Archives (page 400 of 466)

April 26, 2012 / 15 Comments

Come Out To The Coast, We’ll Have A Few Laughs

I have returned from the Left Coast.

Goodbye, Los Angeles.

Hello, suddenly-green wooded acres outside my office window.

I am now beating back jet lag with a thumpy stick.

*thump thump thump*

The trip was a good one. A great one, actually. I didn’t go out initially to support Blackbirds (which, ahem, released on Tuesday, as if you did not know that what with my ceaseless reminding), but actually to give a talk to the WGA on the subject of transmedia storytelling with my writing partner (and then a second less-formal talk to the WGA board, which put me in a room of luminaries so dazzling I’m still trying to blink away the star-streaks).

But, of course, it also happened to time out very nicely with the release of the book.

Did the LA Book Fest on Sunday. They sold out of the book on Saturday (!!) and had to get more in for my signing, which was exciting because lo-and-behold, people actually wanted me to devalue their books with my signatures. (And I also signed books by predicting how the procurer was going to bite it. Death by plague marmots! Smothering butterflies! Jet boats! Bird flu!)

Then: Monday saw meetings about Blackbirds. Those went very well.

Tuesday was the signing at Mysterious Galaxy, and Sweet Baby Krishna do they know how to throw a book launch. Death-themed cupcakes that predict your demise? Virgin blackbird cocktails? Friends and fans and goodness thanks to LeAnna (note the “big A”) and the other brilliant humans at the MG store in Redondo Beach. Once more, signed books. Told people how they would bite it. Good times.

In random snippets:

I had a birthday. Thanks to Facebook for reminding me.

Howard Rodman, standard-bearer for the WGA, is a true gentleman and so kind for having us speak to the WGA. And for saying nice things about me to them. And for giving me a cupcake.

The Blackmoores — City of the Lost Stephen and wife Kari — did not rufie me with drug-cupcakes and lure me into their lurid latex underworld. He did show me his rubber llama costume, though, which I thought was illuminating. And Kari did make cupcakes. All of which I ate greedily.

(It was very clearly a cupcake-centric trip.)

The “niceness” quotient of Los Angeles was raised when Sabrina Ogden flew into town for the book signing. She is, as some of you know, a beaming bright channel of sunshine that dispels the darkest night. And it was a pleasure being carsick with her in the back of the Blackmoore’s ride, where we threatened to share bodily fluids in the least pleasant way. Or, at least, puke in the Blackmoore’s seat pockets.

And “seat pockets” is not a metaphor for anything. Dirty birdies.

Jimmy Calloway and Matt M.C. Funk should form a goddamn detective team and just get it over with. Those two need to be characters in a novel (though they are both excellent writers as well).

Nancy Holder is very nice for putting up with me sitting next to her during the first signing.

Scott “S.G.” Browne has a novel out called Lucky Bastard, and it is kick-in-the-nuts good. You should procure it. And I — *takes a note* — should have him here for a terribleminds interview.

I talked about how I once saw a tiger urinate on a little girl.

An old man accosted me in the grocery store while I was looking at cookies. He wheeled up to me and said, “Pick your poison! There’s enough to go around!” He then cackled and tottered away.

LA traffic is a sentient bipolar threshing device.

I met people from Twitter. Which sounds like a country. “Where are they from?” “Twitter. The Republic of.”

I drew weird porny cartoons in a couple copies of Blackbirds and at least one of them is hidden somewhere in the Mysterious Galaxy (RB) store. LeAnna took the one with the two-dicked unicorn.

I have about a thousand emails to pick through. So if you’re waiting on me, I’ll get there, but don’t be afraid to poke, prod, elbow me. It will get your email at the top of the midden heap, at least.

I’ll have the death-themed flash fiction challenge picked by the end of the weekend. Promise.

Again, Blackbirds is out. You can nab at:

Amazon (US)

Amazon (UK)

Barnes & Noble

Indiebound

If you read the book and liked it — or any book by any author! — please consider writing a review and telling your friends and just in general being an advocate for work you love.

Also, send us cupcakes.

Because, as it turns out, we really like those.

April 25, 2012 / 43 Comments

Let Us Discuss The Nature Of Book Promotion

Given that I am a noisy self-promoter, you already know I have a book out this week.

But, I want to pull back from the self-promotion and talk about the nature of self-promotion.

First, for readers, I want to know: what promo works for you? What gets your attention? Word of mouth is probably the biggest (which means that ultimately a good book is its own best promotion), and certainly social media has inflated our own circle of trust in terms of spreading said word of mouth. But what else does it? What else grabs you by your sensitive nipples and forces your hand to consider buying a book or investigating an author’s work? What hooks you?

For authors, I want to ask: what do you do in terms of self-promotion? How much does your publisher handle? What works? What doesn’t? What inventive stuff have you seen or done?

Trad-pub and self-pub, please chime in.

Talk about… y’know, all of it. Book trailers, book tours, covers, ads, ARGs, anything and everything.

Let’s paint with shotguns. Explode this topic a little (or a lot).

April 24, 2012 / 37 Comments

25 Things I Learned While Writing Blackbirds

The day has come.

Blackbirds hits shelves — online and off — today.

I feel like a great big hand has reached into my chest and pulled something out of me. In a good way. Like, “Oh, hey, those chest pains you were feeling? Your keys were lodged in your aorta.” *jingle jingle*

So, let’s get this out of the way up front: I hope you’ll consider nabbing a copy today. This book is my baby. I mean, okay, my baby is my baby, but this is my book baby. A seriously disturbed, very fucked-up, hopefully hilarious and also sweet (in its own sick way) book baby. Your procurement options are as follows:

Amazon (US)

Amazon (UK)

Barnes & Noble

Indiebound

Hopefully you’ll take a chance on the book. Hopefully you’ll see that all the writing-related gobbledygook I talk about here ideally — ideally — stacks up and comes from and went into writing this story and character.

In the meantime, I figured I’d cobble together a “list of 25” orbiting the book and talking about what I learned through writing it, submitting it, and publishing it. Please to enjoy.

1. Bleed On The Page

Give it your all and put it out there. This is your book. This matters. Story matters. And it has to matter to you first before it matters to anybody else. Don’t be milquetoast about it. Don’t just spit and piss on the page. Blow a hole in your chest with a booger-glob of C4 and grab your heart from within the bone-splinter wreckage and squeeze it like a sponge over the tale you’re telling. Blackbirds is me in many ways — it’s about my fear of death, my need for control, my love of profanity, my frailties and foibles and weirdnesses. It features places I’ve been, things I’ve seen, and dreams I’ve had. It made it easier to write. It made it so that it mattered to me.

2. Your First Novel Usually Ain’t

My backyard is a cemetery of muddy dirt mounts and unlabeled stone graves, in each a novel I never finished or a novel I did finish which likely sucked a big bucket of pickled undead monkey balls. They were all practice drills leading up to the big fight, baby. Lessons learned, pitfalls identified, characters and ideas stolen from myself. Blackbirds is my debut original novel, but it damn sure isn’t the first one I wrote. It’s just the first one that mattered. It’s the first one that deserved to live.

3. The Flywheel Of Story, The Gearwidget Of Writing

I wrote Blackbirds a buncha times. And it never quite worked and I didn’t know why. I know why now: storytelling and writing are two different skills. When I first wrote Blackbirds (and all the dead forgotten books before it), I knew I could write. The writing was fine. Capable. Occasionally even good. But the story was — nyyeaah, bleargh, barf noise, gag sound. It didn’t hang together. It didn’t have shape — it was like a bunch of wilted half-erect man-wangs lashed together with fraying bungee cord and left to float (and then sink) in a rusted wash-tub. I learned soon the obvious truth to which I was oblivious was that the mechanics of story and the mechanics of writing are two separate machines. They fit together. So learn both.

4. Completo El Poopo, Motherfucker

The first many iterations of Blackbirds lay unfinished. (Back then, the book didn’t even have a title, though I sometimes called it Vultures.) The book isn’t real until it’s done. It’s perhaps the most important lesson: before you can do anything else, before you rewrite, edit, query, publish, whatever, you have to finish your shit. Nobody wants to shake hands with your wrist-stump of a story. *spurt spurt spurt*

5. You Gotta Write For The Movies, Kid

Novelists can learn from screenwriters. I would not have finished Blackbirds if it was not for workshopping the pre-existing mess of a story as a screenplay through a year-long mentorship. It comes back to that thing I was talking about earlier, how writing and storytelling are two separate skills? Well, screenwriting focuses more strongly on storytelling than writing — and in writing a screenplay, you start to see the bones of the story and how they can be arranged to form whatever skeleton you want. I don’t mean that novels are equal to screenplays: each is a format deserving of its own features and bugs. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a bucket of stuff to learn from each format.

6. Language Holds Hands With Action And They Traipse Along La-La-La

Writing and storytelling may be two separate skills, but they still are two funky-toothed gears that fit together and spin one another. Language should reflect the story you’re telling. As the story moves into a languid space, so does the language stretch out, fill the sails with oxygen. As the story tightens into a fight scene or a scene or some tension, the language can tighten, too — sentences that are short and sharp and simple: a prison shiv of story delivery. *stab stab stab*

7. The Power Of Present Tense

Blackbirds is the first time I thought of tense as a meaningful choice. Everything I’d written before that defaulted to the past — in fact, the earliest drafts of Blackbirds were that way. But screenwriting is present tense and in writing Miriam Black’s story in that mode, I found that tense gave me two things. First, present tense makes a story feel more urgent, more present not just in the sense of time but in the sense of place. Second, and building from that, that was appropriate to Miriam’s story: Miriam is an agent of free will in a world of fate. Tense here for me was able to do double-duty and reflect the themes at hand — past tense would be an assumption of fate (“it has already been written”) while present tense reflected Miriam’s free will (“it has not been written and, in fact, is being written right now as you watch”).

8. The Outline Is The Thing

I hate outlining. Hate, hate, hate it. I hate it with a syphilitic burning, I hate it like I hate eggplant or pageant moms or really big potholes. And for a very long time I refused to do it. I was an artist, thank you. My story was a living, liquid thing. It could not be contained by an outline. The outline was a prison: lock my story away in a preliminary outline and it would go on hunger strike until it was a withered, quivering thing sitting in its own mess. All this I proudly proclaimed upon my throne of shitty incomplete manuscripts. Eventually, my screenwriting mentor said: “You need to outline because you need to outline so just shut up and outline.” And I groused and grumbled and fought my captors and then finally rolled over and outlined. And the plot presented itself like a beautiful vagina made of gold-leaf and pegasus dreams. Or something. Point being, it solved the problem I was having. Blackbirds would fail to exist if not for this lesson. I am a pantser by heart. A plotter by necessity.

9. To Fix It, You Must First Break It

I had several incomplete versions of Blackbirds. What it took to fix it was — after all that outlining, after all that screenwriting — to blow up everything I had and start over. The versions that existed were kludgy and clogged with old panties and eyeless teddy bears. Sometimes to fix a broken pipe, duct tape won’t do. You gotta rip that shit out. You gotta put in new pipe. I destroyed Blackbirds to save Blackbirds.

10. The Characters Carry The Book On Their Backs

This is a lesson I’ll repeat until I am dead in the ground (or until I change my mind, I guess) — Plot is like Soylent Green: it’s made of people. Miriam Black and the characters who surround her shape the story and the plot. The story and plot do not shape the characters. A plot is, at the end of the day, the motivations of many characters pushing on one another, birthing a conflict that forms a gauntlet for the audience to walk. Miriam Black, as an agent of fate, of chaos, of warring selfishness and selflessness, pushes on the story.

11. The Key To Unlikable Characters

You can make the most unlikable character in the world as long as she’s fun or compelling to watch. I’ve heard from many that one of the most vile characters in the book — the assassin Harriet — really grabbed them by the lapels and, in some cases, actually aroused sympathy despite being a total fucking monster. I hated her, but loved to write her, loved to watch her work.

12. The Empathetic Psychomemetic Soul Bridge

HERE HAVE SOME MORE ACID DUDE. Okay, not so much with the acid? Fine. I tried to find in all the characters a connection to myself — not always a part reflective of me but an empathy. Not a sympathy, but a thing where I can look at that character and, as the Devil’s own advocate say, “I get this character, I grok their voodoo, I see why they are the way they are for better or for worse.” I have strong feelings for some of these characters; they’re not just mechanical exercises, not just ink on a page. Me loving to write these characters ideally translates into you loving to read them. I hope.

13. Write What You Want To Read

Life’s too short and novels are too long to waste time writing stuff for other people. Write the story you want to write. Not least of all because your passion for what’s on the page will bleed sticky onto the reader’s hands. It’s just one more reason to not chase trends — write what gets you geeked.

14. The Pitch Is A Bitch (But You Gotta Do It)

Remember how I said I hate writing outlines? I hate writing queries more. It’s like, “I just spent years of my life writing this goddamn novel and now you want me to take the whole thing and condense 300 pages down to one? MY BRAIN IS BURNING.” But fuck it, you gotta do it. Even self-publishers have to write an Amazon description, and trust me, the vibe is the same. In fact, there’s my query secret: don’t think about writing a query, pretend you’re writing the back jacket marketing copy for the book. It works.

15. Some Agents Are Kinda Douchey

Many — perhaps most — agents are really cool humans. Some are not and have earned the reputation that agents have, as prickly gatekeepers guarding the gates of Eden with a flaming book stamp that says FUCK NO. I received some very nice rejections and some very cool interest from different agents. I also received a helluva lot of No Responses At All (and several that came to me six months or more after the fact), and I received a few agents that straight-up jerked my chain. They were cagey, hard to get responses from, made me feel like a cat chasing a laser pointer. They ask for professionalism, then don’t offer it in return.

16. Your Agent Needs To Dig Your Vibe, Wordomancer

I knew I had my agent — Uber-Ultra-Super-Agent-Queen Stacia Decker — because she got it. She totally understood Blackbirds. Loved the character. Had the right ideas for it. And she was fast with her interest and professional in her communication and she loves bacon and has dogs and has a twisted sense about her. Done and done. I occasionally hear horror stories from other authors where their agent doesn’t really talk to them or seems to represent only the book but not the author (or worse the publisher over the author), and I’m hella glad I don’t have any of those problems.

17. The Value Of Trodding The Old Roads

I believe authors thrive on a hybrid approach to publishing. Blackbirds walks the “traditional” path, and I’m glad for it. It’s not always about straight-up cash (though I’m happy there, too) — it’s also about the opportunities afforded to trad-pub authors. Would I have that kick-ass cover by Joey Hi-Fi? I would not. Would I have gotten the passel of great early reviews? Mmmnope. Would I have a shot at awards or foreign rights or be able to talk to agents and film companies in Los Angeles about the story? Not likely.

18. The Old Roads Are Long, Though

From the time of procuring an agent to the time of publication, you’re looking at a very long road. A year would be a fairly short margin. With Blackbirds, we’re looking at… two-and-a-half years? Something like that. It’s a slow, long line to the front. Now, a few things: in that time, the book was refined, made better. But I also didn’t sit on my asscheeks, eating Cheetos and watching marathons of 16 and Pregnant. I wrote other stuff. And some of that I self-published, and that stuff created energy for Blackbirds, and Blackbirds in turn creates energy for those things.

19. Surf The Tsunami Of Rejection

Rejection is a temporary state. Blackbirds went through a helluva lot of it, from agents, from publishers. I’m not saying that with persistence, every book will find a home. Some books are dead dogs — they won’t ever roll over. But as an author, persistence and practice will eventually carry you beyond the margins of rejection. It’ll drive you to the brink of madness. Just don’t let it push you over.

20. A Team Of Robot Ninjas Is Better Than An Army Of Tanks

Angry Robot Books are the fine metal lords and ladies publishing Blackbirds. Couldn’t be happier. They’re small. Versatile. Author-friendly. And willing to take risks. It’s that last one that matters most for me: Blackbirds played host to an unholy number of rejections, many of them orbiting the same theme: “I love it,” the editor would write, “but I can’t get it past our marketing board, as they think it’ll never sell.”

21. Genre Is A Moving Target

What genre is Blackbirds? Fuck, I dunno. It’s got crime in it. It’s paranormal — or is it supernatural? A dollop of romance. Lot of blood. Buckets of mystery. Thrills and chills, I like to think. Angry Robot calls it urban fantasy. Some reviews call it horror, or noir (though I’m disappointed no one has mashed that up into “noirror,” as yet). The one genre I know it ain’t is science-fiction, I guess.

22. People Will Judge The Book By Its Cover

I won the cover lottery. And I hear from folks the cover is hooking them left and right. Now I have to hope that what’s inside the book measures up to the raw bad-assery on the cover. Uh-oh.

23. Pebbles Thrown In A Pond

Little things add up. I’ve heard from folks who came to the book via this blog, or Twitter, or Goodreads, or even the experimental death-themed Tumblr, “This Is How You Die.” You have to try something. Every attempt is a pebble in a pond — you never know how far the ripples might go.

24. The Sequel Is Harder And Easier All At The Same Time

It took me years to write Blackbirds. It took me 30 days to write the sequel, Mockingbird. Slipping back into Miriam is like wearing an old coat (whose goosedown feathers frequently stab you through the fabric), but you also grow paranoid: “Am I writing this one like the last one? I need to be similar, but different, but not so different that I lose people, but not so similar that it feels like the sequel to a different book and NURSE GET ME MY XANAX LOLLIPOP.”

25. I Can’t Feel My Legs

Writing — and querying, and publishing, and marketing, and loving, and hating — a book takes a lot out of you. It feels in some ways like a great gym workout, in other ways like a weird (not bad, not good) breakup. You’re left flapping in the wind, your little book-baby all-groweds-up, out in the world doing things without you. You can only hope the book doesn’t embarrass you.

Fly, little book. Fly.

And bring me money if you find any.

April 23, 2012 / 24 Comments

Blackbirds: In Which I Beg, Plead, Wheedle, Cajole

My little book-baby, Blackbirds, is born tomorrow.

And I’m traveling — so, while I’m doing some pimping on the ground, I don’t know how much online pimpage I’ll be doing. And so I look to you fine feathered humans. And sentient spam-bots.

I am not above begging you people to do a little pimpage for me.

If you would be kind on the morrow to spread the word about the book? I would offer you endless gratitude. And a cupcake or a shot of something liquor-based if ever we meet. And a ride on a unicorn. Okay, there’s no unicorn, there’s just me in a white sheet with a cardboard paper towel tube duct-taped to my head, but as is said in the novel: “It is what it is.”

The book features everything you could ever want. Death! Sex! Profanity! Blood! Nightmares! Love triangle! Snark! Doom! Fate! Free will! Violence! Psychic powers! So much fun! Eeeeee!

Ahem.

Please tell a friend. Or many friends. Or a parent, child, stuffed bear, or imaginary foe.

My secret hope is that the book rockets up the charts like a mercury bullet popping out the top of a glass thermometer, but that’s not in my hands. I just hope you’ll help me spread the word is all.

And, in case my earnest plea is doing nothing for you…

First, it was my birthday yesterday. So. Y’know. *nudge nudge*

Second, I have a tiny human who needs food and clothing. I mean, jeez, just look at the poor kid:

Third, and finally, if you don’t buy the book and spread the word, I’ll weaponize herpes and give it to all of you. And I’ll use an enormous flock of blackbirds to deliver the disease. Because I’m a showman.

So, to review:

a) Earnest plea.

b) Birthday wishes!

c) Sad baby falling down.

d) WEAPONIZED HERPES.

Thanks for helping spread the word.

BLACKBIRDS. April 24th.

Amazon. B&N. Indiebound.

April 20, 2012 / 40 Comments

Flash Fiction Challenge: A Traveling Tale

Last week’s challenge: “Death Is On The Table“

I am traveling today, up at the hot spackled ass-crack of dawn to fly out to LA (“Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs”), so it seems only appropriate that this week’s writing challenge is about:

Travel.

Travel — a journey of some sort — must figure into your story.

Moving from one place to another.

Point A to Point B.

Any genre.

Up to 1000 words.

Post at your space and give us a link so we can see it.

You’ve got one week. Due by Friday, April 27th, at noon (EST).

April 19, 2012 / 15 Comments

Dana Fredsti: The Terribleminds Interview

You don’t turn down an interview with an author when part of their bio includes things like “zombie aficionado,” “swordfighter,” or “B-movie actress who worked on Army of Darkness.” You just don’t. So please meet Dana Fredsti, author of the ass-kicking zombipocalypse novel, Plague Town. Go find her at her website — danafredsti.com — or on the Twitters: @zhadi1.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

I stumbled into theatrical combat because I was hungry and nosy. Eighteen years old, I was working my first Renaissance Faire. When I say “working,” I mean flouncing around in a full red skirt, white blouse and cinch-belt, adding to the local “ye old Renaissance” color and enjoying the attention. Standing in line for a turkey leg (back when the vendors only charged a couple of bucks for one and cooked them all the way through), I overheard a guy behind me say, “I was going to do a short sword fight, but my partner backed out.” I snuck a peek; the speaker was really cute in a Ren Faire type of way, longish dark hair, white full-sleeved cavalier shirt, breeches and boots. “Too bad, it was a good fight.”

Without even thinking about it, I piped up with “I’ll do it!”

The guy looked me up and down and said, “Yeah, okay.”

Within an hour (after I finished my turkey leg), I’d learned the basics of sword fight choreography, b: my teacher’s name was Chris Villa and that he was a fight choreographer by profession. We performed our fight to much audience applause and I fell irrevocably in love with swordfighting … and my teacher. The latter burned itself out after a few years, but my passion for swordfighting (and men in breeches, boots and puffy white shirts) remains strong to this day.

Why do you tell stories?

I’ve written since I was old enough to string words together, and when my family moved to Tucson for a year when I went into seventh grade, my imagination was my salvation. I was unhappy and spent a great deal of time in my own head, making up stories, putting myself in different worlds. When I don’t write, I get stressed and unhappy. And then voices in my head tell me to do bad things…

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Don’t count on spellcheck/grammar check to do your work for you. It won’t and you’ll end up embarrassed down the road, I guarantee you.

What’s great about being a writer, and conversely, what sucks about it?

What’s great? Creating worlds, getting lost in them and escaping the real world, and having the opportunity to take literary vengeance on those people who piss you off. In other words, playing god…ah, what a heady rush of power!

What sucks? Not being able to do it full time, having deadlines and knowing you have to meet those deadlines no matter how tired you are at the end of a day job or how dull the knife edge of your creativity might be during your writing sessions. And knowing no matter how much effort you put into something, there will always be people who don’t like it and aren’t shy about telling the world how much you suck.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

I don’t have a favorite word. That’s the kind of question that needs a context, like “favorite word when you’re happy,” and even then, nothing springs to mind. I did know someone who would get enamored with specific words, like “buttocks.” He played a hard-boiled detective in our theater troupe and one of the lines was “a clue crawled up my leg and bit me on the ass.” He kept saying “a clue crawled up my leg and bit me on the buttocks.” Just didn’t work. Which goes to show you have to watch getting attached to specific words. Favorite curse word is actually two: Jeez Louise. Or Fuckity-fuck, depending on the company I’m keeping.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

Wine, wine, wine, and MORE wine! Red, white, bubbly! WINE!!!!

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

Walking Dead (graphic novels). The Dead (film). Rock Paper Tiger (book).

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable zombie war?

I’m familiar with just about any zombie mythos you can name, so I’m prepared for any eventuality. Although if they turn out to be those fast sprinting zombies, I think we’re all screwed. At any rate, I can shoot, I can wield a mean sword, I don’t freeze in the face of danger, and I WILL shoot you in the head if you get bitten. Or if you steal my wine.

Okay, swordfighting: what do other writers get wrong about it?

For me, what bugs is when writers describe the fights in an entirely technical fashion, with no drama whatsoever. Kind of like calling out a Twister game. “Right hand on hilt, left foot in lunge” etc. It bleeds the passion and excitement right out of it. And occasionally writers will get the sword components wrong, calling the hilt a “handle” or the pommel the “guard.” I mean, if a character has no clue what’s what, that’s okay, but otherwise… do your research! It’s kind of odd, though, because I have not really read that many books recently in which the characters utilize swords. Which is kind of funny considering how many urban fantasies feature a cover model clutching a katana. Including mine.

You are a bonafide zombie aficionado: what’s next for zombies? What haven’t we seen?

Damn it, Jim … er, Chuck! I’m an aficionado, not a fortune teller! I mean, who knows? So far we have slow zombies, fast zombies,

sentient zombies, sentimental zombies, nice zombies, pathetic zombies, funny zombies, half-zombies, zombie animals, zombie birds, and sexy zombies. I think the innovations to the zombie mythos (pretentious writer speak alert!) will continue to happen, but I truly have no clue as to what the next one might be. Other than what I’ve got in Plague Town and to tell you here would be considered a major spoiler. I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you. And then kill myself since I was the one who blabbed in the first place.

Sex and death. How do the two relate? Are they closer than we think?

Considering the French refer to an orgasm as le petit mort (the little death), I suppose there’s a connection. A Some serial killers certainly equate the two, what with the whole “I will stab you while I fuck you” (can I say “fuck” on this website?!) or, in some cases, “I will fuck you after I stab you.” Gotta say I don’t get that connection (and a good thing for my boyfriend, yes?); I’m of the opinion that sex and the resulting pleasure reaffirm life rather than echo death.

Okay, tell us about working on B-Movies. Pick a story and share it. Give us the goods.

Oh, but there are so many goods when it comes to working on B-movies… most of them bad, but there you have it.

I personally love B movies, but watching myself in, say, Princess Warrior requires a lot more wine than is probably good for me in one sitting. Most of my friends who’ve watched it feel much the same way. But it was really fun to work on. Most of them are because you have a small crew of enthusiastic people working for peanuts (I wouldn’t be surprised if this were literal in some cases), most of them really believing that art is being made. The stronger the belief that the movie being filmed for anywhere between $3K and $100K (I am not joking about the budgets) is either an art film or a really good film, the more sincere the acting despite very little to no production value and scripts of questionable quality. The perfect formula for the best kind of ‘so bad it’s good’ b-movie.

One of my favorite experiences was working on a film called Ninja Nymphs in the 23rd Century. Horrible horrible script, with a director who took himself and the project so seriously it was scary. He was also SO. SLOW. I mean, granted you don’t want the Ed Wood “Cut! Perfect! Let’s move on!” after every take, but this guy… take after take. The movie was filmed on video and oh, it shows. I played “Minstra”, the Prime Minister of whatever planet we were supposed to be on (I just don’t remember) and wore a blue lycra bodysuit, thigh high boots and a cape. I looked like a super hero. I also did stunts and the ultra cool thing about that is that the stunt coordinator on the film was Jack West, who doubled Wang in Big Trouble in Little China, all those really cool aerial flips and leaps. He also played the demon in S-Mart in the end of Army of Darkness. At any rate, working with Jack was the highlight of the film. He was really enthusiastic about sword-fighting, open to learning more about it, and just so much fun to work with!

You’ve committed crimes against humanity. They caught you. You get one last meal.

Are you asking about the crimes I’ve committed or what I’d eat for my last meal? I’ll assume the latter…so…let’s see….

Steamed crab (that I don’t have to take out of the shell) with melted butter. O Toro sashimi. Hot sourdough bread with more butter. I like butter. Bacon. Lots of bacon. A slice of pizza with feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, on a cornmeal crust. The best grass-fed steak available. Hot flourless chocolate cake. And to go with the food, any decent champagne (or sparkling wine ’cause I’m not a snob), a bottle of Tobin James Fat Boy Zinfandel, and the creamiest, butteriest chardonnay available.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

For the next year or so, it holds the sequels to Plague Town (Plague Nation and Plague World). I’ve also got a sequel to my cozy noir mystery Murder for Hire: The Peruvian Pigeon in the works and a couple other ideas I’ve been kicking around. That being said, I’m open to whatever the future brings me by way of writing projects!

Plague Town. How is this a book only you could’ve written?

I have a unique background and it’s because of my eclectic (some might say jaded) past what with the B-movie acting, the sword-fighting, a life long immersion in geek culture, an honestly inherited sarcasm from both sides of the family, and (as noted above) my status as a zombie aficionado. Bonafide. Other writers might come up with a similar plot, but I seriously doubt anyone could come up with the same book. It’s mine. MINE!

Where will the two sequels take the world, the characters, and by proxy, the readers?

Well, Plague Nation and Plague World kind of hint at the scope of the zombie outbreak in each book. The ante is upped for the characters as all the struggle they experienced in Plague Town turns out to be, while not in vain, certainly not the end of their battle. I’m hoping to up the ante for the readers as well by not letting them get too comfortable with the characters’ safety. I will be killing some of them (the characters, not the readers), something that doesn’t always come easy to me when I really like my characters. Other times it’s pure joy … but I’m forcing myself to push my own comfort envelope in the next two books.