush Administration’s reasons for invading Iraq.

The next day you realize this convention is going to be very small.  Maybe 50 people if everyone brings in a homeless person from the crime-ridden streets.  And you’re wondering if you’ve wasted $1000 on airfare and hotel.  But then you get to spend time with the volunteers and guests and you realize this is going to be a different kind of convention.

You enjoy a reading by Conrad Williams from his new novel ONE and a panel about the unique writing journey of Edo van Belkom.  You have drinks at the hotel bar with Joshua Gee and F. Paul Wilson, who not only both enjoy the TV series LOST but who help judge the Gross Out Contest, which you hosted.

You host a panel and have a reading and sell all six copies of your novel (which you told customs were just samples and not for sale).  You take cold medicine that contains pseudoephredrine, the main ingredient in crystal methamphetamine.  You find out your hotel is frequented by aboriginal prostitutes.

You hang out with Rhonda Parrish (who thinks you have a good singing voice) and Gavin Hughes (who you strong-armed into reading for the Gross Out Contest).  You hang out with Kelly Young (who took compromising pictures of you) and Tommy Castillo (who won the Gross Out Contest).  You sing karaoke with these four people.  You’ve never sung karaoke before, but you manage to pull off a rendition of Sinatra’s “Fly Me To The Moon,” which isn’t as good as Kelly’s version of “Walking in Memphis” or Tommy’s version of “The Rainbow Connection” in the voice of Kermit the Frog, but you have a great time.

You go out to lunch and dinner with these people.  You hang out in the bar with them.  (Because that’s what writers do at these conventions.)  You have a conversation about surviving a post EMP Winnipeg and how you would get home during the breakdown of society and how when you leave the room to take a leak you come back to find out the hypothetical you in this scenario has just been violated.

In addition, you meet Cliff and Linda and John.  You meet Derek and Tim and Sherry.  You meet Nicole and Shad (who got engaged at the convention).  You meet Toni Stauffer and Thomas Sippos and Chris Angus and a dozen others who you fail to mention because your memory isn’t as good as you thought it was.  So you apologize to those forgotten and hope they forgive you and still buy your book.

When you leave Winnipeg on Sunday, you realize you had more fun at this convention than at perhaps any other convention and you realize you have fond memories of the murder capital of Canada.  But it still looks like the zombie apocalypse is just waiting to happen there.

Back in the spring of 2002, I was working on the re-writes of my second and third novels for submission to a couple of small press publishers in the horror community.  Each of the publishers had expressed enthusiastic interest for my novels and it looked like, after more than a decade of writing with the hopes of become a published novelist, I was finally going to realize my dreams.

But then a funny thing happened.  I started to hate what I was writing.

Both novels were of the supernatural horror variety, influenced by a steady diet of King, Straub, Koontz, and McCammon that I’d fed on as a teenager and young adult.  And although I was proud of both novels, the more time I spent re-writing them, the more I realized that I was growing to hate them.

What had once been fun had now become tedious, painful work.

So after struggling with the rewrites for several months, I told the two small presses that I wouldn’t be submitting the manuscripts and I kissed my opportunity to become a published novelist goodbye.

Then I stopped writing.

For the next year and a half I played a lot of golf and spent more time reading and playing with my dog.  I wrote a best man’s speech based on Hamlet (“To wed or not to wed, that is the question…”) and a 40th birthday poem for my wife based on The Raven (“Once upon a birthday dreary…”), but that was about it.

Sometime in the middle of all of this, I read Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk.

Although I’d seen Fight Club (one of my favorite all time films), I’d never read the novel or any of Palahniuk’s other books.  But for some reason, this novel resonated with me on a level I hadn’t previously experienced.  And when I was done, I had an “a-ha” moment.

While my three novels and four dozen short stories had all predominantly been influenced by my love of horror, I’d written a few short stories that were dark comedy with a supernatural edge to them.  But I’d never thought about writing anything other than straight horror novels.

Lullaby changed all that.

After finishing Lullaby, I began to think about turning a short story of mine into a full-length novel.  The story, “A Zombie’s Lament,” dealt with a group of zombies who attend Undead Anonymous meetings and yearn for civil rights.  About a year later, I wrote the opening scene for Breathers.

(Next entry:  M is for Maggots)