Fly-Over Country

Several years ago, I wrote a story titled "The Way of Things in Fly-Over Country." It was a zombie story without being about zombies... and zombie stories are very hard to sell.

I eventually did sell the story to an anthology, and I'm sure a few people may have read it. It even matriculated to James Roy Daley's Best New Zombie Tales volume 3 despite not really being about zombies. It takes place in a post-apocalyptic world, one in which teenage boys sneak out of an fortified encampment to challenge their manhood on the "outside." No spoilers here, but if you ask, I'll send you a PDF copy (just drop a message to aaron.polson(at)gmail.com).

I've spent my whole life in fly-over country--Kansas--and I've voted in six presidential elections here since my first in 1996. (I was a senior in high school when Bill Clinton was elected, but couldn't vote in the '92 election as I was seventeen at the time... a world away). The state in which I was born, the state I love despite her faults, always goes red. Kansas and her six electoral votes always go to the Republican candidate, regardless of the fact that I have never voted Republican. Does my vote count?

It doesn't always feel like it, just as I'm sure a Republican voting for president in California may feel the same. Just over 400,000 voters or 36% of votes cast in Kansas went to Hilary Clinton. When I look at the electoral map of the United States, the largest swaths are red in every election, despite any percentage won by the other side.

Fly over country. There aren't enough of us here to matter. The electoral system makes us a lock for a Republican candidate even if he has never seen the Republican River.  (Which, by the way, ran just south of my hometown of Clay Center.  I've written stories about that river.) I'm not sure even one Republican--or Democrat, for that matter--nominee in my lifetime could find the Republican River on a map.

I love my state. I love the sound of a field of wheat in a spring wind. I can still hear the sound of grain elevators running all night during harvest season. I love the dust-tinted sunsets in orange and pink. I cherish the quiet afternoons I spent with fishing rod at that river or some farmer's pond. My formative years unfolded on dirt roads and with shotguns and too many fireworks. We used to shoot cheap shaving cream cans just to watch the spray and white foaming explosion. I am Kansas through and through, regardless of my vote.

I live in fly-over country. You look at an electoral map and hear newscasters say words like "uneducated." I see people I worked with at the grocery store in high school. I see my uncles farming in Nemaha County. I see the faces of the students who I help enroll in technical college to learn a trade and find a good job. I see my co-workers and the parents of those students. I see humans, my brothers and sisters.

I may not agree with their politics, but I stand with them as a Kansan. I stand with all of us in fly-over country. National politics have disaffected so many of these Kansans. The politics of our state have hurt many of them. They are ordinary people. They love their children. They work hard. They care deeply. And, right or wrong, they believe.

Our country is littered with hate right now. I don't feel comfortable with the president-elect, but that is the subject for another day. My feelings will not change those of his supporters, either. Here in fly-over country, we have opinions, too. All of us. And we don't always agree.

Even so, our strength is together, not apart. Our division is killing us. Failing to see each and every human in this great nation as just that--a fellow human--is killing us.

I'm done blaming. It's time for work. I want to use my voice in this red wilderness, a barbaric howl from fly-over country, until we can look each other in the eye and realize we are, all of us, family.

I'm Cheap

Part of resurrecting my writing "career" involves resurrecting my writing to be read. Now that we live in a world of digital words, I've never understood why anyone would take good stories away from potential readers.

These Darkened Streets back in digital "print"

Note I said good stories. I've trunked plenty of my tales, including some which have seen print. Even though they were published once, I might not want to claim them as one of my current stable of quality tales.

Way back on March 26, 2012, I wrote this post which explains how many of my collections and stories were wrested away from readers. I'm working to make them available again. And here's the thing--as I republish, I republish at the lowest price point I can. I don't mind 99 cents if it means a reader will take a chance and pick up my stories. This writing thing isn't solely about making money (although compensation is nice); it is about telling stories.

When I started focusing on the money, I started to lose my love for the process. The universe set me right.

I've recently returned Darker Matter: Stories of Strange Futures, These Darkened Streets, The Undead: 13 Stories, and Loathsome, Dark and Deep to the digital world.

Darker Matter back in digital "print"

You can find them at Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and elsewhere electronic words are exchanged.

So yes, I'm cheap. I'm cheap and ready to tell you a story.

Happy Birthday to Me (with free books for you)

It's my party and I'll give away anything I want.

Use the following codes for free ebooks at Smashwords (click on the cover for the link):

Code: FF45T

Code: AE44L

Code: RK92P

Code:  NV35C

Code: XV89M

Rawr. 

WIP Wednesday: The Waiting Game

Aimee's due date was last Sunday (12/11/11).  So we are waiting.

And waiting.

And the longer we wait, the closer baby's birthday will be to Christmas, for which he/she will never forgive his/her parents (at least during the teen years).

In the mean time, I'm writing about zombies, but doing so on my terms:

Had I known I’d be shot in the back, I might have stayed in my bunk.

(Here's a dirty little secret: editors of small press mags might shy away from zombies, but the e-reading public sure doesn't.)

Booooks, booooks, booooks...

Lawrence Zombie Walk 2010

A few interesting photos from last night's Lawrence Zombie Walk:

Cell phones? Cell phones? C'mon, zombies...

Wait...wait...is that zombie in the purple shirt texting? Scandal.


Now that's what I'm talking about; children can't run far on their little tiny legs...

On Monday, we'll have a special guest post from Amity author Jeremy D. Brooks. Until then...watch the skies.

So, Yeah. Monday After Spring Break.

And my brain is a mess.

A former student (who graduated ten years ago...Gawd I'm old), posted a comment on Facebook: "went to the book store earlier to buy a 'Where's Waldo' book. When I got there, I couldn't find the book anywhere. Well played Waldo, well played."

Yes, my students used to call me Waldo. I'm tall, relatively thin with dark hair, and wear glasses. I'm sure you can understand the comparison.

In the "Local" section of the blog, this is pretty cool in an indie-filmmaker sort of way:

http://www.lawrence.com/news/2010/mar/19/zombietube-area-filmmakers-prepare-undead-online-s/

Good peeps in Lawrence, Kansas I tell you. Good peeps.

The indomitable Robert Swartwood takes Narrative Magazine to task today. I like his moxie, whatever that is.

Finally, I'm putting together a lens at Squidoo (www.squidoo.com) to help fledgling writers. I'm not much more than a fledgling myself, but I've learned sooooo much that I'd like to share. Stop by (www.squidoo.com/writinghorrorfiction) and give it a look. Comments and suggestions are welcome. I have a list of additions to make, including an expansion of "the writing process" that includes tips on finding ideas, editing, and revising.

Enjoy your day, folks.

Smoke

When Ernst woke, he smelled the smoke first, even before he felt the rough cord wrapped around his wrists. His eyes began to water, burning from the ash in the air.

"Hallo?" he called.

Shapes shifted in the darkness. Ernst tried to move his head, but stopped as nylon rope scraped his throat. At his back, a square post, the corners digging into his flesh despite his woolen jacket.

The shapes came forward. Books. The cover of each speckled with morphing yellow and orange firelight...each having sprouted arms and legs of black shadow. One volume of dark green leather plucked its cover open with a shadow-hand. On the open page in front of Ernst, words stood out in the flickering light.

He began to cry. The rope at his throat constricted as he gasped for air, cutting into the soft skin. "Ich bin traurig," he gasped and closed his eyes, remembering the bonfires in Berlin, the piles of smoking pages. He understood the heat that began to sting his toes.

__________

Yeah, a little preachy today. Fahrenheit 451 does that to me.

For your viewing pleasure, I present:

All of the Dead

A brilliant blend of zombies and Legos brought to you by Tim Drage and Tony Mines. (no embedding of this video, but you'll be glad you checked it out...you can download if you want)

Finally, I'd be remiss not to mention the release of the special Road Trip edition of the Monsters Next Door. The best thing to come out of my experience running cross country in high school* is within, a little story I call "The Qualifying Run". There's fiction by some good peeps inside, so enjoy.

*What, you thought it was the shin splints or stress fractures?

WIP Wednesday: Zombie Snails!

How could I watch this video about zombie snails and not be inspired to write something?

I call my take "Guided by Wire" and it will appear in a future edition of the new Night Chills magazine. A man who eats of the snail that has eaten of the worms...

Okay, so what am I working on, now? I finished "Tap, Tap" last weekend...it needs some significant edits, but I do like the ending. Nothing is more important than the end of a short story (only if nothing is another name for the beginning).

I'm halfway through another piece I'm calling "Shallow Drownings". Damn if Lovecraft isn't still sitting on my shoulder, this story involves swimming pool portals, a remorseful father, and little invaders that take the form of children (children a little like those in The Brood). I have one more short I want to wrap up before the end of the month. "Tony's Apartment" has sat half-finished for about three months, and now is the time.

October is for novel edits (Loathsome, Dark and Deep)...November...well, maybe I'll do NaNoWriMo again. Maybe.

From "Shallow Drownings":

“I didn’t know who else to call, Mick.” The thinner of the men fidgeted with his wedding ring. “If I call the cops—”

“I am the cops, Steve.” Mick pulled in a lungful of night air and pushed back his broad shoulders. He took a step toward the body, tilting his head for a better look at the mass of disordered blonde hair. “Looks young. Maybe twelve…thirteen. You don’t know who she is?”

Steve paced forward, then back. “I swear to God man.”

Mick pulled on a latex glove and knelt next to the body. He poked a cheek with his finger, testing for warmth. “All right. Here’s what you need to do. Call 911.”

“But—”

“But I was never here, got it?”

Steve nodded.

Have a magnificent Wednesday. For those of you who check the time stamp: it's early here. Stupid allergy season.

The Sacking of the Public Domain

I've not read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies; I barely read the book without zombies. I laughed at the trailer for Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters (Carrie Harris posted a link on her blog today). Other titles from the public domain that have received a recent mash up:

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn...War of the Worlds...The Wizard of Oz...

But I'm done.

Really.

Write something new, okay?

Or, at the least, take an idea and make it new instead of inserting bits into a time-worn classic. I'm looking forward to Kim Paffenroth's zombified treatment of Dante in Valley of the Dead. I enjoy a good nod to the canon without cheapening the original text. War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts, and Zombies? Pleeeeaaase. H.G. Wells's version was pretty damn scary all by itself.

Of course my latest work in progress is Bram Stoker's Dracula and Zombies: Now with Undead on Undead Action!

Old School

I use black thread because of the way it looks against his skin.

Its skin.

But before I sew, I pour in the salt. At first, the stench seeping from its mouth knocks me back, but I hold my nose with one hand, hold out the container with the other, and dump the contents past its rotten teeth. The pile of salt conjures thoughts of sugar or a small hill of snow. Must taste awful though, if the poor thing still can taste.

Then, the stitches. I push my needle--a heavy upholstery needle from that little shop downtown--through the lower lip at one corner. The skin is a little tougher because he--it--has been dead a few weeks, so the needle, designed to punch through thicker fabric, is a must. I don't bother with a fancy pattern, just a simple zig-zag, back and forth across the lips.

Just as I tie the knot, it opens its eyes, and I swallow a scream. We make eye contact for a second, and I imagine a muted "thank you" pushes through the clot of salt and sewn lips before the eyes roll back and go dark.



*nods to the original Kolchak: The Night Stalker

I Broke My Kid

That's how it feels, anyway. Owen has a "buckle fracture" of his ulna in his right forearm resulting from a rather daredevil episode on his bike. Yes, the bike he just learned to ride without training wheels earlier this summer. Yes, I was supervising when said breakage occurred.

I should be fired as a parent.

I had all sorts of fancy blogging planned for today about the "chilling effect" and "free speech" and "self-censorship", but I'm playing Candyland and Chutes and Ladders instead, trying to patch a hole in my wounded self-concept of parenthood.

I'll get to that post, I always do, but for now...in the interest of public safety, I give you:



Be safe people.

Two AM Logic

As a writer (hack, if you will), I know suspension of disbelief is vital if I'm going to take the reader on any kind of a journey. When I wear my "reader" costume, I've been known to put a book/story/what-have-you down when the writer violated that sacred trust.

Okay, so here are the problems my brain cooks up at two in the morning (insomnia, anyone?):

1. Why don't zombies eat each other? They obviously don't care that much about sanitation (just look at them) and are pretty indiscriminate about what they put in their mouths. I'm sure somebody has cooked up the "virus doesn't taste good" or "don't eat their own kind" argument, but that's just lame. In the real world, the whole zombie problem would probably be over in a few hours after the outbreak, just after they devour each other. The National Guard can wait around and pick off remainders.

2. Vampires. The whole "handsome, super strong, nearly invincible" thing. These are the living dead, folks. Only a few notches above aforementioned zombies on the food chain. How/why they became the fodder for paranormal romance (shudders) instead of the thinly-veiled metaphor for venereal disease they once were, I will never know. Look, at a minimum, their breath has to reek. And super-strength? Have you tried to subsist on a diet of blood? I couldn't even play a decent game of tennis when I...er, never mind.

I could go on, but I think I may have revealed a little too much about how my brain works at two AM. I love zombies...I don't want them to eat each other because it's much more fun when they try to eat us. Vampires? Meh. I prefer the nasty, monstrous type. Good old Vlad the Impaler type. You can take Fabio the Bloodsucker and launch his sorry butt into space with all the other debris.

Update: Catherine J. Gardner is our guessing-game victor! Huzzah!

More tomorrow.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy

K.C. Shaw just informed me that I won the Zombie Caption Contest at Tor.com.

There were some wonderful entries; pop over to the site and read them.

Consider me shocked and awed.

And hungry...

Zombies on the Brain

A coworker gave me a copy of Zombie Haiku by Ryan Mecum--a nice little gift for driving to a school "training". I devoured (pardon the word choice) the book in a no time (um, each haiku is only seventeen syllables...), and found it tasty.

While one could read through the book as a story, some of the bits are most enjoyable isolation. My favorites include a poem comparing a baby to a fast food kid's meal (with prize inside). Sick, yes. Entertaining, yes.

A great gift for the zombie lover in your life.

New School Year, New Blah

After the first two and a half days of a new school year, I've decided I'm quite the grumpy old curmudgeon (and so tired too). Hopefully I'll receive some magical boost of energy, or it's going to be a very long school year.

I sent off my story for The World is Dead. I like it, but this little demon kept whispering in my ear, "When your zombie story is rejected, what will you do with it?" I hear plenty of slushpiles are brimming with zombies right now. Not a good type-o-story to have in the trunk, eh?

Aw hell, I would have kicked myself for not trying.

Two Out of Three Ain't Bad...

68%

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

Given three of me, two should survive. Not a bad deal, overall. Better than a coin flip. Thanks to Catherine J. Gardner for leading me to this one from her blog, The Poisoned Apple.