Sunday, August 30, 2015

State of the Apocalypse: Halloween or Bust!

Where I’m at now, and why shit’s been so sporadic with the blog posts and stuff.

Heinlein, Ellison, and a monster truck. Honestly, the things
I do for you people.
For a mad minute yesterday I considered cutting off my work in progress, the third book of my SAGA OF THE DEAD SILENCER trilogy at page 140 and submitting to the publisher. That would give everyone something to read while I ground through the complexities of the second half of the narrative. I’d have to have a summary of What Went Before in what would be the fourth book, though, and I rather like that my individual books can be read independently of the series. 

I’ve had a couple of creative breaks over the last couple of nights. If I can just grind on through this next week, and the one after that...bottom line, if it looks like I’ve gone dark here, it’s because I’m going seriously dark on my forced march to the Final Boss and the resolution to the entire series.

My personal tagline guiding me through the writing of The Wrong Kind of Dead is, “Robert A. Heinlein and Harlan Ellison walk into a bar to brainstorm the zombie apocalypse and its aftermath.” I’ve got the Heinleinian frame of Smart People Out-thinking the Evil Empire, with the relentless Elliisonian questioning of motives and outcomes, along with Uncle Harlan’s acid observations of human nature. 

All this and an Apache helo-launched bunker-buster missile just under the summit of Pikes Peak, because I want to watch the Summit House jump into the air before it vanishes in a puff of superheated plasma. (Among other things, TWKoD is my Violent Femmes-y kiss-off to my near-decade living in Colorado Springs.)

So far, so good. Today I start from page 165. It’s a solid stack of narrative up to here. My challenge is to ease out of this midpoint, then begin building my Jenga-stack of pinch-points, and in precise order. I’ve got a zombie king named after a semi-famous American poem (recall how I riffed on Sylvia Plath and Charles Bukowski in the ultraviolent third chapter of Grace Among the Dead), with three evil zombie lieutenants going by the handles of Abby Cadaver, Lord Zebulon, and (scariest of all) Brian the Engineer leading entire freaking divisions of ravenously hungry dead as they converge upon one of the remaining hubs of civilization.

This masterpiece of misanthropic rage and angst-fueled genius needs to be in everyone’s hands by Halloween.

Halloween or Bust. Let’s do this.

Meanwhile, you're looking for something to read? Here you go, available in Kindle and paperback, in Canada and the UK:

Thing 1.
Derek Grace leaves his sick wife in Colorado Springs for a job interview in Kansas City. But in a few short days the early summer cold becomes the Final Flu, and as infrastructure breaks down, Grace finds himself miles from home, trapped between anxious police and National Guard, and all those Final Flu victims arising from their mass graves to attack the living. The long-unemployed Grace soon discovers a new skill set that serves him well in the New Weird Order. He's a long way from home, and the risen dead aren't the only ones in his way.

Only the strong will survive BLEEDING KANSAS.

Thing 2.
Returning too late from his Kansas adventure to save his wife and teenage children, Derek Grace loses himself in booze, books, pills, and the occasional killing spree among the undead. But then a stowaway and her fatal secret flush the Dead Silencer from hiding and back into a busy post-apocalypse in progress, where he must decide whether life is worth living when he’s already lost everything that matters.

In the heart of darkest horror, you will find GRACE AMONG THE DEAD.

Follow me on Twitter for the occasional link to a book excerpt. Im always good for a free taste before hooking you on the hard stuff.