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Oct 23 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 23 Interview – Peter Cawdron – Outsmarting Zombies

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FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

Amazon        Website      Twitter

My guest today is Peter Cawdron, who comes from the land down under.  I don’t have to pay the Men At Work a royalty for saying that because Peter is an honest to God Australian zombie enthusiast.

Peter’s the author of the Z is for Zombie series of books which include What We Left Behind and All Our Tomorrows.  These books tell the story of teenager Hazel, who in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, searches for Steve, David, and Jane, the only people who ever understood her.

An avid fan of such classic science fiction writers as Philip K. Dick, Arthur C. Clarke and Michael Crichton, Peter is also a prolific science fiction author in his own right.

I wonder if there’s an extra charge to call Australia?  Aw screw it, the bill for this phone goes to Alien Jones anyway.

G’day Peter.

NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=Peter

Q.  I just discovered that my perpetually angry uncle, who I thought never understood me, is in fact, the only person who ever understood me and what I need to make it in the world.  Unfortunately, he’s dead, though he visits me in ghost form from time to time.  Your protagonist, Hazel, feels like only three people understand her.  Is she really that confounding or is it typical teenage “no one gets me” angst?

41CT9h3vOuL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_ (1)A.  Teenage angst is cliche, and yet there is an element of personal growth we all go through where we’re learning about the world afresh. I don’t know that it stops as an adult, at least, it shouldn’t. It hasn’t for me. I’m always learning, and not just intellectually. Emotional learning is often more important than facts or figures. I think that’s one reason why coming-of-age books have such universal appeal. It’s a chance to re-learn and renew, regardless of how old we may be. 

In my novel What We Left Behind and the sequel All Our Tomorrows, we see life through the eyes of a teenager struggling toaccept the end of the world, fighting to make a change. All too often, it is the upcoming generation that is the catalyst for change. Us old farts need to respect that, listen and understand. It’s the youth of today that can change tomorrow, and that’s the message common to my novels as well as books like Hunger Games, Maze Runner, and so many others. Change is good. It’s the status quo that’s scary.  

Q.  As a zombie fan, I’ve noticed that in most zompoc tales, zombies are never referred to as “zombies.”  They’re “walkers” or “the undead” or “creepers” and so on but never zombies.  Your characters refer to them as “Zee.”  Why is that?  Is “zombie” too informal?  Will we ever crack open a novel where a writer has a character saying, “Holy crap!  It’s a zombie!”

A.  Oh, they’re called zombies in What We Left Behind as well as Zee, but Zee makes things more personal, and I think that’s important. Zombie stories are notorious for being impersonal. Survivors are often portrayed as brutal if not more brutal than the zombies themselves, whereas zombie stories are really about survivors. And what is a zombie but a survivor that fell and failed. Zee makes that more poignant, reminding the reader that zombies aren’t simply cannon fodder. To the survivors, they once were as we are, and the term Zee keeps that fresh in mind.   

Q.  How did you get into the zombie craze?

A.  My kids love The Walking Dead, and I enjoy it too, but I get frustrated with the inaccuracies. Gasoline, as an example, has a shelf life of about nine months. Diesel’s a little better, but will be pretty nasty after a couple of years. So at some point everyone’s going to be walking, or riding bicycles or horses. The SUV might look like the ultimate zombie killing machine, but it’s not sustainable, so in All Our Tomorrows, they drive around in a Tesla with the doors stripped off and the seats torn out to keep the weight down, charging the car with solar panels. For me, it’s fun to consider practical stuff like that. 

Zombies are dumb, right? So what’s the greatest weapon in the zombie apocalypse? Smarts. I’ve tried to write novels that have smart, unique solutions to the zombie apocalypse rather than relying on shotguns and machetes all the time. Shotguns might work on the zombie in front of you, but the noise is going to bring in a dozen more zombies, while a machete is just plain stupid. It’s going to get stuck every time. 

41IgGgymVqL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_Q.  You’re also a sci-fi aficionado.  One work of yours that caught my eye is Little Green Men, about a crew of space travelers who set down on a frozen planet and are attacked by, sure enough, little green men.  Is a story about trustworthy, non-murderous aliens possible?  Does it say anything about us as humans that we have a tendency to think the worst about the possibility of life on other planets?

And by the way, I have a colleague named Alien Jones who is in fact, a little green man.  He’s been totally above board thus far, but do you think I should keep an eye on him?

A.  Little Green Men is brutal. It’s a homage to Philip K. Dick and has an alienesque feel to it (Alien Jones would love it), but yes, it is possible to write about trustworthy, non-murderous aliens. Anomaly is my best selling novel, having sold over 75,000 copies.  Anomaly was my debut novel and even today, a dozen stories down the road, it still outsells everything else I’ve written. If you enjoyed Carl Sagan’s Contact, you’ll love Anomaly.

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As for Alien Jones, he’s clearly hampered by a paranoid companion 🙂

Q.  On your Amazon page, you talk a bit about the difference between general and “hard” science fiction.  Could you explain it for my 3.5 readers?

A.  Hard science fiction is a misnomer. 

Science fiction shouldn’t be hard to understand or hard and inflexible. There’s merit in keeping scifi as accurate and plausible as possible. There’s always a degree of handwavium in science fiction when authors start projecting their thoughts into the future, but the limitations of concepts like the speed of light actually add to the realism of a story. 
As much as I love the Star Trek reboots, I cringe when they ignore common sense. There’s one scene in Star Trek Into Darkness where Kirk is on the Klingon home world some undisclosed number of light years away from Earth, and he calls up Scotty on his handheld communicator. Scotty is in a bar on Earth and answers Kirk’s technical question. To me, that’s a wasted opportunity. Even if Kirk was somewhere within our solar system, say on Mars, Scotty couldn’t have a realtime chat like that, he’d be waiting at least half an hour for a message to arrive. Communication between star systems would be like the letters of the 1700s taking months to years to transit the globe. Star Trek Into Darkness wasted a wonderful opportunity, as instead of taking the lazy, easy way out, the writer could have used that limitation to drive up the tension. Sure, Scotty’s got the answers. But he’s not there, so Kirk has to figure it out on his own and that’s far more rewarding for the audience than watching Kirk being given a get-out-of-jail-free card. 
Hard science isn’t difficult, it’s just plausible and believable, and it makes stories more gritty and realistic. 

Q.  Peter, thanks for taking my call.  Before I go, do you have any advice that might help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A.  Think before you act. Remember,

  1. You’re smart. They’re not. 
  2. They have numbers. You don’t.  
 Keep those two facts in mind and you’ll do fine. Oh, and keep a copy of What We Left Behind handy, you might find some good tips in there. 
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Oct 22 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 22 (Part 2)

The door read:

GIRLS’ LOCKER ROOM

The DiStefanos pushed us in and locked the door.

VGRF and I walked in. Blandie, Bernie, and Alien Jones were sitting around on changing benches.

“Aww, BQB,” Bernie said. “All through high school, I dreamed about living inside the girls’ locker room, but not like this, yo!”

Blandie stomped her foot and made her typical mad face.

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

“What did you do, BQB?! What did you do?!”

“Silence, blonde human,” Alien Jones said as he hopped off his bench. “BQB has done nothing wrong. Well, I mean he has done wrong in so many, many other ways. His life is a total mess but in this particular instance, he is blameless.”

“We’ve been set up,” I said. “Alien Jones, can you use your mind reading powers to detect who framed us?”

“It was Hauser,” AJ replied.

We all let out a collective gasp followed by a “WHAAAT?!”

“He’s struck a deal with Morganstern,” Alien Jones said. “The General contacted Hauser and threatened to blow up the rec center and all the survivors in it unless Hauser kills you and offers evidence of having done so.”

“So why doesn’t he just put a bullet in my head and get it over with?” I asked.

“Because you have replaced Hauser as East Randomtown’s favorite son,” Alien Jones explained. “You’ve brought a modest amount of glory to your burg by setting up a WordPress site that attracts the attention of 3.5 readers. It’s not much, but it’s more than Hauser’s done lately. His thirty-second stint on a 1980’s cop show is old news. Because you’re so loved by the citizenry, Hauser knows he can’t just shoot you. He needs to turn the public against you.”

“By making everyone believe you’re a dirty supply thief,” VGRF said.

“Precisely,”  AJ said.

“So now what?” I asked.

Alien Jones hopped back on a bench.

“We wait.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “We need to bust out of here.”

“There’s no escape,” Alien Jones said. “The DiStefanos are guarding the door.”

“Vaporize their sorry asses with your powers!”

“Hauser is the only rec center resident outside this room who knows I’m an alien,” AJ explained. “Everyone else just thinks I’m a deformed human child. The Mighty Potentate would never approve of me outing myself.”

“Makes no sense,” VGRF said. “You out yourself on the Bookshelf Battle Blog all the time.”

“Only to 3.5 readers,” Alien Jones said. “And for the most part, they usually just assume BQB is pretending to be an alien and that I’m not real. The Mighty Potentate would be tried for violation of Intergalactic Space Law were it to ever come out that he’s interfering with Earthly affairs, namely by sending me to help Bookshelf Q. Battler. His Potentosity would certainly vaporize me on his way out.”

“A trial,” I said as I sat down. “So how bad could that be? We’ll just convince the jury we’re innocent.”

“It’s not that kind of trial,” Alien Jones. “Here, all issues of guilt are decided by…a trial of zombie combat!”

“Aw snap,” Bernie said. “I gots to bust some zombie ass?”

“Did you just say, ‘snap?’” Blandie asked.  “That’s so 1999!”

“OK,” I said. “We can get through this. I’d better call a zombie author for advice and…aw crap!”

Everyone looked at me.

“The space phone!” I shouted. “I left it out there!”

“No worries,” Alien Jones said. “I anticipated the evildoers’ moves and was able to smuggle it…”

“…in your pocket?” I asked.

“…inside of me,” Alien Jones said.

I shook my head.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “How? You don’t have a butt! You have no orifices to speak of!”

“I do have one.”

Alien Jones punched himself in the stomach and then started hacking up a lung. He sounded like a cat stuck on a hairball.

Hack…hack…hack…HACK!!!!

He looks like he's laughing but he's really barfing...up a space phone.

He looks like he’s laughing but he’s really barfing…up a space phone.

SPLAT!

The space phone popped out of the Esteemed Brainy One’s mouth and onto the locker room floor, covered with sticky alien spit.

“You may make your call now.”

“Um…thanks…you know…I think I’m going to pass on this interview,” I said, staring at the messy phone. “You wanna take this one for me, buddy?”

“Humans,” Alien Jones said as he picked up the device. “Such pansies. You’ll wear the same undies for a week but a little intergalactic spittle freaks you out.”

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Oct 17 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 17

Fort Hauser aka the new name for the East Randomtown Park/Rec Center, ran like a finely tuned precision race car.

Everyone had their job and despite the chaos brewing outside the fence, people worked hard to do what they could to make life on the inside better.

Doug and his squad went on daily scavenger missions. I wanted to help but I knew that Morganstern would, as promised, launch a cruise missile up my ass as soon as he spotted me through one of his surveillance drones.

Technically, that made no sense.  Wouldn’t Morganstern, if anything, shove a missile “down my throat?”  Because if a missile is coming from the sky, it would have to come downward to get me.  It wouldn’t come down and then go up my ass.

You know what?  Forget it.  Let’s not quibble about semantics.

Besides, Doug insisted I stay on the premises to provide leadership as Deputy Mayor in his stead.

Since all the residents were so well disciplined, the job was mostly ceremonial, and thus I was left with plenty of time to write.

And that was good, since Alien Jones’ boss, the Mighty Potentate, had threatened to conquer the Earth in the event that I die before delivering a novel written well enough to inspire the masses to abandon reality television.

The Mighty Potentate - Earth's new ruler if BQB doesn't write the best novel ever before he dies. So yeah, sorry Earth.

The Mighty Potentate – Earth’s new ruler if BQB doesn’t write the best novel ever before he dies. So yeah, sorry Earth.

Talk about pressure.

I sat in the computer lab and clicked away:

The Amazing Adventures of Johnny Gunhands

“No,” I said. “It needs to be catchier.”

Alien Jones, having nothing better to do, sat in a chair next to me and acted as an instant critic to every word I typed.

“The Mighty Potentate will demand more gusto.”

I retyped the title.

Johnny Gunhands: A Farewell to Hands

“I don’t get it,” Alien Jones said. “And I get everything as I hail from a genius species.”

“It’s a play on Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms,” I explained. “This will be the first part of the series, the origin story in which we learn how Johnny not only lost his hands, but how they were replaced with guns.”

“First part of a series?” AJ asked. “You mean you intend to write MORE of this schlock?”

“Every writer always intends to write more of their schlock now,” I said. “Build a good fanbase and you can keep your stories going on forever.”

“I just don’t see much of a market for Johnny Gunhands,” AJ replied.

“Well, if you have another idea for a book that will ween the masses off of reality television, I’m all ears,” I said.

“As a matter of fact, I do!”

Alien Jones pulled the keyboard away from me and typed out the following synopsis:

Ms. Humphrey’s Way

Riddled with disease, desperation and despair, drug addict Vanessa Humphrey wages an uphill battle to get clean and sober. Rather than continue to ignore the personal demons that drove her to such a lowly state, she faces them and in doing so, overcomes them.

Years later, Vanessa has turned her life around and is now well-respected English teacher, Ms. Humphrey, who uses lessons from Shakespeare’s plays to convince troubled inner city youth to better themselves.

Ms. Humphrey takes a particular interest in one of her pupils, the depressed yet talented Arnold Baker. Arnold’s short story has the potential to win him a four year college scholarship, but he’ll need Ms. Humphrey’s assistance to see the project through.

Along the way, Ms. Humphrey discovers that Arnold is in fact the child she gave up for adoption years before in her addict days.

Is the learning disability that makes it difficult for Arnold to record his ideas into written form Vanessa’s fault for hitting the crack pipe hard while she was pregnant?

Is it possible for a woman to change her life so dramatically so as to become completely unrecognizable to her former self?  Should society blame people for past sins forever?

And will it ever be possible for Vanessa to forgive herself?

All these questions and more will be answered as Ms. Humphrey must make a crucial decision:

Should she reveal to Arnold that she is his real mother or should she leave well enough alone?

“That’s all yours if you want it,” Alien Jones said as he handed the keyboard back to me.

I read his synopsis.

The Esteemed Literary One

The Esteemed Literary One

“This is poignant,” I said. “Breathtaking. Brilliant. It will win every major literary award and will surely be turned into an Academy Award winning film…”

“Why thank you,” Alien Jones said.

“…that only 3.5 people will bother to see! Get your head out of your ass!”

“I don’t have an ass!”

“Well get one and get your head out of it,” I said. “No more schmaltzy awards bait!  Action and explosions are the only things that put asses into seats!  Johnny Gunhands it is!”

“As if you’ll ever fling that turd past the traditional publishing goalie,” Alien Jones said. “The traditional publishing world is nothing if not a community of high standards.”

“Four words for you,” I said as I typed them out onto the screen:

Christian Grey flavored popsicle.

“OK you’ve got me there,” Alien Jones said. “Still, you shouldn’t cut off any options. Consider self-publishing your Johnny Gunhands nonsense if no one in the traditional world bites.”

“Good idea,” I said. “I better consult a zombie author about this.”

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Oct 10 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 10

The quarters were cramped in the back office of Hipster Hutt.  There was barely enough room for us to huddle together on the floor.  I missed the luxurious space and cornucopia of supplies provided by Price Town.

Blandie, who’d discovered Alien Jones’ space phone, wasn’t doing much to reassure me that saving her was worth it.

Alien Jones grabbed his aching head.

“I’ve traveled from one end of the universe to the other and I swear humans are the only beings who react to a being they aren’t sure of by kicking it in the face,”  the Esteemed Brainy One said.

Ignoring her victim, Blandie used AJ’s space phone to take one selfie after another to post on Randombook, a popular social media site catering to both East and West Randomtown.

“Hashtag Zombie Apocalypse,”  Blandie said as she typed with her thumbs then posed for another one.

“She certainly is in love with herself,”  VGRF noted.

The duck face selfie - a mystery even to the Esteemed Brainy One

The duck face selfie – a mystery even to the Esteemed Brainy One

“Why do Earth females insist on taking photos of themselves whilst making their lips protrude like a duck bill?”  Alien Jones asked.  “Are Earth men attracted to water fowl?”

The space phone let out a loud ring and then projected a three foot tall hologram of another alien.

Surprised, Blandie shouted a trail of obscenities and dropped the phone.  The hologram shut off but we could still hear an angry voice.

“JONES?  JONES!  HOW DARE YOU HANG UP ON YOUR SUPREME OVERLORD?!”

“For the love of Scalamox’s Forbidden Quadrant!”  Alien Jones shouted as he dove for the phone.

The Esteemed Brainy One punched a few buttons and the hologram was back.

We all stared at the image of an alien who looked similar to Alien Jones, but wore an elaborately bejeweled crown, a flowing cape, and carried a scepter.  Also, he was gray instead of Alien Jones’ usual green color.

Alien Jones set the phone on the desk then hit the ground, bowing up and down repeatedly.

“I’m sorry Oh Potent One.  It was one of the miserable humans.  She dropped the phone with her clumsy ape like fingers.  All hail the Mighty Potentate!!!”

AJ turned his head toward us.

“Hail the Potentate, you barbarians!”

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!

It was always an odd experience to see Alien Jones communicate with his boss, the Mighty Potentate, Supreme Overlord of Alien Jones’ homeworld.  AJ was a being of great wisdom who’d dedicated his life to reason and rational thought and yet whenever his boss was around, he turned into a blubbering lackey.

I can’t say as I blame him, what with the Mighty Potentate’s track record for vaporizing his subordinates.

VGRF, Bernie and I let loose a very half-hearted, “All Hail the Mighty Potentate.”

“What?”  Blandie asked.  “I didn’t vote for him.”

“Ha ha,”  Alien Jones said.  “Human humor.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your most glorious transmission, Your Potentosity?”

“Jones,”  the maniacal despot said.  “What is this I hear that the Chosen One’s life is in jeopardy?”

“Jeopardy?”  Alien Jones asked, trying to deflect the question with a question.  “I know of no jeopardy, Oh Mighty One.  Chosen One, are you well?  Are you feeling jeopardized?”

I didn’t know the protocol of how to address this particular alien situation.

“I…uh…feel fine?”

“I’m not talking about his health,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Although now that we’re talking about it, son of a braying tawazal beast Jones, would it kill you to get the Chosen One to do a few jumping jacks once in awhile?  He’s looking awfully pudgy.”

“Duly noted,”  Alien Jones said, and then to me yelled, “Chosen One!  Jumping Jacks immediately!”

“Aw come on.”

“How dare you defy the Most Potent of Us All?”

“Fine.”

There wasn’t a lot of room but I managed to provide a few lackluster jumping jacks for show.

“Jones, I’m talking about allegations of a zombie apocalypse in the Chosen One’s residential area.  It’s been all over the human television transmissions.  Are these reports valid or are the just a new form of that most reviled form of media…”

The Mighty Potentate shuddered then continued, “…reality television.”

“I’m sorry, Supreme Overlord.  I do not wish to disappoint you but I cannot lie to your either.  The reports are true but rest assured, your humble servant is on the case and I will not rest until the Chosen One is delivered to safety.”

“See that you do,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “And how is the Chosen One’s novel coming along?”

Alien Jones stalled on that question, just as I’d been stalling to write my novel my entire life.

“Come again, oh Omnipotent Overlord?”  Alien Jones said.  “The transmission is fading and I…”

It was never a good idea to screw with the Mighty Potentate.

“DO NOT DECEIVE ME, JONES!  I DEMAND A STATUS REPORT ON THE CHOSEN ONE’S NOVEL AT ONCE!”

It’s a good thing Alien Jones doesn’t poop, because he probably would have.  He was surely trembling like he wanted to.

“You heard the Mighty Potentate, Chosen One!  Report on your novel immediately!”

I stepped in front of the hologram.

“Umm…hello Mr. Potentate.”

“Greetings, Chosen One.  Please do not be shy.  Regale me of the novel you are writing, the story I have foreseen that will inspire all humans to demand a higher level of storytelling from Earth’s entertainment industry, thus shutting down the reality television menace once and for all.”

“It’s uh…it’s going good Potentate.  Really good.”

“Elaborate.”

“What?”

“ELABORATE!!!!”

Damn that guy was shouty.

“It’s the most badass novel ever.  It’s got mystery, action, suspense, drama….”

The Mighty Potentate listened intently.

“…twists and turns, hot naked chicks, explosions, daredevil stunts, wars, fires, pestilence, plagues…”

“Go on.”

“Oh and there’s a big car chase and the hero of the novel has these uh….uh….”

I noticed Bernie’s 9MM poking out of his bug out bag.

“The hero has gun hands.”

“Gun hands?”  the Potentate inquired.

“Yes,”  I replied.  “‘Johnny Gun Hands’ is his name.  The Mafia cut off his damn hands and left him for dead but he didn’t die so he replaces his hands with guns, shoots all of his enemies and then he uncovers a conspiracy in which umm…umm…yes!  I’ve got it.  He uncovers a conspiracy in which a group of furries, you know, those weirdoes who dress up in plush animal costumes and have sex with each other, are importing knock-off designer handbags out of Kuala Lumpur.”

The Mighty Potentate tapped a finger on his jaw as I ranted away.

“And so, the bad guys kidnap the only woman Johnny ever loved, so he breaks into their secret lair and BLAM BLAM BLAM Johnny massacres every last one of those furries with his gun hands and the ending…oh my God the ending.  Johnny and his woman walk into the sunset and they want to get married but they can’t because, holy shit, Johnny has guns for hands so you know, it’s not like they can do it or anything because it would be way too dangerous.”

I took a moment to breathe.  Everyone in the room was fixated on me now.

“So Johnny walks off all alone and he’s depressed and he sticks his gun hands up to his temples and is about to end it all but NO!  You know what he does?”

“What?”  Bernie asked, transfixed on the story.  “What does he do, yo?”

“Johnny sets up a center to take care of other people who are also afflicted with having guns for hands and he finds a sense of peace and inner happiness from being able to help others suffering from the same problem he has and he lives to a ripe old age, fully content with the life he lived.”

We all remained silent, waiting for the Mighty Potentate to say something.

“That sounds like…”

He stopped, removed his crown, scratched his head, then continued.

“…THE BEST F%&KING IDEA FOR A NOVEL I’VE EVER HEARD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!”

Alien Jones gasped a sigh of relief.

“Thanks Potentate,”  I said.  “Can I ask you something?  Are you sure I’m the Chosen One?”

“Of course,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “I have foreseen it.  My predictions are never wrong.”

“Well,”  I said as I wrapped my arm around Alien Jones, “For what it’s worth, this guy is a real credit to your organization.”

“Who? Jones?”

“Yes,”  I said.  “His column is an asset to the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  Sometimes his words drive my stats as high as 7.5 readers.”

“Astonishing,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Though you are aware you’ll need to write a bestseller to avoid world domination, yes?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Splendid!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Good luck with the zombie apocalypse.  I expect the Chosen One to remain alive, Alien Jones and Chosen One?”

“Yes?”

“I expect to see a rough draft of Johnny Gun hands by the end of the year.  POTENTATE OUT!”

The hologram shut off.

Alien Jones hopped up onto the desk, grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “What have you done?!”

“What did you want me to do?  Tell him the truth?  That everyday I come home from work, try to write a novel, give up after three words and watch The Walking Dead in my underpants with a bowl full of Cheetos?”

“Lying to the Mighty Potentate always makes things worse,”  Alien Jones said.  “Do you realize you’ll actually have to write a Johnny Gunhands novel now?”

“Yes,”  I said.  “And I know just who to call to ask for some writing tips.”

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Oct 02 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 2

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter was in her element.

She’d hooked up a gaming console to a fifty inch flat screen, moved a couple of bean bag chairs in front of it, and was fielding questions from Alien Jones regarding the finer points of her favorite video game, Car Thief Mayhem.

“You’re operating that stolen vehicle at an inadvisable pace,” Alien Jones said. “You run the risk of injuring one of these pixelized beings and…oh my! There goes an entire gaggle of prostitutes.”

“It’s just make believe,” VGRF said.

“Why would one want to pretend to run over prostitutes?” the Esteemed Brainy one asked.

“I don’t know,” VGRF. “It’s just a game.”

“Are all humans aware this is just a game?” Alien Jones inquired. “Surely there are some slower witted hairless apes who might take this too seriously.”

Bernie walked up with a shotgun.

“Aww sweet, Car Thief Mayhem! I get dibs on next game! I’ma run me over some prostitutes!”

“Case in point,” Alien Jones said.

“Bernie,” I said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“What, this?” Bernie asked as he cocked his new gat. “God bless America baby! Food, clothes, toys, and guns all under one roof. You want one? This place has a ton of ’em.”

VGRF paused her game.

“Put that away,” she said. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

“Didn’t you just shotgun a bunch of old ladies and steal their Winnebago?” AJ asked.

“Again,” VGRF replied. “It was make believe. I’m not one of the idiots who can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.”

“Bernie,” I said. “Show me where you found that. We should all be packing.”

“Hell to the yeah, ‘cuz. I’ma stone cold busta cap in some zombie ass. Blakow!”

“Hold on,” VGRF said. “What if there’s a nice zombie?”

“What?” I asked.

“A nice zombie!” VGRF repeated. “Or a confused, bumbling zombie. No one wants to be a zombie. Should we really just start shooting zombies with reckless abandon if we don’t have to?”

“Check it,” Bernie said. “Zombies ain’t all like the people they used to be and shit, girl. Maybe they used to be nice people but now all they want to do is rip us open, feast on our guts, and turn us into zombies.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” VGRF said. “Maybe most of them but not all of them. If we can avoid killing them we should.”

I grabbed Alien Jones’ space phone.

“Hold on. I know who can settle this argument.”

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Sep 30 2015
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Ask the Alien

Ask the Alien: The Esteemed Brainy One Checks BQB’s Pre-Zombie Stats

By:  Alien Jones, Intergalactic Correspondentshutterstock_122655487 copy

Greetings Earth losers.

It’s been awhile since I’ve communicated with with my “Ask the Alien” column.

That’s the column where you, the 3.5 readers, can submit a question to me, a representative of a higher species, and obtain not only the knowledge that will flow forth from my genius brain, but a plug for your book and/or blog as well.

And if you’re one of the few humans on the Internet without a book or a blog to hock, don’t worry, I’ll take your inquiry too.

As you may have heard, my Supreme Overlord, the Mighty Potentate, He Who Makes the Seas Rise, the Stars Shine, and the Breeze Blow and I’m Not Just Saying That Because He’ll Vaporize Me, has assigned me the mission of helping Bookshelf Q. Battler build his fledgling writer career.

Why he didn’t just ask me to teach a chipmunk how to build a nuclear reactor I don’t know.  That would have been easier.

Don’t tell the Mighty Potentate I said that.

Anyway, you 3.5 readers would be doing this alien a solid if you’d help in anyway you can/want to in promoting this blog.

Here’s the State of BQB’s Bookshelf as of Sept. 30, 2015:

WORDPRESS FOLLOWERS: 1,394

TWITTER FOLLOWERS: 6,148 – Follow @bookshelfbattle

GOOGLE + FOLLOWERS:  757 – Follow BQB on Google +

WATTPAD FOLLOWERS – 115 Followers – Follow BQB on Wattpad – His handle is also @bookshelfbattle

FACEBOOK – Likes for BQB’s “Bookshelf Battle” Facebook page are virtually nonexistent, and I personally blame Zuckerberg.  In addition to the Winklevoss twins and that Brazilian kid, you can add a pantsless alien to the list of beings you’ve screwed over, Zuck.

Anyway, let’s push BQB’s Facebook.  Like his page.  If you forget to like it  now, you can always like it later by visiting http://www.facebook.com/bookshelfqbattler

If I make it out of the zombie apocalypse alive, I’ll return with a report on how BQB’s stats have improved as a result of this zombie author interview-a-palooza.

Personally, I’d like to see BQB at 10,000 Twitter Followers, 1,000 Google Plus Followers, and 2,000 WordPress followers by the end of the year.

Mention BQB on your blog, share his links on your favorite time wasting social media site, or tell your friends, if you have any.  Increasing BQB’s stats would certainly get the Mighty Potentate off non-existent butt for awhile.

Don’t tell him I said that either.

Don’t forget authors, I’ll return (if I’m alive) to my regularly scheduled Ask the Alien column in November, so ask away and if it’s an inquiry worthy of my brain, I’ll answer it and promo your book and/or blog.

Esteemed Brainy One out.

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Sep 30 2015
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The Bookshelf Battleverse

A Guide to the Bookshelf Battleverse – Part 4 – The Aliens

THE MIGHTY POTENTATE

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!

Approximately a year after the Bookshelf Battle Blog went online, it was noticed by the Mighty Potentate, the Supreme Overlord of a Planet the Name of Which is None of Your Business.

A maniacal dictator who solves every problem (from intergalactic war to his chicken wings not being delivered on time) with threats of vaporization, the Potent One is a big fan of scripted media, so much so that he despises all forms of reality television, writing it off as “just a bunch of cameras mindlessly following vapid, talentless quasi-celebrities around as they do nothing of any importance whatsoever.”

Prone to having visions of the future which so far have all proven accurate, His Potentositude prognosticated that Bookshelf Q. Battler will one day write a novel so elegantly crafted that it will cause humanity to abandon reality TV altogether, thus preventing it from spreading throughout the cosmos once humans inevitably invent space travel.

ALIEN JONES

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Alien Jones, aka “The Esteemed Brainy One” has been dispatched by the Mighty Potentate on a mission to help BQB’s blog get off the ground by authoring an “Ask the Alien” column.  Humans are invited to ask Alien Jones a question and if those humans are writers, he’ll plug their books/blogs in his answer.  He’s helped numerous authors promote their work thus far.

The Mighty Potenate sees the purpose of Alien Jones’ column as threefold – 1) Help promote BQB’s blog 2) Help promote other authors so that humans have more entertainment choices besides reality TV and 3) educate humans, who are currently considered one of the dumbest species in the universe, second only to the dreaded Moloklaxons, the so-called a-holes of the universe who die off in large numbers every year due to open mouth rain related drownings.

Mr. Jones, who, as you can see above, is sexless, is not a male or a female, but allows himself to be referred to as a male as our primitive Earth languages don’t have the ability to properly refer to a sentient being that is asexual.

Also, his name is not Jones, however, he uses this alias as you wouldn’t be able to pronounce his actual moniker without great strain on your tongue and vocal chords.

Privately, Alien Jones has doubts about the Mighty Potentate’s decision to designate BQB as “the Chosen One.”  He’ll never admit that publicly because he doesn’t want to be vaporized.

Constantly busy, assisting BQB is one of AJ’s many duties.  He is also a diplomat, warrior, scientist, space explorer, and chief advisor to the Mighty Potentate (which more or less requires him to say “yes” or be vaporized.)

Alien Jones’ government mandated life mate is Alien Rosencrantz.  There’s not really much romance there, rather, the Mighty Potentate has created one giant buddy system, as all of his alien subjects are the product of a laboratory based cloning process.

Thus, replacing an alien is incredibly expensive, so aliens are required to look out for their life mates.  Failure to do so results in vaporization, which ironically, leads to the need of a replacement alien clone.

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Sep 20 2015
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Storytelling Interview Series

Storytelling Interview Series

3.5 readers, I think I might have invented something.

“The Storytelling Interview Series.”

As I’ve discussed ad nauseam, this October there will be an interview series on this site called “#31ZombieAuthors.”

Once a day in October, I’ll be interviewing a different zombie author.

I’ll be doing it in a fun way.

A zombie apocalypse will strike East Randomtown and it will be up to me to save the day.

Every day will feature an excerpt from my Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal, followed by the zombie author interview of the day.

I will actually take a break from the action to “call” authors using Alien Jones’ space phone.

It’s very tongue in cheek.  At times, various characters will comment on my incompetence for calling authors when I should be fighting the apocalypse.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my 3.5 readers will receive this well.

The zombie authors have gotten a kick out of it so far, and these are all people who’ve successfully published, so they know a thing or two.

At the very least, no one’s told me, “This idea sucks!  Get lost, loser!”

So that’s always a plus in my world.

Perhaps it might be too early to be thinking about the future.  I should wait and see how #31ZombieAuthors goes.

BUT – it has recently crossed my mind that if all goes well, I could start applying this concept to other genres.

So you tell me, 3.5, which of these concepts would you like to see next?

YETI HEAT – THRILLER AUTHORS

Stupid Yeti

Stupid Yeti

BQB’s nemesis, the Yeti, devises some type of hilarious crime.  BQB and Alien Jones get deputized as Jack Bauer style agents and have to unravel the furry snow beast’s plot before all is lost.  Along the way, they stop to interview thriller authors.

CAPT. BATTLER’S CURIOUSLY FUNKY FLYING CONTRAPTION – STEAMPUNK AUTHORS

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       Capt. Battler

A contingent of steampunks crash their airship in East Randomtown.  Their Captain has been murdered by a ne’er-do-well who has captured their city in the sky, forcing them to go on the run.  The steampunks recruit BQB to become their new Captain and Alien Jones as his first mate.  They go on a mission to oust the baddie and along the way, you guessed it, authors of steampunk books are interviewed.

UNTITLED BQB/VGRF ROM COM – ROMANCE AND/OR ROMANTIC COMEDY AUTHORS

WOMAN: Sniff. I hope BQB and VGRF get back together. MAN: I wish I was watching Yeti Heat.

WOMAN: Sniff. I hope BQB and VGRF get back together.
MAN: I wish I was watching Yeti Heat.

BQB and Video Game Rack Fighter split up in a comical manner.  It’s BQB’s fault because, well, it’s always the man’s fault, isn’t it?  If you disagree, ask the woman.  BQB goes through a series of hurdles to win back his lady love.  In the meantime, romance authors are interviewed.

JONESING FOR THE COSMOS – SCI FI AUTHORS

The Esteemed Brainy One in a rare pants wearing moment.

The Esteemed Brainy One in a rare pants wearing moment.

Alien Jones recounts the tale of how he first met Bookshelf Q. Battler, as a result of being ordered by his ruler, the Mighty Potentate, to become a columnist for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  From time to time, AJ takes a break to interview a sci-fi author.

THOUGHTS

  • I have a few other ideas, but these are the most formulated so far.
  • I’m leaning toward Steampunk first because in my mind, that story has the most concrete outline.
  • I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to do these.  I love doing them but I’d also like to get a book or two out next year so I guess I’ll have to make a choice.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Sep 03 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

BQB’s Upcoming Zombie Apocalypse

Hey 3.5 Readers –

I hope you’ll take a minute to read the Intro to BQB’s upcoming zombie apocalypse.

Here’s what you’ll find on this blog come October.

  • East Randomtown, BQB’s hometown, will be overrun by zombies, thanks to the bumbling (or evil?) Dr. Hugo Von Science
  • Every day, there will be a new excerpt from BQB’s zombie apocalypse survivor’s journal.
  • And each day, a different zombie author will check in to advise our noble blog host on how to fight the undead hordes

This October, join Bookshelf Q. Battler, his main squeeze, Video Game Rack Fighter, their intergalactic green friend Alien Jones aka the Esteemed Brainy One and other Bookshelf Battle Blog regulars as they fight for their survival.

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Aug 29 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

BQB’S Zombie Apocalypse Survivor Journal – Intro – Part 5

PREVIOUSLY ON BQB’S ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE SURVIVOR JOURNAL…

Part 1

My little green friend was stretched out on a table in the employee’s break room of Price Town.  His hat and glasses had fallen off in the chaos, leaving his face on full display.

“He gave his life for us,”  VGRF said.

I sniffed and teared up.

“I…I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I can’t believe your kid was so ugly,”  Bernie said.  “No offense dude but you might be better off.”

Esteemed Brainy One

Esteemed Brainy One

“He wasn’t my kid,”  I said.  “He was Alien Jones.”

“What?”  Bernie asked.  “You’re saying that alien who writes on your blog is real?!  I thought that was just you pretending!  I thought you pretended to be all the characters.”

“No comment,” I said.

Alien Jones shot his head up into the air and let out a loud gasp.  It scared the crap out of all of us.

“Sweet Zanacostia’s Upper Filter!!!”

Alien Jones was always saying phrases that sounded like they might have been outer space forms of swearing.

“AJ!” I said as I hugged my intergalactic friend.  “You’re alive!”

“But I checked your neck,”  VGRF said.  “You didn’t have a pulse.”

“You don’t even want to know where I keep my pulse.”

Together, we walked out into the store.  It was fully stocked.  From hardware to groceries, it had everything we needed to survive.

Everyone was gone.  I assumed all the employees and customers hightailed it when they heard everyone becoming zombie lunch.

“Guess we picked a good spot to ride out the zombie apocalypse,”  Bernie said.

“Ignorant human,”  Alien Jones said as he pointed at the zombies pounding on the security gate.  “The structural integrity of our barrier will not last forever.”

“So you can just do that bubble thing again,”  Bernie said.

“It saps me of all my energy,”  Alien Jones said.  “Alas, I will not have the power to make another one for a full twenty four hours, and only then, it will last for about five minutes.”

“We’re screwed,”  Bernie said.

VGRF tended to look on the bright side.

“At least we have each other.”

“AJ,”  I said.  “Can’t you just call the Mighty Potentate and ask him to send some shock troops to cook these fools?”

“No,”  Alien Jones replied.  “For the time being, the Mighty Potentate is following Intergalactic Space Law, which mandates that no advanced world get involved in the affairs of primitives such as yourselves.”

“Right,”  VGRF said.  “The Prime Dir…”

“Intergalactic Space Law!”  I interrupted.  “Come on, VGRF, the last thing I need is to have Shatner shove a lawsuit up my ass.”

“The MP is bending the law enough already just by having me aid BQB in his insipid bloggery,”  Alien Jones said.  “He gets away with it because BQB only has 3.5 readers and none of them believe I am real.  He won’t take the chance of landing battle units.”

Alien Jones pulled out his phone.  It was orange, had a screen that displayed holographic images, and looked incredibly expensive.

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

“Consulting news reports.  Alas, it seems that the zombie infestation has spread all throughout East Randomtown in a matter of moments.

“Is West Randomtown safe?”  VGRF asked.

I knew she was worried about her family.

“It appears the surrounding communities were evacuated in time.  Military units are descending on the area to cut East Randomtown off from the rest of the world.”

“Alien Jones,”  I said.  “Can I borrow that for a minute?”

“Be careful,”  AJ said.  “It’s official Mighty Potentate property.”

I loved technology so I relished the chance to look over a phone constructed by aliens.

“What is this?”  I asked.

“A Kondoferian Class Sub 9NM1 Intergalactic Communications Unit.”

“Whoa,”  I said.  “A space phone!”

“No,  it’s a Kondoferian Class Sub…”

“We’re calling it a space phone,”  I said.  “It can call anyone anywhere in the world?”

“Anyone anywhere in the universe,”  Alien Jones replied.

“Is it fully charged?”  I asked.

“It is operated by a plutonium pebble with a half-life of a thousand years.  There is no need to recharge it until the year 3015.”

“I know exactly what to do with this,”  I said.

“Call the Army and ask them to rescue us,”  VGRF said.  “Thank God!”

“Take some dope ass selfies in front of the zombies and post them all over the Internet,”  Bernie said.  “Shit, with publicity like that the Funky Hunks will be back in no time.  High five!”

I left him hanging.

“No,”  I said.  “I’m going to call…ZOMBIE AUTHORS!  As the owner of a magic bookshelf, I am beloved and revered throughout the literary world!  With AJ’s space phone, I can call the world’s foremost zombie experts, individuals with vast knowledge of the undead that they’ll be able to advise us on how to extricate ourselves from any zombie related situation!”

“I’m pretty sure we should call the Army,”  VGRF said.

“Perhaps you should call your charges back at Bookshelf Battle HQ,”  Alien Jones suggested.

He was right.  As caretaker of a magic bookshelf, it was my duty to make sure that the various characters who called my shelf home were ok.

I dialed my number.

“Woof?”

“Bookshelf Q. Battledog!  My noble Security Chief!  Is everyone ok?”

“Woof.  Woof woof.”

Bookshelf Q. Battledog

Bookshelf Q. Battledog

“Really?”

“Woof.”

“And the Yeti?”

“Woof.”

“Very well,”  I said.  “Keep the entire facility on lockdown.  No one is to enter or exit.  Be safe, noble hound.”

“Woof.”

I hanged up the phone.

“Well?”  VGRF asked.

“Battledog says the zombies have already made it to our neighborhood, but they’re no match for BQB HQ’s high fortress like walls.  The bookshelf characters are safe and ready to fight if necessary.  My nemesis, the Yeti, remains imprisoned in the basement.”

I was able to get a lot out of those “woofs.”

“We won’t be able to stay here indefinitely,”  Alien Jones said.  “Gather supplies and prepare bug-out bags should we need to leave in a hurry.”

“Yes,”  I said.  “And I know just who to call about that.”

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