Stop contributing to the delinquency of lunatics.

Let's face it. We all stop and look when we pass by a car wreck. Do we REALLY want to see an actual mangled body being pulled from the wreckage? Perhaps some people do...but for the most part, the answer is no. Yet, we are compelled to look.

It is part of our culture now to gawk at the misfortunes of others. I hearken back to the Charlie Sheen meltdown. It was a national spectacle. He started selling tickets! He may have been crazy, but he was still thinking clearly enough to cash in on the public gullible enough to spend their cash.

We see it every day. Out loud, we complain to others. Yet, we have created the monster. You. Yes you. You are to blame for these nutcases. You engage them in debates that will have no winner. Yet, you feel drawn to try and state your case.

Stop!

All you are doing is feeding the sole purpose for a majority of these lunatics' existence: Attention. They crave it, and you give it. "But it is harmless," you reply. Really. Let's talk about some harmless nuts who sold their brand of crazy. Make no mistake, these are salesmen. And they only need to make you nod your head once to hook you. 

Names to remember: Jim Jones (The People's Temple), David Koresh (Branch Davidians), Marshall Applewhite (Heaven's Gate), Charles Manson.

Yes, there are certainly more extreme versions, but tossing those names out detracts from the idea I am trying to expound upon. My point is simple: Walk away from the madness. Hurt them where it matters...ignore them. If you are on the social media with these vitriol spewing folks, use the block function. If you are sitting on the sideline, waiting for the inevitable implosion...shame on you. Simply remove yourself and congratulate yourself for no longer being part of the problem. Because if you think you are not part of it in your silence...you are wrong. You are still an AUDIENCE. That is the desire of these pathetic individuals. 

Ask yourself this question: If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

The answer?

Who cares.

How can you be so lucky?

Nothing is more amazing to me as when I meet a random stranger that is also one of my readers. I mean, yeah, I see the monthly sales reports. I know in my mind that people read my books. I just don't ever expect to meet somebody out of the blue...in public.

In the past few weeks it has actually happened a few times. One time in particular during our camping trip, the couple that took the spot we were vacating, it seems the guy was a fan. That was sort of cool. It caught me off guard, and I was pretty surprised. I guess I just don't expect that sort of thing.

This last time happened just the other day at the Portland Thunder game. Okay, so you might think that would be no big deal, after all, I am a sponsor and my DEAD: Snapshot--Portland, Oregon book is actually given away at the game for those who buy the "Zombie Row" package. However, what made this stand out was being able to talk to somebody who had obviously read my DEAD series and was very much a fan of the books.

Even more interesting, I guess the person has been two rows behind us as season ticket holders, and when she realized that I was "That TW Brown", she delayed in actually approaching me. She did not want "to be a bother" or something to that effect. All I could say to that was, "It is never a bother to meet somebody who allows me to do what I love for a living." In reality, the honor is mine. Seriously, I see me every single day, and it is not that exciting. Show up when I am doing laundry or cleaning up around the bird cages...not a lot of glamour I can promise.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I honestly enjoy being able to talk to people about my books. I love the comments, questions, and even the critiques. How could I not...I get to write about and chat casually about zombies?! Seriously?

So, if you are out and about, and we ever cross paths, don't ask yourself if you should "bother" me. It is never a bother to talk to you. You allowed me to live my dream. Come over and say hello. I want to leave you with the cover reveal for DEAD: End...due this coming October.

Hello face...meet Mr. Egg.

So, as some of you might know, I am dipping my toes into a book that has absolutely no zombies. It is a fairly common thing for writers to trumpet their newest successes for all to share (or envy if that is your thing). Showing the world how awesome you are is just one of those things people like to do. What we hate is admitting our defeats or less-than-par performances. It allows those who wish us ill to crow and squee with delight while also casting those who reveal such things in perhaps a less than favorable light.

Yeah, well, I am here to say that we don;t always hit the ball out of the park. In fact, it is in missing the mark that we often find our biggest potential for growth. If it all came easy, how would we be able to really celebrate the accomplishments. I am a believer that you can't really know happiness unless you have experienced sadness, you cannot triumph unless you have failed.

Speaking of fail...

Uncivil War: A Modern Day War in the United States is due to be released on July 30th. That being said, I decided it would be nice to give it a rolling start by putting it up for pre-release. Perhaps "rolling" was an exaggeration. (Notice that I did not say "running"?) After a week...I have sold a whopping two copies. I gotta admit...that stings. I would by lying if I said otherwise. While I was/am certainly not expecting "DEAD" numbers, I can say that I had hopes that were just a tad higher.

Now, that does not mean that the sky is falling. A book can gain some buzz after it has come out and landed in a few hands. And, I can honestly say that I am not much of a pre-order kind of guy (unless it is a video game with bonus features thrown in for those who pre-order).

And of course the only other thing I have to compare it to is the 11th DEAD book and the DEAD: Snapshot--Portland, Oregon title. Those popped 3 and 4 digit pre-release stats, but that is a known entity. This new title is its own monster (with zero monsters appearing).

While I can openly admit my disappointment, I can also, at the same time, re-gain an appreciation for where my book sales have gone in the past couple of years. I do recall the days when 30-40 sales a month from all my titles combines was reason to celebrate. I can still remember the giddiness when I had one title actually break into double digits for the month.

I realized the past few days just how blessed I am. Sure, I still hold high hopes for my upcoming book. It is a stand alone title using modern day events as a stepping stone. The possibility is there for this book to catch fire and actually eclipse my DEAD series in commercial sales. However, it is equally possible that this book sits beside Dakota as a title that I am proud to have written, but sells relatively few copies.

It would have been easy for me to just skip this book and never dust it off (the idea originated back in 1993 during the Rodney King Riots). However, this was one of those titles that I had to write because I love being able to empty my brain onto paper (or into the computer as the case may be these days). 

Funny, when I sat down to write this, I was kinda bummed. But along the way, something happened. I remember that I write because I LOVE it! This is the best job in the world. How lucky am I that I get do do what I dreamed of doing since I was a teenager?!

Got a half hour to kill?

So, you got a half hour to kill...well, I can help. Below is the video of my running of the 2015 Rugged Maniac in Portland, Oregon. I even put in a soundtrack of my band to help pass the time. (Yeah, that is me on vocals as well as guitar.) Have a great Wednesday!




And did you know that you can subscribe to my "channel" to be notified whenever I post something new? Well, it is true!

DO NOT ask for what you don't REALLY want.

To keep this from seeming overly heavy, I will intersperse this offering with pictures of puppies and flowers. This is the best I can do to lighten the mood, because I have a few things I want to (in golf lingo) grip and rip. So with no further delays...a cute puppy and a guitar signed by George Romero.

Some of you reading this might post reviews from time to time. Many of you WAIT for reviews to be posted about your work. (I know I check EVERY MORNING!) So, this one might sting a bit. If you are feeling a bit cranky after reading this and think that perhaps I am a giant ass hat, then you are probably one of the offenders. So here it is...we all love to read reviews about our stuff provided that the review is good, glowing, and says we are absolutely the most talented-yet-sadly-undiscovered writer in existence. I have spoken ad nauseum when it comes to complaining about reviews. Sadly, some still miss the point, or get it and choose to ignore it. A bad review stings. I would be a big fat liar if I said I haven't read a negative review of my work and wanted to just drop my head and weep. (Time for pretty flowers.)

But get past the haters and trolls and maybe focus on a few strangers out there who don't know you from Bupkiss. This is a 2 Star review from my book Dakota: "I don't often write a review that is less than complimentary as I know I could not do well writing. However, this was a disappointing read to me. Beginning with two Seattle cops and ending up in the "War of Northern Agression" is a stretch; one I did not particularly enjoy. The characters are well developed, the story is well told, but I just could not wrap my mind around traveling back in time! What's the point? And what did that have to do with the drug war in Seattle? Though I did finish the book, I don't think I will be seeking this author out again. I gave the book two stars simply because the prose is beautifully put together; but the story line is disappointing." 

Now here is the product description from Amazon.com:"Dakota Riley is a member of the Seattle Drug Task Force. During an investigation into an international drug smuggling ring, he loses his best friend and partner. To add insult to injury, he is assigned an African-American rookie, Marc Bradley.Seeking revenge rather than justice, Dakota ditches the rookie…and almost gets himself killed. After leaving the hospital for a ‘forced’ vacation, Dakota and Marc head to Marc’s hometown of Charleston, South Carolina.A day out on a fishing boat goes wrong when a mysterious storm arrives. The boat is destroyed, and the two men wash ashore…in 1861, just prior to the start of the American Civil War." This is now my favorite "negative" review of all time. Good character development...well told story...beautifully put together prose.

Now, of course not all negative" reviews are that glowing, but if you read between the lines on some, you may find points brought up that are actually helpful. And if edits are repeatedly mentioned...FIX IT! I had a person take an ax to Zomblog...she didn't think that the story went anywhere, and I had too many characters who muddled up the story because they were mentioned in one page and killed in the next. SHE WAS RIGHT! But I learned from that BEFORE her review, so I thanked her and asked if she would read Zomblog II. She loved it, gave it 4 stars and asked for more of my stuff. Which brings me to this next point...after more puppies...

So, you have a book written and you want it reviewed. You want to ask people...maybe even beg your readers to provide that little kindness that means more to us than they realize. You ask a few of your peers if they will take the time to read your baby and pen a review. Great. I do that (but I gotta say, writers are some of THE WORST when it comes to reviews...an issue that I still do not understand). But here is what I DON'T do. I refuse to write some flowery drivel if I read the story and think it is rubbish. Kind of hard to be the man with the "Brutally Honest Review" policy and then I spew a bunch of phony drivel about how everything is wonderful and every book I read is the next "must read" title in the literary scene. If your book reads like a bad high school theater production, I am gonna say so. BUT...and here is where it gets tricky...IT IS JUST ONE OPINION. (Hold on...time for flowers again.)

If you want a bunch of 5 star reviews from people, stick to friends and family. Or...as has been the hot topic lately...buy them. However, that means you don't get to go on some tirade when a total stranger who reads your book and thinks it is simply terrible. And here is the funny thing...no matter how good your book is, some people WILL hate your stuff. They just will. It does not mean you are a bad writer (sometimes). So, if you want me to review your book...you best be able to handle the truth. If I like it...trust that I will say so, but if I don't...well I'm not gonna write some hate-filled rant about your work, but I will say what I didn't like and why. And if the story didn't "do it" for me...I'm gonna say so. So don't ask if you don't want me to be honest, and don't get twisted if you ask anyways and I don't rant and rave. I've had friends tell me ahead of time "I'm so sorry, but I didn't like your book. Should I skip the review?" Easy answer: NO! It's okay, people. It just wasn't your cup of tea. Maybe next time. Besides, I think it looks more genuine if there is a voice of dissent amidst the praise.

As Indies, we must all suffer the slings and arrows of our brethren (and sistren). Our niche is famous for poorly edited work and sloppy production. We are also famous for going on social media jihads when we get negative reviews. It just needs to change, and WE can do better. So I challenge you all to start holding yourself to a higher standard. If we want to be taken seriously, then it is all up to us. Start with dialogue. There are some rules to writing it that A LOT of people just have never taken the time to learn. So ask, read, look it up, read...

How is that sexy?

I get to stay home every day and write. For me, that is a dream come true. My wife leaves every morning and has to work "out there" where there are actual people to deal with {shiver} and actually talk to. Since I stay home, and also since I have a bit of an OCD "problem" that involves needing things to be a certain way (read: clean), I do the housework. I cook. I tend to the yard.

Now, to me, that simply seems fair. After all, she has to drive to and from...be in a certain place at a certain time. All the stuff that goes with having a 9-to-5 (or 7-to 3:30 in her case) job is on her shoulders. While I happen to be a bit of a workaholic and suffer no issues with actually staying on task and meeting daily goals, I do not have anybody to answer to except for myself. If I don't write, I do not make money. We fall behind on things like house and car payments. A writer is only relevant if he or she continues to write (until you die and a hundred years pass so that you can be considered a classic).

I have a schedule as far as my cleaning is concerned. It keeps the house looking good and allows me to enter a room without wincing or feeling a surge of anxiety and discomfort. My wife has said on more than one occasion that "there is nothing sexier than a man who knows how to handle a vacuum" ...or do laundry...or wash dishes. You get the point.

I don't get it. I don;t find a thing "sexy" about scrubbing the tubs, showers, and sinks in our bathrooms. I find nothing alluring about a day with Murphy's and a large hardwood floor. The other morning, she was getting ready for work and I was in the middle of the morning routine which includes tending to all the assorted watering that needs doing between gardens and animals when she said something along the lines of how sexy it was while I was tromping around the chicken yard, dumping fouled water and refilling with fresh. I looked up at her as she leaned on the porch with a smile on her face. "Are you out of your mind?" I asked. "What could POSSIBLY be sexy about this?" It sure as hell was not the funky smell coming from that nasty water I was dumping out.

She has made similar statements when she comes in and I am in the kitchen with pots and pans on every burner...my latest attempt to channel Alton Brown or Alex Guarnaschelli simmering, roasting, or frying on the stove or in the oven. I just don't see it. I have an idea of what sexy is, and that ain't it. Truth be told, I often joke (usually to myself, the dogs, or the birds since the house is void of humans during the day) about my "glamorous life" as a "Best-Selling" author as I cook, clean, and take care of making sure all the bills are paid in a timely manner.

Sixty pounds ago, maybe a compliment about being "sexy" would have stuck. Sadly, even with all my hill running, tire flipping, battle-rope work and P90X, I just don't lose weight. (See earlier comments about my love for cooking.) I am a good four stones above what I would like. If I quit things like ice cream and baking, I could probably get rid of that extra load, but that is not likely. I am hitting 50 years old in September and not likely to ever dip my toe into the dating pool again. I already told Denise that I would become a happy recluse if she should ever meet a pre-mature end. (Yep, we have those morbid conversations...I have no idea why.) Life as a writer is a very singular existence. It would be some very barren soil to try and cultivate a new relationship...hmm...I am starting to wander off topic.

Anyway, this is primarily for the ladies. Perhaps you can illuminate me (and the guys who drop in to read these posts) as to why such things can be considered in any way as being "sexy". 

Have a great weekend.

Be warned: Potentially offensive content.

As I am closing in on the final pieces of my upcoming novel, UnCivil War: A Modern Day Race War in the United States, the nerves are in high gear. I don't much worry about the opinions that others will toss at me. I already know I will be called a racist (from both the black and white communities most likely), a bleeding heart liberal, a conservative nutjob, and everything in between. That comes with the territory, and since I know who I am as a person, I can let that stuff roll off me. (Not that it doesn't sting, but it does go with the territory as a writer.)

Nope, my concern is if I have created a cohesive story. I really warred with this one. What I did not want to do was turn this into a "war" story a la Tom Clancy. I wanted it to be about a worst case scenario that could rip this country apart. No matter where you fall on the issues of race in this country, I am hoping that most people do not want to see us fracture and come apart. (We did that in 1861 and I would rather us not repeat such things.)

I know this is not the stuff my zombie fans are waiting for, but this story has been brewing in my head since the early 90s and the Rodney King Riots. The premise is simple: an organized group moves in and channels the anger of a city that is rioting after another young black (African-American if you prefer, I honestly don't know which is correct anymore) is shot and killed by a police officer. The officer is acquitted and the riot starts. This group moves in and has the rioters TAKE the city instead of torch and trash it. This spurs all sorts of political and media reaction and (in my opinion) ends with a chilling series of events that leave you wondering if the United States goes the way of the Roman Empire.

What follows is another excerpt. It will be upsetting to some (maybe). This is still a rather tame section as far as the language is concerned, but I hope it makes you want to know more.

Benny Richards pulled on his goggles and tugged the drawstrings for his hooded sweatshirt tight. He tapped his pocket to ensure all his “gear” was ready. Taking one last look at the television, he felt his heart race a bit. They were rioting downtown. He never missed a riot if he could help it. He might even see about upgrading to a better flat screen while he was out.

Leaving his studio apartment, his phone buzzed. It was work. Like he was gonna come in to the copier shop today. Besides, if what he’d seen on television was correct, the copy store was likely to get some of the riot overflow. The windows were as good as broke. In fact, he smiled behind his bandana, maybe he would throw the first brick.

Taking the stairs three at a time, he bounded down the four flights and out onto the street. Up the hill, he could see the smoke. He’d been in so many protests that he thought he might actually be getting immune to tear gas. He started up the hill at a fast walk. Running would only draw attention, and he wanted to get to the action before he had to deal with the police.

As he neared, he could hear the soothing buzz of an angry crowd. He paused for a minute and scratched his head. For a moment he’d forgotten what this one was about. That’s right, he thought, some black kid got shot robbing a bank or something. He briefly considered the possibility that he might not be wanted at this little demonstration, but quickly dismissed it. People who are pissed love anybody willing to take their side, or in Benny’s case, at least acting like they are. Benny just wanted to break stuff. He could care less about the cause as long as there was some breaking and burning going on.

He thumbed his iPod for some good thrash metal and resumed his fast walk to the scene of the mayhem. Just as he crested the hill, a group of ten or so black guys came in to view.

“Fuck the Seattle Police!” Benny yelled. He pulled the brick from his pocket—he always brought his first ‘throwing’ brick—and chucked it at the largest window in sight.

The group stopped and seemed to have a quick meeting of the minds. Cool, Benny thought, I can clique up with some brothers. Better to run with a pack, plus, if the cops show, I won’t be as likely of a target.

The group started walking his way and Benny thumbed down the volume on his iPod. “S’up, fellas?” They continued walking his direction, but there was something in their faces that caused Benny to pause. They looked…pissed. At him!

Without warning, the group broke into a sprint. Benny stood stock still. His legs refused to listen to the voice in his head that screamed for him to run. So this is what a deer in the headlights feels like, his inner-voice scoffed.

The group hit him in a bum’s rush that sent Benny sprawling. He’d been in a few mosh pits. There was a cardinal rule; if you ever lost your footing, the first thing you do is cover your head. That didn’t help for long. As the kicks continued and things inside him broke or ruptured, Benny’s arms couldn’t stay wrapped around his head any longer. As he lost consciousness, his last thoughts were, What did I ever do to these guys?