The Annihilation of Foreverland

The Annihilation of Foreverland by Tony Bertauski
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Annihilation of Foreverland by Tony Bertauski is now my favorite read of 2013. However, this book came out in 2011, so I feel like I stumbled on to a great party just as everybody was leaving.

The premise is that a group of old men with A LOT of money "acquire" young men who are considered--at least by them-- to be disposable. Nobody will miss them if they vanish. Since it is my rule not to give away any spoilers, I will simply say that there are twists and turns throughout this book that will keep you turning pages or tapping your e-reader depending on your preference.

This is a fantastic story that swirls around Danny Boy. Mr. Bertauski does a fantastic job of keeping you off balance. You want to believe that everything will turn out for the best, but you are always kept wondering.

I highly recommend this wonderful book and have just heard that there will be a sequel later in 2013.

A look inside the DEAD world, and peer "pressure".

As I head into the homestretch of book 6 in the DEAD series, I am having the same trepidation that I always have at this point. The funny thing is, when I read it out loud later during the edits, I find so much more to like about it. Things seem to come together in ways that I didn't notice during the actual writing.

One of the issues that I face is the vast cast of characters that populate my DEAD world. Contrary to some people's belief, I don't create people just to kill them off. My theory is that I just will not allow any MacGyver moments. If somebody paints themselves into a corner...then they are stuck. The consequences in a zombie apocalypse are death.

One of the most interesting critiques that I see involving the series has to do with the harsh and evil nature of some of my characters. Most notably, Garrett McCormick. The funny thing about that story line is that it is the only one that I knew the ending of upon its inception. I really did not know how things would go along the way, but for me, the bottom line was that I wanted Kirsten to maintain her sanity and refuse to allow herself to become a "victim" despite the horrors that she is exposed to at the hands of her captor. Even more entertaining, I have actually read where my "use of gratuitous sex and violence is a product of my disturbed mind." I would like to weigh in on that. I never go into detail. I felt that it would be best if left to the imagination of the reader. It would seem that some of my readers have rather dark imaginations. For me, the entire story leads up to Kirsten's final act.

In Dead: Winter, things are not going well for anybody. The reality of a world without electricity is one that I really do not think we would fare well in...especially given what we are seeing on the news as winter storms hammer the nation.  

As things move deep into the heart of the first winter, there is a bleakness and almost a sense of hopelessness that creeps into the story. But think about it. When I wrote this volume, I actually turned off all the heat for a few days during the process. The thing is, I am on the third floor, I get the radiated heat from the residents living below me. Was I cold? Yes. But it is like a video game...the reset button is always right there if things get too nasty.

In Dead: Siege & Survival, I am setting things up for the big wrap up. It is the most open ended of the books in this cycle. (Like Dead: Revelations was in the first three book cycle.) Since the series is slated to go twelve books (four cycles of three books each), there will obviously be stories yet to be told. However, each third book, I try to provide some closure. Some of the stories will actually conclude (in the vignettes). The main stories (Steve and the Geeks) will reach a spot where you can catch your breath. 

So, that is a look inside the DEAD series. And now for the "peer pressure" part. A lot of my friends are writers. Many of you are authors with a zombie series of your own. I have read a lot of you. What I am hoping to hear is some feedback (yes...be honest, I can take it) from my peers. I'm not looking for reviews...just feedback. What worked for you? What didn't.

I can say with total honesty that I am a fan of Armand Rosamilia's Miami Spy Games: Russian Zombie Gun serial. Mark Tufo won me over with his Zombie Fallout series. I wasn't initially won over by Talbot's quips. But the story drew me in and the whole thing with Tommy and the voice of Ryan Seacrest in his head as a "guardian angel" is sheer genius. His success is deserved and I would cherish an autographed Mark Tufo section on my shelf (hint). John O'Brien has created a military entry that is one part Tom Clancy with the feel that I got from 28 Days Later. His A New World series is intelligent and sucks you in to one of the most well thought out worlds I have ever had the pleasure of visiting.

I've read Kirkman, Keene, Wellington, and hundreds of others. I've never made it a secret that I am as much of a fan as anybody else. I actually have "pinch me" moments when I hear from Tufo, Rosamilia, O'Brien and others. 

Yes, I am a writer. Sure, some of you out there are fans of my work. But I am in your shoes. I have people that I am a fan of. Can you imagine what it would be like to hear from somebody that you think is totally awesome? To hear that THEY read YOUR book.

That would be cool...

The Walking Dead--311

So, back from a weekend at the Oregon Coast, but that did not keep me from catching the latest episode.

We are seeing the effects of Rick's breakdown on the rest of the group. For somebody who declared himself the leader and made the statement about things no longer being a democracy, Rick has done very little that can be construed as positive for quite a while. What makes this so poignant is that there is a stark reality about the toll stress can take on those with the burden of responsibility. To see a visible example, one simply needs to pull up an image of Lincoln at the start of his presidency and compare it to the final images after years of the Civil War etched out the lines of worry on his face.

Interestingly enough, Andrea decides to make a run back to her old crew and is surprised when she is not met with open arms. Since the story has already strayed so far...can we just start wishing for her demise? She sets women back decades with her weakness. Let's focus more on Michonne...she is becoming the female Daryl for me. And if you have any doubts about how strong she is...try those push-ups that she was knocking out while Merle watched and then made his attempt at an apology.

One of the most emotional scenes for me was when Karl told his dad to "quit". It has to be a heart breaker when your own son loses his confidence in you.

Tyrese is now in Woodbury. (I hope that this is temporary, his character plays off of Rick so well in the GN.) Will he see the Governor for who/what he really is? So many questions as we draw ever closer to the finale. The teasers keep promising a confrontation between Rick and the Governor...I think we finally get to that in the next episode.

PLEASE DON'T LET THEM BECOME ALLIES.

Anthologies...a peek behind the curtain.

This is a "replay" of an old post, but since I am away celebrating my 11th Anniversary, I thought this was as good of a topic as any. Read on and enjoy.

I guess it was bound to happen. When May December Publications started, it was with the release of my own title, Zomblog. Shortly after, we wanted to produce an anthology. It was mostly done out of frustration. After being rejected for a (now defunct) Indie's anthology and then seeing a person post in that "publisher's" forum that she hadn't gotten her story in by the deadline and the "editor" told that person to just send it in and not to worry, she was in, I was "unhappy". (All words in quotes are dripping with sarcasm in case you needed clarification of my tone.)

I have no problem being rejected. Every writer gets told "no" in his or her life. It is part of the business. But to accept a person's story based solely on a personal relationship is a discredit to the reader. You aren't selecting the best. You are filling the pages with your friends. I am not equating that to "invitation" anthologies (a subject I COULD easily place on a tee and shank into the rough, but I will save that for a later date) which usually consist of a publisher placing a call out to "established" (no sarcasm, just a matter of varying opinion) authors to contribute. Those usually work because the authors being invited bring their own reader base to the party. These let people get exposed to names they might not be familiar while still getting a fix from their fave. What I have a problem with is anybody accepting a story sight unseen or accepting a story simply because of "knowing" the author. I have to admit, I have written a few shorts that DO NOT deserve to see the light of day. Now, when I first penned them, I thought they were golden. However, after further review...they were lame.

Recently, MDP has been afforded the luxury of offering more than just a contributor's copy for some of our anthologies. Some give a flat rate, others offer a sales percentage to be divided between the contributors. What many people who do not PRODUCE anthologies fail to realize is that they are not cash cows. More like a dripping faucet. Over time, they can earn their keep, but they are time consuming and expensive for a publisher even if "ALL" they offer in compensation is a contributor's copy. However, with this new development at MDP, I have found that, while our submissions are WAY up...the quality has not changed much. And in some ways, seems to have slid as we get inundated with people who blanket the market with submissions (often while completely IGNORING the submission requirements).

Now, to be fair, I have been blessed to read some exceptional submissions when we were strictly a contributor's copy pub. I will admit that I have some favorites. I have one anthology that I am most proud of, I even have one that I feel was some of my shoddiest work as an editor. (And no, I will not divulge which is which.) What I will say is that now that we have carved out a tiny niche in the market and more people have become aware, I have to wade through four or five stories to find one that I like and am willing to PAY for. This is coming on the heels of my final selections for our second installment of Midnight Movie Creature Feature. The first one was like a perfect storm. In fact the selection process was so difficult that we ended up with 18 stories instead of the planned 13. The writers "got it." The stories were quirky, fun, and so damn unique. Seriously...I defy you to find a better anthology. (Yeah, I may be letting the cat out of the bag about my fave...) Revenge of the Zombie Pussy Eaters. Need I say more. Okay...Spine-Tingling Tale of the Crystal Golem. I am guessing that very few people who submitted to the second edition read the first. Now I realize that taste is subjective, but I will go on record as saying that I almost cancelled MMCF 2. Fortunately, there were some real quality stories in the 11th hour.

This brings me to the real point. I think that there is a certain magic about writers who pen stories for love versus money. I get that nobody wants to work for free. I could go on for hours about the value behind being in a contributor's copy anthology versus one that pays a few bucks. But I look at some of the authors I have had the pleasure of meeting and working with in our anthologies and actually regret offering up money. Say what you will, but the writers sending me stories "just to get exposure" are some of the best work I've ever read. We will continue to do an annual "first timers" anthology each year to give unknowns a shot at being noticed. We will continue to offer up an annual all-for-charity anthology (The Sick and the Dead is this year's and ALL proceeds will go to The V Foundation.) Also, we will produce one or two more each year, but the era of 8-10 a year are done. It is bittersweet.

I will continue to have EVERY story submitted for consideration stripped of all personal information about the author to keep my bias removed from the selection process. I still think that should be a rule. Editor's who make excuses about selecting familiar names as "part of the business" are lazy and should go into something like event planning where a "friends" list has its place. 

What if your thoughts were taken literally.

A story that I am very proud of and is a bit of a departure for me is The Exoterrestrials. This is my third story converted to audiobook. It is funny...leading into this, I have heard my share of horror stories. However, I have had nothing but excellent luck with the people who have brought my stories to the audio format. Johnnie Hayes is the voice you will hear on The Exoterrestrials. I cannot get the image of a radio version of The Twilight Zone out of my head when I listen.

(For those of you who have asked...yes, Zomblog is in production as we speak by an amazing team in Las Angeles who are really set on making that story come to life. Stay tuned for more details.)

So, spend a moment with Johnnie C. Hayes and then check out the new audiobook!

The indie community (writing, music, acting) can be its own worst enemy at times. What are some of the issues you see cropping up? Solutions?

The idea that filthy language is a part of “real life” and therefore must be liberally inserted throughout a story in order to make the story “real” is false and disgusting. I have encountered very few people who actually taint their language to that extent. Dean Koontz is proof that a good writer doesn’t have to rely on filth to sell his work. His books are clean, and more than 450 million copies have been sold already.

The social media is…

Texting, specifically, is further dumbing down a generation that already can’t spell.

Share some information about your work with us: (feel free to be as in depth as you like)

I always worry that I haven’t done the very best job possible, and that those who hired me may wish they’d gotten someone else. I would hate to know that was the case, after someone placed their trust in me. Your encouraging words do a lot for me.

What is one question you are sick of being asked—not in interviews, but by individuals who know you write?

First, not a lot of people know that I write. If they find out and have any questions, I don’t mind; I appreciate their interest.

So, let’s talk a little about The Exoterrestrials. I was particularly impressed with how you captured a sound that reminded me of the tone you get from an episode of The Twilight Zone. What can you share about your process?

I pretended I was doing an episode of The Twilight Zone.

What led you to audio book narration?

I always loved reading and admire a capable author. Good stories will suck you in as though you are in their world, and it’s fun to help make it all “come alive” through narration. Many people have told me that I have a storyteller style, so audiobooks give me a chance to use that.

(You can skip this question if you like) How would you describe That Ghoul Ava to friends?

What other projects are you currently working on?

Two more audiobooks, one about dinosaurs and one a collection of ghost stories; also; I am writing a non-fiction book of my own.

What is one thing about you that would surprise individuals who do not know you personally?

I’m really not as ugly as I look.

What do you look for when choosing to narrate an audio book? Or are they simply acting jobs that you simply take as they come along?

I want to do clean books, without a lot of profanity or foul language. I got trapped not long ago by accepting a narration that I didn’t know was so full of that until it was too late to back out, so I’m more careful now. I like to do Christian-themed books, fiction and non-fiction; and I enjoy the fun stuff like ghost stories, dinosaurs, science fiction and comedy.

As an added note, I turn down some books because they are so poor grammatically. We should learn to use our own language properly, especially if we’re going to insert ourselves into professional occupations such as writing.

Do you have anything in your “to be read” pile right now?

Tons. When I was a child, anytime I had fifty cents, I would go buy a book. As I grew older, I got busy with everything else and kind of got away from reading. It feels good now to have re-discovered it.

Horror Author Bryan Smith stops in to share.

Sometimes I get the pleasure of interviewing an author that I am a HUGE fan of his or her work. Bryan Smith is one of those writers. I have some of his work on my physical book shelf. And while I have hundreds...nay, thousands of titles on my various Kindle devices, I own physical copies of books by authors that I really dig. So, hang with him for a few minutes, then perhaps cruise on over to his Amazon Author page and pick a title or two.

What is your favorite part about being a writer?

I enjoy being able to actually make a living from writing.  I wrote my first stories at eight yearsold, so it was what I always wanted to do.  From the creative side of it, I most enjoy those times when I get so lost in the story that I’m almost not even aware of the physical process of writing.  It’s almost as if I’m tapping into an alternate world where the events I’m describing are actually happening.  That’s the best.

What are some of the lessons you have learned as a writer that caught you off guard?

When I was younger, I never imagined I might one day become as cynical as I can sometimes be about some aspects of the business.

What can you share about your writing process?

There’s not a lot of structure to it.  I don’t adhere to a rigid schedule where I write at the same time for the same amount of time every day.  When I’m working on a novel, I do try to write every day.  And when I’m doing that, I try to get in at least 1,000 words a day.  That’s the only real rule I have.

You have been witness to vast changes in the landscape of literature, care to share your favorite ‘war story’ from the ‘days of yore’??

During those decades of being an aspiring writer, I was always consumed with the idea of either getting published the “right way” or not at all.  And by the right way, I mean submitting my work to mass market publishers in the hopes that one of them would see fit to publish it.  Self-publishing or “vanity” publishing (as it was then largely known) was not an acceptable substitute.  I would never have considered it in those days.  I accepted the stigma attached to that approach back then and would sooner have voluntarily cut off a limb than to have gone that route.  Eventually, I did get published the way I wanted, more or less.  Leisure Books was mass market, but their advances were small.  Still, I did get the satisfaction of realizing that lifelong dream, and it was a hell of a kick seeing my books in airports, supermarkets, and all the big book chains.  But as we all well know, things have changed dramatically in publishing and Leisure Books wound up being a victim of that (well, that and their own mismanagement, but that’s another story).  Now much of the stigma attached to self-publishing has vanished.  I’ve been putting out my own digital editions of all my old Leisure books, and the irony is that I’m earning far more from those books now than I ever did when they were originally released.

What could traditional publishing learn from the Indies? And how about the other way around?

Traditional publishing needs to accept that their business model is outmoded.  They need to drop ebook prices to a level closer to what indies charge.  There’s no reason the digital edition of a major new release should cost nearly as much as its hardcover equivalent.  There are no printing costs, no warehousing or transportation costs.  When I see a new digital release from one of the majors priced at $16.99 or higher, all I can think is, “You greedy assholes.”  Indie authors should do whatever they can to ensure the product they’re producing is on a par with that being released by the majors.

The writing community can be its own worst enemy at times. What are some of the issues you see cropping up? Solutions?

I don’t have a good answer for this one because I don’t participate in the online writing community to any significant degree, other than the occasional interactions with my peers on Facebook and Twitter.  I also don’t travel much and only attend the occasional local con.  And like many other writers, I’m not the most outgoing guy around, to understate considerably.  I do enjoy the company of peers on the rare occasions when that happens.  It’s just not often enough to speak authoritatively in any way on this subject.

The social media is…

A potentially great tool for promotion as well as a sometimes fun way of interacting with fans and friends.  The downside is it can sometimes suck up your time.  But I struggle with keeping myself off the Internet in general when I should be focusing on writing.

Share some information about your work with us: (feel free to be as in depth as you like)

Since I was a teenager, I’ve had a deep affection for gory, low-budget B horror movies, and that  has been frequently reflected in my books.  I’m happy to leave subtlety and allegory to other writers.  There are some who deride the notion of movies as an influence on fiction, but I say the hell with that and to hell with genre snobs in general.  You are welcome to your densely, tediously rendered evocations of ghostly apparitions and chill February winds.  There’s a place for that, of course, but give me armies of shambling, rotting walking dead, mutant circus freaks, backwoods cannibals, sexy goth chicks, and thrill-seeking spree killers on the loose over that stuff any day.  Having said all that, I’ve had numerous books published at this point and my writing has evolved over time.  The crime fiction I read has had more and more of an influence on me, as evidenced in particular by The Killing Kind and Depraved.  I still deliver the gore when called for, but I’ve become more interested in portraying characters and their motivations in a realistic way, and in a more hard-hitting, almost noir way.  This is only natural.  You’ve got to grow and get better as you go along, otherwise you’re just treading water, and I don’t want to do that.  I have ideas for many different kinds of stories—crime stories, satirical stories, sci-fi stories, horror stories, you name it—and I’m looking forward to exploring as many of them as possible.

What is one question you are sick of being asked—not in interviews, but by individuals who know you write?

Will you read my manuscript?  I’d love to never see that one again.  And it’s nothing personal.  I just don’t have the time, and I’d prefer to devote my leisure reading time to things I actively really want to read.

How do you deal with negative reviews?

I ignore the hell out of that shit.

How much reading do you get in, and can a writer excel at his or her craft if they do not read?

No, a writer cannot excel at his or her craft if they don’t read.  No writer worth anything ever gets anywhere before having first read widely, by which I mean reading classics and contemporary literary fiction in addition to the usual genre stuff.  There needs to be a well-rounded foundation before a writer can start producing work other people will want to read or be excited about.  I try to read every day, but the amount varies depending on how busy I am with my projects.

When does self-promotion cross the line and become a nuisance?

Well, I rely on self-promotion to help make a living, so I’m going to do a certain amount of it every day regardless of whether it occasionally strikes someone as a “nuisance”.  I do this mainly on the usual social media outlets like Facebook and Twitter.  This has been a successful means of marketing for me and I’ll continue to do it as long as that’s the case.  The one thing I would never do is go to someone else’s Facebook “wall” and post my promotional materials there.  I only do it on my page.  If anyone gets tired of seeing those posts in their news feed, so be it.  They’re welcome to unfriend me and a few probably do, but the low rate of attrition is nothing against the sales my posts are bringing in.

What projects are you currently working on?

I’m working on a novel right now called Go Kill Crazy!, which will be my second novel for Samhain Publishing.  My first Samhain book, The Late Night Horror Show, comes out in March.

What is one thing about you that would surprise the readers who do not know you personally?

Probably that I don’t read much horror at all and very little from my contemporaries.  It’s not that I don’t like horror.  I do.  I read horror almost exclusively in my teens and twenties.  And I still consider myself a horror fan.  I’m always up for a good horror movie.  But as a reader I felt compelled to go in other directions for various reasons.  I will make exceptions now and then, mostly for Stephen King and a few other long-time favorites.

Amazon recently unveiled their “Author Ranking” list. You stay consistently in the Top 100 for horror writers. Do you see any benefit, or is it much ado about nothing?

Well, if nothing else, I guess it’s an indicator that people are buying my books on a steady basis, but I already know that from looking at my daily sales figures.  I do see some benefit to it.  There’s a little bit of a viral thing that happens with that.  The more you make that list, the more people become aware of you.  Same with when a bunch of your books start showing up in those “other people who bought this item also bought this” sections of Amazon book listings.

Any ambition to see your titles on the big screen? If so, which one(s)?

I would love to see any of them adapted to film, but I would particularly like to see film versions of The Killing Kind or Depraved.

What is in your “to be read” pile right now?

Right now I’m reading Riptide Ultra-Glide by Tim Dorsey, the latest in his comedic crime series about a trivia obsessed serial killer and his stoner buddy.  After that I’ll read a crime novel by Chelsea Cain called Evil At Heart, the third in a series.  Then maybe a couple of Richard Stark (aka Donald Westlake’s) Parker novels.  In general I read a lot of vintage pulp crime and hardboiled Noir paperbacks from the 40’s and 50’s.  And I always read any new Stephen King that comes out.

Links:

Links to the paperback and Kindle editions of The Late Night Horror Show, my first novel for Samhain Publishing, due out in March:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Late-Night-Horror-Show/dp/1619212307/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

http://www.amazon.com/Late-Night-Horror-Show-ebook/dp/B00A2RB9GK/ref=tmm_kin_title_0

My blog/website:

www.bryansmith.info

Depraved ebook:

http://www.amazon.com/Depraved-ebook/dp/B008RMY842/ref=pd_sim_kstore_11

The Killing Kind ebook:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Killing-Kind-ebook/dp/B008RSCO1U/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2

More Emily

Just another nibble of Dead: Confrontation...enjoy.

Emily-zombie followed the small group into the woods. The warmth was just ahead, several sources. The sounds of screams and shouts only helped keep her and those around her headed in the right direction.

Something hit her in the stomach, but she no more felt that than she felt the Bowie knife jutting from her chest. Still, every so often, something in a very small part of her mind would spark. When a burst of gunfire erupted just to her left, Emily-zombie moved deeper into the pack.

When the first of the heat sources was stumbled upon, Emily-zombie waited for a few of the others to drag it down. Once it was on the ground, she no longer received any sparks that made her cautious. She fed until the warmth was gone and then rose up and continued after the others.

At one point, she eventually ended up alone. As she continued to push through the wall of white that often reached as high as her shoulders, she would sometimes come to a stop. It was not that she lacked the ability to move, it was simply that she felt no drive to continue moving.

When a sound came along, she would adjust and move accordingly in that direction. Every so often, that spark would fire and Emily-zombie would move away from the sounds. On more than one occasion, she would discover a source of heat that drew her near. Only once did she actually take the opportunity to feed. It was a single source, and when she discovered it, it was so faint that she would have missed it if she had not literally stepped on and fell over it.

Not much larger than her, this source made no sound and no effort to move when Emily-zombie tore into it. She did not notice the figure beside this poor unfortunate that had frozen solid. Nor did she notice that her “victim” was kept in place by the frozen appendages of that figure.

Once the warmth was gone, Emily-zombie continued on her way. She paid no heed to the figure that eventually fell in step beside her other than to hiss at it once when it tried to move past her as she headed away from a source of warmth that was making a terrible noise. She never noticed the bullet that tore through her temporary companion’s head and sent it toppling over the railing that had steered her back on course more than once as she continued along the lonely mountain road.

Late one night, a terrible wind came, followed by a blizzard that dumped over four feet of snow in thirty-six hours. That storm proved to be too much and Emily-zombie could no longer move in any direction. There was a silence that came, so she felt no actual need to move and simply stopped.

It would be weeks before the weather changed enough to allow Emily-zombie to move.

The Walking Dead--310

I want to start my review by first posting a link to a great post by my friend, Armand Rosamilia. (Just click on his name...I'll wait.)

So...while Rick continued to roam "Crazy Town" and Glenn turned into a Korean Rambo...the series continued to get farther away from the graphic novel. I no longer consider this the same story that I fell in love with as I flipped though page after page of Kirkman's epic creation. I now see this as a really good zombie series that uses some of the same bits and pieces as the GN. That said, this was actually a pretty good episode.

A great moment between the Dixon brothers gave their relationship a new depth. This is more than a good versus evil brother story. It is a story sidetrack that does what I want in my zombie fiction. It takes what would normally be a simple stereotype (in Merle) and gives it all three dimensions. This is what the horror genre is starved for in the era of torture porn.

We get a bit of a confrontation between Glenn and Maggie. Ladies, I need you to help me wrap my mind around this. I am not understanding her reaction at all. She wanted a stronger man, now that she has it...what? Is he not "doing it right?" Is Glenn not supposed to be upset about what happened? Seriously...I feel like I am missing the boat on that part.

To add to the story, Andrea continues to make bad decision upon bad decision involving The Governor and Woodbury. That entire scene is screaming "get out, woman!" But she just wanders around and acts oblivious. To think for one second that she does not KNOW where The Governor went...

Which brings me to the best ten minutes of the season. First off, it seems that everybody finally took some "Reality Pills" when it came to shooting, because I never saw so many automatic weapons fired that hit ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. We now have a new term in our lexicon: "Walker Bomb". In an apocalyptic version of a car bomb, driving a van loaded with undead and crashing the gate of the prison was epic.

Something tells me that there is a war brewing. Isn't this a sad editorial on humanity when, while faced with our own extinction, we still divide into factions and turn on one another. It is sad, but I firmly believe that this is how we would unfortunately respond to just such an event.

Look what you did!

Yesterday, just for fun, I decided to try out a "chain" story. I tossed out a random prompt and hoped for the best. Now that it has gone over so well and seems to have been such a success, I can openly admit that I really thought that this would flounder and die.

I know, not a very optimistic attitude. Not only did it go over well, but some very talented authors lent their skill. So, my thanks to  Mark Tufo, Greg Carrico, Jerry McKinney, Lori R. Lopez, G. Elmer Munson, Christine (like Cher or Madonna...just Christine).

I want to thank all the participants (follow the links to their pages and check out their stuff if you are just hanging out with nothing going on), and also all of the folks who came and in checked it out, commented, or even sent an email saying how much you enjoyed this little diversion. Who knows...I may make this a monthly feature.

So now, I give you Two-Fifteen. (I just named the story after the date it was created.)

Enjoy.

Jerry walked in the house and froze in his tracks.

It could have been from the weather…that would have been the easier explanation as the thermometer plummeted to zero. A blizzard of near epic proportions was approaching the area. But no, what froze Jerry in place was the silhouette of his wife; something wasn’t quite right as she stood with her back towards him staring out the kitchen window. Well…that and the fact that she was standing in a pool of blood.

The door softly snicked shut as a muffled rattling sound welcomed him from the hallway on his right. The house should have been empty. His wife should have been at her mother’s for the night.

He trapped the air in his lungs, holding it in to listen for more signs that someone—or something—awaited him around the corner.

Another rattle. Pills in a plastic bottle bouncing on floor tiles.

The gurgling, sibilant hiss told him more than he needed to know. At least one of them was in the bathroom.

They were expecting him.

They couldn’t have known. Someone must have talked.

Betrayed.

Only Tom and Alistair knew he’d be here. The glowing time on his wrist mocked him. 2:07 AM. He exhaled and reached into his pocket. It was going to be a long morning…if he was lucky.

She did not move, standing rigid. Her shadow cast down across the growing pool of crimson at her feet.

 “Beth?”

She turned her head a fraction as her arms dropped off the counter and hung listlessly at her side.

Jerry’s hand slid out, unfolding the lame pocketknife he had carried since childhood, a gift from Gramps. Beth would call him a geezer, saying nobody carried knives in their pants anymore except crooks and repairmen.

Times had changed. Sure they had, but there were always those little emergencies in which you were glad to be equipped. He held the three-inch blade before himself. Okay, it did look pretty lame. But when Beth turned around, his stomach dropped into his shoes and he was very glad to have something sharp between them.

Her face was smeared with blood like the floor. Only…it had changed. The features had transformed into something else, something horrific. She—or it—wore Beth’s clothing and Beth’s hairstyle. The face…well, he would never forget it as long as he lived. He wasn’t sure how long that might be under the circumstances. Perhaps minutes or less since the creature who used to be his wife had taken a step closer.

“Don’t move!” he warned.

The sleepy buzz he felt a moment ago had worn off quick. His head ached. And he still didn’t know what was in the bathroom.

A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of Beth’s mouth. She looked like she might smile at any moment if there were any color left to her skin.

Jerry looked down at the .38 he held in his hands. He’d only fired it once and hoped he’d never have to do it again. Today might be the day his hopes were crushed.

Another sound from the bathroom scared Jerry so much that he nearly dropped his weapon. He stepped back as Beth started to slide to the floor. He didn’t want to wait for them to come back to the kitchen, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk past his wife. Jerry was stuck.

“What are you?” 

“Why…I am your wife,” the thing gurgled as she held out her arms. 

That rattling noise was still coming from the bathroom. and it was getting louder. Jerry brought the pistol up to shoulder height.

“No, you are not my Beth,” he muttered through a stream of tears. 

“Kiss me, my darling.” The thing stepped forward and smiled, a row of teeth that looked as though they had been filed to points jutted from the thing’s blackened gums.

Jerry closed his eyes and fired. The crack of the bullet leaving the gun sent a sharp pain through his head, but that was nothing compared to the high-pitched shriek that emitted from the monster in front of him.

Jerry opened his eyes and almost smiled when he saw the thing on the ground with a bullet hole in the middle of its forehead. That is until he remembered that the thing had been his beautiful wife of fifteen years; the woman that rubbed his back and held his hand when they walked on the beach. 

Panic took the place of sorrow as Jerry realized that the sound from the bathroom had suddenly stopped. 

Jerry froze in a bubble of fear. He looked down at the dead thing on the floor again and noticed that the corpse had begun to melt. It had deteriorated so much that it was hard to tell where the blood ended and the liquefied flesh began. 

He turned away, feeling the dinner that Beth had prepared earlier trying to make its way back to the surface. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the nausea. As he turned, he spotted movement at the front of the hallway. A glimmer caught his eye as something slithered along the floorboards making its way to the living room with growing speed. He raised the pistol and tried to take aim at whatever it was that was approaching him.

He pulled on the trigger and braced himself for...nothing. The pistol clicked, but nothing happened. He suddenly wondered if his mother had had any children that lived as he recalled telling Beth that he would only put one bullet in the gun, ‘just for safety’. 

In the same moment that the thing on the floor decided to hurl itself into the air and rush towards Jerry’s face, he remembered the pocketknife, extended and still clasped in his other hand.

A "chain" story.

This might be a very short post...and it could very well prove to be a knee to the groin of my ego. (Seriously, nobody writes a blog with the intent that it exists in a vacuum. You like to believe that folks read it and come away enriched by the golden words that dripped off your pen. (An old metaphor since so few people actually "write" when they write these days.)

So what I am going to do is write a prompt. And then I will open it to all of you. By the end of the day, I hope to have an entertaining little story that you will create in the comments section. (I will have this screen up all day and try to hit the "approve post" button as fast as they come in so that you can build on the story. At 9PM PST (12AM EST, 5AM GMT), I will cut and paste the whole thing together and re-post it as one long post...(or one VERY SHORT post if nobody plays along.)

So...here is the prompt. Don't blink...it is gonna be a short one...after all, this is YOUR story.

Jerry walked in the house and froze in his tracks.

(Mark Tufo)--It could have been from the weather that would have been the easier explanation as the thermometer plummeted to zero. A blizzard of near epic proportions was approaching the area. But no what froze Jerry in place was the silhouette of his wife, something wasn't quite right as she stood with her back towards him staring out the kitchen window. Well that and the fact that she was standing in a pool of blood. 

(Greg Carrico)--The door softly snicked shut as a muffled rattling sound welcomed him from the hallway on his right. The house should have been empty. His wife should have been at her mother's for the night.

He trapped the air in his lungs, holding it in to listen for more signs that someone, or something, awaited him around the corner.

Another rattle. Pills in a plastic bottle bouncing on floor tiles. The gurgling, sibilant hiss told him more than he needed to know. At least one of them was in the bathroom. They were expecting him. They couldn’t have known. Someone must have talked.

Betrayed.

Only Tom and Alistair knew he’d be here. The glowing time on his wrist mocked him. 2:07 AM. He exhaled and reached into his pocket. It was going to be a long morning. If he was lucky.

(Jerry McKinney)--She did not move,standing rigid. Her shadow cast down across the growing pool of crimson at her feet.
"Beth?"
She turned her head a fraction as her arms dropped off the counter and hung listlessly at her side.

(Lori R. Lopez)--Jerry's hand slid out, unfolding the lame pocketknife he had carried since childhood, a gift from Gramps. Beth would call him a geezer, saying nobody carried knives in their pants anymore except crooks and repairmen. Times had changed. Sure they had, but there were always those little emergencies in which you were glad to be equipped. He held the three-inch blade before himself. Okay, it did look pretty lame.

But when Beth turned around, his stomach dropped into his shoes and he was very glad to have something sharp between them. Her face was smeared with blood like the floor. Only it had changed. The features had transformed into something else. Something horrific. She or it wore Beth's clothing and Beth's hairstyle. The face, well, he would never forget it as long as he lived. He wasn't sure how long that might be, under the circumstances. Perhaps minutes or less since the creature who used to be his wife had taken a step closer.

"Don't move!" he warned. The sleepy buzz he felt a moment ago had worn off quick. His head ached. And he still didn't know what was in the bathroom.

(G. Elmer Munson)--A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of Beth's mouth. She looked like she might smile at any moment if there were any color left to her skin. Jerry looked down at the .38 he held in his hands. He'd only fired it once and hoped he'd never have to do it again. Today might be the day his hopes were crushed.

Another sound from the bathroom scared Jerry so much he nearly dropped his weapon. He stepped back as Beth started to slide to the floor. He didn't want to wait for them to come back to the kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to walk past his wife. Jerry was stuck.

(Christine)--"What are you?" 
"Why, I am your wife," the thing gurgled as she held out her arms. 
That rattling noise was still coming from the bathroom and it was getting louder. Jerry brought the pistol up to shoulder height.
"No, you are not my Beth," he muttered through a stream of tears. 
"Kiss me, my darling." The thing stepped forward and smiled, a row of teeth that looked as though they had been filed to points jutted from the thing's blackened gums. Jerry closed his eyes and fired.. The crack of the bullet leaving the gun sent a sharp pain through his head, but that was nothing compared to the high-pitched shriek that emitted from the monster in front of him. 
Jerry opened his eyes and almost smiled when he saw the thing on the ground with a bullet hole in the middle of its forehead. That is until he remembered that the thing had been his beautiful wife of fifteen years. The woman that rubbed his back and held his hand when they walked on the beach. 
Panic took the place of sorrow as Jerry realized that the sound from the bathroom had suddenly stopped. 

(Christine-Part 2)--Jerry froze in a bubble of fear. He looked down at the dead thing on the floor again and noticed that the corpse had begun to melt. It had deteriorated so much that it was hard to tell where the blood ended and the liquefied flesh began. 
He turned away, feeling the dinner that Beth had prepared earlier trying to make its way back to the surface. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the nausea. As he turned, he spotted movement at the front of the hallway.
A glimmer caught his eye as something slithered along the floorboards making its way to the living room with growing speed. 
He raised the pistol and tried to take aim at whatever it was that was approaching him. He pulled back on the trigger and braced himself for...nothing. The hammer pistol clicked, but nothing happened. 
He suddenly wondered if his mother had had any children that lived as he recalled telling Beth that he would only put one bullet in the gun, 'just for safety'. 
In the same moment that the thing on the floor decided to hurl itself into the air and rush towards Jerry's face, he remembered the pocketknife, extended and still clasped in his other hand.