Tag Archives: Halloween

Jan 12 2016
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors Remix

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I’m thinking about inviting the 31 Zombie Authors back in October for another round of interviews, but this time, not in response to a zombie apocalypse in East Randomtown, but to help promote a book about zombies authored by yours truly.

Oh, that would mean I’d also have to write a book about zombies.

I enjoyed last October – it was a helluvalot of work but people enjoyed it.  It might be less work this time around since I’ve found 31 zombie authors willing to talk to me now.  (Assuming they’d still want to talk to me.  They might be too busy fending off their own zombies.)

Then I thought about writing a book about vampires instead and doing a vampire author interview promo.  It’d be a month of vampire interviews to promote a vampire book and the host would be Count Krakovich, Asshat Vampire. 

(By the way, I’m thinking Count Krakovich should be an A-Hole Vampire instead of an Asshat Vampire.  Fell free to weigh in on this very important matter.)

I like Halloween and Halloween related blog activities I suppose, but the big thing is I’d have to write a book…about either vampires or zombies.

And also I have Pop Culture Mysteries to think of.  The big lesson I learned last year was to stop spreading myself so thin, that I need to have FEWER projects in the works and to spend MORE time on them to develop higher quality.

Less is more, as they say.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Nov 06 2015
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Some Random Jerkface

Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party vs. Universal Halloween Horror Nights

By: Some Random Jerkface, BQB’s Editorial Assistant

Hello 3.5 readers.  Some Random Jerkface here.  While BQB was mired in the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, yours truly was living it up in sunny Florida.

So in Orlando, there’s Walt Disney World and its unruly upstart rival, Universal Studios.

Who puts on the better Halloween shindig?

Probably all depends on who your are and your personal preference.

MICKEY’S NOT SO SCARY HALLOWEEN PARTY

Yeah.  They aren’t lying about that not so scary party part.  They pretty much take the guy in the Mickey Mouse costume and whip a Halloween costume over his mouse costume.

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Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that.  After all, it’s Walt Disney World.  Of course Mickey isn’t going to be scary.  If you have ragamuffins, this is where to take them on Halloween.

Maleficient is a little scarier:

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Meanwhile if you ever go on a Disney Cruise, you might spot Jack Sparrow, up high:

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Or down low:

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However, if you’re sans ragamuffins and want the ever loving crap scared out of you, Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights is the place you want to be.

Disney has Mickey in a Halloween costume.  UHHN has Jack, a damn murderous psychopathic clown:

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He brings up “spectators” on stage to be maimed and/or murdered in his show, the Carnival of Carnage.

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SPOILER ALERT:  I’m pretty sure she’s just an actor pretending to be one of Jack’s victims.  Still, if you see Jack walking down the street, you might want to beat feat in the opposite direction just to be safe.

Oh and don’t forget his hot she-clown girlfriend, Chance:

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Yeah, she’s a total Harley Quinn ripoff but she was funny just the same.  Jack and Chance know how to work a crowd, or work it over, as the case may be:

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But try to stay off the stage:

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For the Bookshelf Battle Blog, this has been Some Random Jerkface

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Nov 05 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #TBA – Kill ‘Em Again – Part 5

OK Battler.  You want answers?  I’ve got ’em.shutterstock_246824188-2

A man gets chased by a psychopath.  Suddenly the man gets the upper hand on the ne’er-do-well.  Knocks him out cold.  Lays him out on his ass.  Assumes he’s dead but we all know what happens to you and me when you assume don’t we?

A cynic might just say it’s for dramatic effect.  Lull the audience into a false sense of security.  Make them think that the worst is behind them then whammo, the killer works up his second win.  Like life, the bad guy strikes when you least expect it.

Personally, if that Michael Myers fell you’re all so keen on come Halloween came near me, I’d whip out Betsy and put one between his eyes, followed by five in his heart with perfect grouping.

But therein lies the rub.  Most of these characters in slasher films are just kids.  Young people.  Camp counselors and students and the like.  They haven’t experienced much in the way of adversity, have never fought anyone and when it comes right down to it, don’t have the demeanor of a 1950’s hardboiled private eye.

Bottomline: good people don’t know how to kill people, at least not in a way that keeps ’em dead.

So while double tapping Jason might be the wisest decision, it’s also a sign you’ve lost your humanity.

That’s this private dick’s two cents anyway.  Take it or leave it but either way you owe me five bucks, nerd.

Oh, and a notebook full of my recollections of Operation Fuhrerpunschen is on its way to our mutual blonde acquaintance.  Hope it helps though if you get blown up I won’t lose any sleep either.

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Nov 04 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #TBA – Kill ‘Em Again (Part 4)

October 25, 4:45 A.Mshutterstock_224428027

“No!”  I shouted.  “No don’t do it!  Running upstairs is a rookie mistake!  There’s nowhere for you to go now, girly!”

“She’s a ditz,”  Agnes replied.  “All boobs and no brains.”

“My kind of dame,”  I said.

“Ugh,”  Agnes said.  “Really?”

“Just ask my first wife,”  I said. “Her brassiere had its own Congressman.”

Together, on opposite sides of a phone line, we watched as a beautiful buxom babe bought the farm at the edge of a maniac’s butcher knife.

“This fella has issues,”  I said.  “Where are all the coppers?  Someone needs to run this palooka in on any number of charges.  Breaking and entering.  Assault.  Battery.  Attempted murder.  Actual murder.  And I’m not sure what specific crime it is to wear your victim’s entrails as a hat but it’s got to be against some kind of law somewhere.”

Only one survivor left.  He hid off to one side of an open doorway, only to bash the murderer’s face in with a shovel as he walked into the room.

“Ahh,”  the hero said.  “Time to celebrate!  I’ll have a glass of champagne, maybe a nice snack, take a nap…”

“No!”  Agnes shouted.  “Kill him again!”

“I’d of pounded this cat’s face into hamburger and set him on fire by now,”  I said.  “No.  Come to think of it, I’d of just fed him to good ole reliable Betsy.”

“Betsy?”  Agnes asked.  “A girlfriend?”

“No.  A gun I keep under my coat at all times.”

Silence for a moment from Agnes’ end.

“You need help, Jake,”  she said.

The hero’s back patting session was cut short, literally, when the psychopath cut him in half.  What a gruesome sight.  Worse than some of the depravity I saw in World War II.

“Which movie do you want to watch, next?”  Agnes asked.

“Ahh,”  I said.  “Sorry Aggie old gal but I have to make like Fred Astaire and shuffle off.  I’ve got a report to file.”

“OK,”  Agnes said.  “I think Herb’s finally going to sleep for awhile anyway so I’d better join him.”

“Herb’s one lucky fella,”  I said.  “If I were over seventy, wretchedly ravaged by age and with no other options, your door would be the first one I’d knock on, Ag.”

“It’s…it’s too late to explain to you why that’s rude.  Thanks.  This helped me get my mind off of my problems.  You know, it’s just so hard sometimes, to be a caregiver for an ill loved one.  I try to do my best but it’s so difficult to…”

“Yeah, yeah,”  I said.  “Sorry Aggie, but I’m a dick, not a shrink.  Sayonara.”

I hanged up a phone.  It was time to give Battler the goods.

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Nov 04 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #TBA – Kill ‘Em Again – (Part 3)

October 25, 2015 – Midnightshutterstock_239019751

The air was stale – cheap food, booze and leftovers.  I wasn’t helping the situation with my cigar.  My head was reeling from the evening’s festivities.

Upstairs, there was a couch in my office with my name on it.

But I needed to find out what the hell Battler wanted.

I slit open the manilla envelope, procured the piece of paper inside and read:

Hatcher,

A group of teenagers in peril.  A vicious psychopath wants them dead.  One by one he picks them off until the last one or two, depending on how gracious the film’s screenwriter was feeling at the time.

Somehow, our hero manages to get the upper hand.  He shoots, stabs, maims, or even runs the killer over with a car.  Alas, thinking the madman to be dead, the protagonist celebrates too early.  To the audience’s dismay, the killer gets up and starts chasing our hero around again.

Jason.  Freddy.  Leatherface.  Happens all the time.

Why, Hatcher?  Why, oh why do heroes in slasher flicks refuse to double-tap?

I’d heard that phone books had become a thing of the past and that it was possible to get a person’s number by dialing 411.  I tried it.

“Hello, thank you for dialing 411, how may I direct your call?”

“Uhh, yeah, hiya Toots,”  I said.  “Do you know Agnes?”

“Who?”  the operator asked.

“Agnes the Librarian.”

“You want the number for the public library, sir?”  the operator asked.

“Jeepers H. Crowe, dollface,”  I said.  “What kind of a question is that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well I doubt the library is open at this ungodly hour, don’t you?”  I asked.

“I have no idea what you want me to do, sir.”

“Agnes,”  I replied.  “Get that old broad on the line and make it snappy.  I’m a busy man, see?”

“Do you have her last name?”  the operator asked.

I slapped my forehead.

“Oh for the love of Edward G. Robinson’s sneer,”  I said.  “What was it again?  Aloysius?  Anchorage?  Alabaster?  No…ABERNATHY!  Yes.  That’s the ticket.  One Agnes Abernathy please.”

“I have one listing for Herbert and Agnes Abernathy,” the operator said.

“That’s it.  Put me through sweetheart.”

All of a sudden there was a robot talking to me.

“The number you have requested can be dialed for an additional charge of thirty-five cents by pressing the number one…”

Thirty-five cents.  Highway robbery if you asked me.  “Aw screw it,”  I thought as I hit the number one.  “I’ll just send an invoice to Battler for it.”

“Hello?”  came an old lady’s voice.

“Agnes!”  I shouted.

“Yes?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you at home but I’ve got quite a caper transpiring here…”

“Who is this?”  Agnes asked.

“Jacob R. Hatcher, Pop Culture Detective,”  I answered.

“Oh for the love of…”

There was a long trail of unlady like obscenities I won’t bother to offend the ears of you fine 3.5 readers with.

“Jake, are you nuts?  You can’t bother me at home!  This is very inappropriate for you to be calling my home this late.  How did you get this number?”

“Information,”  I replied.

“Are you some kind of weirdo sex pervert?”  Agnes asked.  “Are you stalking me?”

I laughed.

“No offense old gal, but I wouldn’t touch you with Herb’s business,” I said.  “Say Agnes, now that you’ve got all that out of your system, what’s a fella gotta do to find a monster movie around here?”

“A what?”

“A mons…Jumpin Jehosaphat, Agnes, are you deaf?  MONSTER….MOVIE!”

“Jake, I’m not in the mood for your nonsense,”  Agnes said.  “Herb’s been up all night throwing up in the bathroom and I’m exhausted.”

“Yikes,”  I said.  “Sorry to hear that.  You should tell him to lay off the bottle.  That’s why I do when I start praying to the porcelain god.”

I could hear the disdain in Agnes’ voice.

“HE HAS CANCER YOU JACK ASS!”

“Oh,”  I replied.  “Even worse.  Tell him I’m pulling for him.  So howsabout that monster movie?”

“It’s Halloween time,”  Agnes said.

“What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?”  I inquired.

“Put on your TV and there will be one on every channel.  Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

“I doubt it,”  I said.  “Ma Hatcher was a world class baby rearer.”

I grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV Ms. Tsang had mounted on one of the side walls of the restaurant floor to entertain the customers.

The old gal was right.  Every channel I flipped through had images that were gorier than the last.

“Thanks Ag,”  I said.  “I’ll let you go.”

Silence.  An exasperate sigh.  Loud heaving sounds in the background.

“What the hell,”  Agnes said.  “I’m going to be up for awhile.  Tell me what channel you’re putting on and I’ll watch it with you.”

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Nov 03 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

POP CULTURE MYSTERIES – CASE FILE #TBA – KILL ‘EM AGAIN (PART 2)

Saturday, Oct. 24, 2015 – 7:30 pm.shutterstock_225997423

Various costumed weirdos meandered into the restaurant as Ms. Tsang’s employees served h’orderves.

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “When I needed Battler’s help, he sent you to make me sign a legally binding contract obligating me to jump through a bunch of hoops like a jackass, but now that he needs something from me I’m supposed to bend over backwards like a world class limbo champion?”

“That’s the general idea,” Ms. Donnelly said. “It’s entirely up to you, Mr. Hatcher.  I can’t force your hand, though I find it necessary to point out that if General Morganstern succeeds in blowing up Mr. Battler into smithereens, the secret of how you can return to 1955 will perish with him.”

“Good,”  I said.  “Good riddance to that lousy nerd.  You could just tell me the skinny then.”

Ms. Donnelly clutched her pearls.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” she said.  “Go against a client’s wishes?  Mr. Hatcher, I’m an officer of the court and as an attorney I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll fill up a notebook with the scoop on how I punched Adolf Hitler in the face if you think it’ll be useful as a bargaining chip to save Battler’s hide.  But know I’m not doing it for that geek, Ms. Donnelly.  I’m doing it for you.  If that weasel buys the farm you’ll stop visiting me and I’d miss you like a castrated dog misses his phantom testicles.”

“As usual, I don’t know whether or not to be charmed or alarmed, Mr. Hatcher.”

“A little from Column A and a little from Column B,” I replied.

The music began.  Every yahoo in the joint started jitterbugging.

“Isn’t it a tad early for Halloween festivities?” Delilah asked.

“Ahh, this is some shindig Ms. Tsang and the local merchants put together every year,”  I answered.  “Every business holds a party.  The kids come by to trick or treat.  The adults get tipsy.  It’s fun, you know, for people who aren’t like us…people who have the luxury of being able to have fun.”

“People who don’t suffer the burdens we do?”  Delilah asked.

“Precisely,” I replied.

Some ignoramus in a lion costume walked up to the table.

“Put ’em up, put ’em up,” the jerk said.

Instinctively, I reached into my trench coat, under which I kept Betsy, my old World War II service revolver, strapped to me tight.

“Hi folks,” the lion said.  “Abe Marlowe of Marlowe’s Dry Cleaning!”

A lady wearing a blue jumper over a white shirt came over.  She carried a wicker basket with a stuffed black dog.

“My wife, Sally” the lion said.

“Hello,”  Sally said.  “Wow, cool costumes!  Let me guess…”

Sally pointed a finger to me and said, “…you’re Bogie” and then to Delilah, “…and you’re Bacall.”

“Something like that,” I replied as I took a sip from my scotch glass.  “Who the hell are you two supposed to be, escaped mental patients?”

Abe laughed.

“No,” he said.  “Haven’t you ever seen The Wizard of Oz?”

“Oh right,” I said. “Girl drops a house on a green broad minding her own business but beats the rap on a technicality, thus avoiding the chair.  A heartless robot man, a mongoloid scarecrow and a giant gutless cat march her to a magic man who they think can solve all their problems with one wave of a magic want because it never dawns on them to roll up their sleeves and do any hard work of their own.  Communist propaganda if you ask me, at least that’s what I told my girl Peaches when we saw it in the theater when it first came out.”

The couple looked at me like I was The Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Delilah smoothed things over with her silver tongue, one of her many fine assets.

“Mr. Hatcher’s donned the garb of a hardboiled film noir style private detective,”  the lady lawyer said. “And one might say he’s a bit too wrapped up in the role.”

The couple breathed a sigh of relief.  Grown adults dressed up like characters in a kids’ movie but somehow I’m the oddball. Go figure.

“Nice meeting you,”  Abe said as he shook my hand.  “Stop by anytime and I’ll dry clean that coat for you, buddy.  On the house.”

Abe and Sally took off.

“Dry clean my coat?” I asked Delilah.  “What’s he mean by that?”

“Well, I’m not one to point out the foibles of others, Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said as she clacked open her briefcase and pulled out a manilla envelope, “But you haven’t washed that coat in over sixty years so perhaps Mr. Marlowe was taking pity on you, or at least the olfactory glands of those around you.”

Delilah forked over the envelope.

“Get outta here,” I said.  “Battler wants me to write down the details of Operation Fuhrerpunschen AND solve another Pop Culture Mystery?”

“Indeed,” Delilah said. “He expects it to be part of his ‘Thirty One Zombie Authors’ promotion on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, a push to grab the attention of additional readers.”

“How’s that worked out for him so far?” I asked.

“Very well,”  Delilah said.  “Last I checked with Mr. Battler a fellow in Dubuque was giving strong consideration to clicking Mr. Battler’s follow button.”

“I just hope the fame doesn’t go to his head,” I said.

The DJ dimmed the lights and played a slow number.

“Alright alright,” the DJ said. “Boys grab your ghouls and head out on the dance floor…”

“Shall we wiggle our bodies to and fro in a passionate manner, Ms. Donnelly?” I asked.

“Thank you but no, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said as she stood up.  “I’m afraid I have other pressing matters to attend to and I simply have no time to dance with you this evening.”

“Who said anything about dancing?” I asked.

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Oct 31 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 31 – HALLOWEEN INTERVIEW – David W. Wright of the Self-Publishing Podcast

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FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

Amazon              Twitter

Self Publishing Podcast

Sterling and Stone

Happy Halloween, 3.5 readers.

This month, we’ve chatted up an absurd amount of zombie fiction writers, haven’t we?

They’re all impressive in their own right, and they all bent over backwards to help me out, so it was virtually impossible to figure out who to assign the coveted Halloween spot to.

Then it hit me.  Use it to talk to one of the dudes who got me writing again.

Not to make this about me, but long ago, I gave up on my dream of becoming a writer.  Like so many before me, the path toward traditional publishing seemed like it was riddled with one insurmountable wall after another.  Spend my time writing only to end up with my work tossed on a rejection heap with countless other writers competing for a highly coveted publishing contract?

Hell, I might as well have cashed out my life savings (all 3.5 dollars of it) and spent it on lotto tickets.

So I moved on and pursued a more realistic profession, but as the years went by, I always second guessed myself.

“What if?”

“What if I’d kept at it?  Would I be a writer today?”

Around late 2014 I discovered the Self Publishing Podcast, starring full time indie authors Johnny B. Truant, Sean Platt, and of course, today’s guest, David W. Wright.  Together, this trio have their own “story studio,” Sterling and Stone.

They’ve found success as multi-genre authors, with sci-fi epics like The Beam, steam punk adventures like The Dream Engine and TV style serials such as Yesterday’s Gone, just to name a few.  They’re so prolific I doubt I could rattle off all their hits in one sitting.
51yjssATf+L._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_Their self-publishing guide, Write. Publish. Repeat. (The No-Luck-Required Guide to Self-Publishing Success) has become a bible of sorts for the indie community.  I picked up a copy and thus far I’ve found the information it provides to be invaluable.

I have a standing appointment with these gents every Wednesday afternoon, during which I pop on their podcast and listen to the boys talk about the craft they love on my commute home.

To be clear, they don’t deal with get rich quick schemes or gimmicks.  They’re just three guys who talk about what works and doesn’t work for them.  They regularly schedule guests on the cutting edge of self-publishing, and most importantly, they have fun.

Yes, I said fun.  You won’t be bored when you listen to SPP.  The best way I can describe it is that Johnny, Sean and Dave aren’t the stodgy, tweed coat wearing professors who drone on and on in a boring lecture guaranteed to put you to sleep.

Rather, they’re the cool TAs who stop by your dorm, crack open a beer, joke around with you, and give you the straight scoop on what you need to know.

Will I ever self-publish a book?  I have no idea, but listening to these guys helped me decide to pick up my long abandoned dream of a writing career, dust it off, and start working toward it again, and that in and of itself has made me a happier person.

Dave, as one of Sterling and Stone’s preeminent horror fiction writers, welcome to the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  I’ve heard you and your compadres say it doesn’t get any worse than your other podcast, Better Off Undead, but I’d challenge that notion since last time I checked, my site only has 3.5 readers. 

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Q.  Happy Halloween, Dave!  Do you have any plans to celebrate?  (Redact as necessary.)

A.  If by celebrate, you mean hide away from anyone who might knock on my door, then yes, I’ll be celebrating in an undisclosed location.

Q.  What’s the deal with zombies?  The past month, I’ve interviewed authors from all different backgrounds and they’ve all managed to find their own unique take on the zombie genre.  For the layman who thinks, “I don’t get it.  All they do is grunt and groan and eat brains!” please explain why fans can’t get enough of the undead.

A.  I can only speak to the appeal from my perspective. As long as I can remember, long before I ever saw a zombie movie, I dreamed of hordes of slow-moving people coming after me. Most horror movies, the hero or heroine have some chance to defeat the bad guy, monster, etc… There’s something terrifying about an unyielding, unending force of nature like a horde of zombies.

There’s a cathartic nature to most horror, and I think zombies can be representative of many fears for people, and movies and books are just one way of facing those fears in a safe manner.

I think one of the books that truly gets that fear right is The Girl With All the Gifts. Those zombies will track you down, and just wait outside wherever you’re hiding. They’ve got nothing but time, and they will eventually get you, unless you find a way to fight back.

61NWfE06WqL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_Q.   Z 2134, which you co-authored with Sean, features a dystopian America of the future, one in which zombie plagues have ravaged the world, giving rise to a totalitarian government, not to mention the Darwin Games, a televised survival show in which people have to fight zombies on air.  What inspired you to write these stories?

A.   Well, I’ve always wanted to write a zombie story. Sean wasn’t as keen on the idea, as he felt like it had all been done, and there was a lot of it at the moment. However, if we could mash up other genres, he was a lot more interested. So we thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if there was a Hunger Games type story with zombies?” At the time, I’d not even seen The Hunger Games, and had read only the first few chapters. But I knew the idea, and we thought it would be cool to blend it with zombies and add a dose of 1984.

We pitched it to 47North after they’d reached out to us because of Yesterday’s Gone’s success, and they bought the trilogy.

Funny that some of the one star reviewers say it’s a “direct ripoff” of The Hunger Games, which I have to laugh at given that the only thing we ripped off was that it was a) a game and b) how The Hunger Games did the opening part where everyone had to make a mad dash toward the loot (which is as far as I got in the series). Anything similar beyond that, if there actually is, is pure coincidence. Fortunately, enough people liked the series for what it was to make it a bestseller at Amazon.

I think that mash-up of Z 2134 was sort of a dual-edged sword, though. While it earned us a lot of new readers, I think that people who thought we merely ripped off The Hunger Games, probably didn’t go on to give our other books a chance. They probably thought we were mash-up hacks churning out derivative stuff, which is a shame, because I feel that our other books are original and genre defying in many aspects.

Sean and Johnny are currently writing the first book in a zombie series that I’m super excited about, which seems to have an original sorta twist to it. Perhaps Sean and I will write in that world, since I’m still itching to do a proper real zombie story.

Q.  One thing I’ve noticed about science fiction/zombie lore is that authors have a tendency to forecast a future of doom and gloom.  I can’t say as I blame them though, given that every day there’s a new story on the news that rattles my faith in humanity.  Do you think a book where people are actually happy and the world has come together in a peaceful, harmonious future would ever be viable (or dare I say, realistic?)

A.  As much as I’d love to believe otherwise, it all comes down to a few things that seem immutable: there are limited resources on this planet, and people are clannish by nature. Therefore, there will always be struggle.

Q.   Let’s talk SPP.  You guys do a fair amount of busting on one another, all in good fun of course.  Still, I have to say I envy the partnership you’ve formed.  I’ve worked on a number of group projects in my life and to date, I’ve never walked away from the experience without holding back the desire to strangle my partners (who probably felt the same way about me.)  Do you guys realize what you have and more importantly, when the microphone’s off, do you tell each other?  It’d make me happy if the three of you would break out in a chorus of Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings one day, in celebration of a rare collaboration that actually works.

A.  I don’t think we talk too much about it. We’re usually busy talking about the work that needs to be done to fulfill our dreams. When we met in Austin in Sept. 2014, though, it was the first time all three of us were together, and we had a long heart-to-heart-to-heart talk, and it felt good to get to know Johnny (I’d already known Sean) in person. We’re like family, except we get along more often than most families.

Q.  Dave, as mentioned on your site, “Sean is the Tigger to your (Dave’s) Eeyore.”  I’d even go so far as to say that Sean is the Professor X to your Magneto.  In other words, Sean’s an optimist while you’re a pessimist.

Is that why you two work so well together?  One of you holds out hope, the other can see problems coming at twenty paces, and together you equal each other out?

A.  Good analogy. I think we’re a good mix, though I’m sure we’d be better off if I were a bit less pessimistic and a bit more hopeful. I think pessimism can be good as a protective shield, but there are times it costs you in potential.

Q.   Not to bore you with my problems, but a maniacal alien dictator from an unnamed world despises reality television to the point where he’s demanded that I write a novel so finely crafted that it causes the public to abandon shows where cameras follow around vapid celebrities and focus their attention entirely on scripted media.

But I don’t want to bother you with that.  You’ve been in self-publishing for a long time now.  Is there one nugget of advice, something that you wish someone had told you early on when you were getting started that you could pass on to me?

A.   Work through the doubt, and write a lot. Growing up, I tended to abandon projects the moment they got a bit too intimidating. I’m still prone to self-doubt and lots of rewriting before I’m happy, and I blow deadlines, but I am still always moving forward toward a goal — something I didn’t do before I had Sean as a partner.

Q.   Self-publishers are often vocal about their fears, which is understandable. Amazon might change their terms.  Tech companies they depend on might go out of business.  Traditional publishers might find a way to flip the proverbial poker table over and take their chips back.

But lets forget all that and be positive for a moment.  Let’s be Seans and not Daves.  As an expert in the field, do you foresee any major, positive developments coming in the future that will make self-publishers jump for joy?

A.   I’m hoping for a universal e-book format which would allow people to migrate their collections across readers without having to jump through hoops. I’d love to be able to buy at any store and read on whatever reader I prefer, without having to go through proprietary apps.

While companies may be resistant to this, I think in the long run it will help the companies sell more e-books.

Q.   Dave.  Seriously.  Thank you for all that you do.  When The History of Self-Publishing is written, there should be twenty chapters dedicated to you, Sean and Johnny.  The floor is yours.  If there are any last minute words of wisdom you’d like to share with my 3.5 readers, please feel free to do so.

A.   Thank you for having me. I’m not sure if this is wisdom, but I’ll share one thing. I started putting comic strips on the web in 1999. I was clueless to how bad I was. I think a lot of artists early on come in one of two flavors — they think they’re awesome or they think they’re shit. The truth is probably somewhere in between. Had I realized how bad I was, I’m sure I would’ve quit. Instead, I thought I was better than I was, but knew I wasn’t as good as I wanted to be, so I pushed through, always trying to get better, until I had a semi-successful comic which I could be proud of. So, I’d say don’t beat yourself up early on, but don’t ignore the areas you need to improve, and just always keep creating.

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Oct 31 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 31 – (Part 3)

It was late.

I sat in my office, the magic bookshelf behind me, the tiny characters who inhabited it fast asleep.

NN1 was on my TV, various commentators weighing in on all the consequences that General Morganstern was in for.

On my computer, I typed the following words:

Johnny Gunhands:  A Farewell to Hands

Draft #2

VGRF came in.

“You foiled a corrupt general’s plot, saved us all from being blown up, and destroyed the zombie menace,”  she said.  “Don’t you think you’ve earned some sleep?”

“I can’t,”  I replied.  “I’m too wired.  Besides, you know with the Mighty Potentate up my ass the world will never be safe from alien invasion until I finish this book.”

I opened up iTunes and turned on my favorite show, The Self Publishing Podcast.

Notorious indie authors Johnny B. Truant, Sean Platt, and David W. Wright were discussing the latest news in the world of do it yourself publishing.

“I hate you all,” grumbled Dave.

VGRF picked up the space phone and handed it to me.

“What?”  I asked.

“Go on,”  she said.

“Oh please.  The world has already given me too many miracles tonight.  I doubt an interview with one of these illustrious scribes is in the cards.”

“The worst that can happen is they say no,”  VGRF said.

I let out a loud, obnoxious sigh.

“Fine.  Here goes nothing.”

I looked up the number for Sterling and Stone, the SPP trio’s publishing company.

I dialed it.  The phone rang.

“Hello?  Yes. Bookshelf Q. Battler here.  I’m doing a zombie author interview series and I’d like to talk to Dave about Z2134….uh huh….uh huh….uh huh…Dave’s at Target?  Uh huh….sure I can hold…”

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Oct 31 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 31 – (Part 2)

“All the lights and sounds drove every zombie in town here,”  Alien Jones said.

“Great,”  I said.  “We’re safe from being blown up but now we’re going to be ripped apart by the undead.”

“Not quite,”  Alien Jones said as he punched a button on his space phone.  The pilots’ voices were back.

“God I hope there’s some hot chicks at the ‘Cool As Shit Fighter Pilot Bar’ tonight,” Buzzkill said.

Alien Jones handed me the phone.

“You can communicate with them now.  Human signals are notoriously easy to hack.”

“They are?”  I asked.

“Of course.  How do you think the Mighty Potentate has been getting free cable all these years?”

“Umm,”  I said into the space phone.  “Come in, good buddy?”

“Who is this?”  Buzzkill asked.

“This is Bookshelf Q. Battler,”  I said.

“This is a secure channel.  How did you hack into it?”

“Umm…there’s an app for that?  Hey listen, Cool As Shit Fighter Pilots, I need you to come back and waste some zombies.”

“10-4,”  Buzzkill said.

Alien Jones leaned over me and punched a button.  A non-lethal red laser shot out of it.

“What the hell is that?”  I asked.

“A laser target designator,”  Alien Jones explained.  “Point it at the zombies and the Cool As Shit Fighter Pilots will do the rest.”

“Damn it,”  I said.  “This thing has everything.  Where can I get my own space phone?”

“Eh,”  Alien Jones said.  “They’re fun at first but then they become a pain in your back quarter.  Every year they tweak it a tiny bit and expect you to buy a whole new one.”

I pointed the laser at a house down the road.

“Wait,”  I said.  “We should let the zombies get closer.”

“Why would you want them to get closer?”  VGRF asked.

“Because they’re right by…the house…”

VGRF glared at me.

“You know, the one that sorority rented and they all just lie around on the roof and sunbathe topless all day?”

VGRF slapped me for the fourth time this month.

“So I’ve heard!  Ahh, screw it, those babes are probably all zombies by now.”

I pointed the laser at the sorority house.  The zombies were tearing it apart, looking for survivors.

“Buzzkill, I’m painting the target now.”

“How does a civilian have a laser target designator?”  Buzzkill asked.

“I uh…bought it on eBay?”

“Shit,”  Buzzkill said.  “Probably some disgruntled Russian sold it.”

The F-15s did another flyby.

“Locking on…”

BOOM!

The sorority house went up in a fiery blaze, taking the majority of the town’s zombies with it.

The F-15s flew off.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Bookshelf Q. Battler.  Stop by the Cool as Shit Fighter Pilot bar sometime.  First round’s on me.”

Alien Jones launched his space phone into the air again and dropped a funky, smooth beat.  It was reminiscent of one of Barry White’s soulful 1970’s love jams.

3.5 readers, you might remember from the beginning of this tale that Alien Jones sounds exactly like Barry White.

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

“Now it’s time to celebrate,”  the Esteemed Brainy One replied.

The alien levitated himself in the air.  Still in his hipster garb, he broke out into song.

FUNK YOU, BABY

By:  Alien Jones, The Esteemed Brainy One

Aww baby…don’t you know you make me feel…fresh.

BQB/BERNIE:  CHORUS

Fresh!

ALIEN JONES

Aww baby, don’t you know you make me feel…frisky!

CHORUS

Frisky!

ALIEN JONES

Aw baby, don’t you know you make me feel…FUNKY!

I’m gonna funk you up woman, funk you up and down.

Funk you all over the place, all over this funkin town.

Funk you up in the mornin’

Funk you up at night!

Goddamn baby don’t you know our funky love

Will be one funky ass sight!

Funky love baby!

Funk you all night long!

CHORUS:

Funk you all night long!

ALIEN JONES:

Funk you the funkin hell up while I’m singing this funky ass song!

I don’t know how I’ll do it, because I got no junk!

CHORUS

He’s got nothin’!

ALIEN JONES

But you know my ass will find a way because I’m one funkin funky ass hunk!

The space phone dropped into Alien Jones’ hands.

“That was unlike you,”  I said.

“Sometimes an alien just has to funk.”

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Oct 31 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 31 – (Part 1)

High atop the south wall of Bookshelf Battle Headquarters, I dialed the number for Network News One.

“Hello?” a lackadaisical operator answered.  “Network News One.  How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties!”

“Ugh, the hundredth time tonight,”  the operator said.  “Sir, I’m going to tell you what I told all the other perverts. Yes, we realize that the Hot Ass Blonde Chick is quite fetching but she’s a serious journalist and doesn’t have time for…”

I cut her off.

“My name is Bookshelf Q. Battler,”  I said.  “She’s been working an angle on the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, trying to prove my fellow Funky Hunk Bernie Plotznick and I and a bunch of survivors are still within the East Randomtown limits!  Get her on the phone before I’m blown the hell up!”

“One minute sir.”

Some muzak played.

“La, la, la…muskrat love,” I sang to myself.

The voice of a hot chick picked up.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler?” the blonde reporter asked.

“Yes.  Is the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties?”

“It is.  My God, you really ARE alive!”

“I sure am and Bernie Plotznick, my girlfriend, my deformed kid, and over a thousand survivors are at my house!”

“I knew General Morganstern was up to something,”  the blonde reporter said.

“Do you have a chopper?”  I asked.

“Sure.  The NN1 Sky Copter is parked at the West Randomtown Shop N’ Slop.”

“I need you to get in that helicopter and get to the address I’m sending you,”  I said.

“You’ll come outside so we can catch you on film?”  the blonde reporter asked.

“Better,”  I replied.  “My associate and I are going to put on the greatest concert East Randomtown has ever seen!”

“I’m on my way.”

I handed the space phone to Alien Jones.  He released it and it floated into the air.

“Can it work as a microphone?”  I asked.

“Yes,”  Alien Jones replied.  “I’m syncing it to pick up your voices now.”

“How the hell…CAN IT DO THAT?”  I asked, noticing my voice was being broadcast all over the compound.  “Whoa!”

Three F-15s ripped across the sky.

Alien Jones snapped his fingers and the pilots’ transmissions were played over the space phone.

“Overlord, come in overlord.  This is Buzzkill.  On my six are ShockinAwesome and Limpwrist.  Over.”

“Guys,”  Limpwrist said.  “I thought we talked about this.  My call sign is ‘Hellfire.’”

“Screw you, Limpwrist,” Buzzkill said.  “You show up late for ‘Cool Ass Fighter Pilot Call Name Assignment Day,’ you end up as Limpwrist.  Suck it up.”

Below, I could see the townspeople standing around my yard, listening intently.

“I read you, Buzzkill.”

I recognized that voice.  Morganstern was Overlord.

“Overlord we’re over the target now.  Ready to turn East Randomtown into a crater and fry those zombie freaks.  Over.”

The survivors gasped and started to panic.

“Copy,”  Morganstern said.

“Overlord, you’re sure there’s no one alive down there?”  Buzzkill asked.

The F-15s made another pass over BQB HQ.

“Affirmative,”  Morganstern replied.  “Jesus Christ, are you one of those hippies who whines about blowing up a whole town?  Light that shit up already!”

“Preparing to light it up, sir…”

Alien Jones snapped his fingers and his space phone produced a dazzling strobe light effect.  It also cast two spotlights on Bernie and I.

“Ready?”  I asked Bernie.

“Shit son, you know my ass was born ready!  FUNKY HUNKS IN THE HIZ-OUSE!”

Alien Jones wiggled his fingers again and the space phone shot up dazzling holograms of fireworks straight up into the sky.  They were fake but to the untrained eye, they looked like the real thing.

“What the hell was that?”  Buzzkill asked.

“What?”  Morganstern asked.  “What’s going on?”

“Come on all you East Randomtown survivors!”  Bernie shouted, his voice amplified through the magic of alien technology.  “Put your hands together and make some noise like your lives depend on it!”

It’d been years since my days as a Funky Hunk, but seeing Bernie in his element brought it all back.

“Because it does, yo!”  I shouted.  “Yo, yo, yo I’m Read N’ Plenty!”

“And I’m MC Plotz,”  Bernie added.

Together, we said in unison, “AND WE ARE THE FUNKY HUNKS!”

The F-15s made another pass.

“Overlord, there appears to be some kind of nerd show going on down there,”  Buzzkill said.  “Over.”

“Bullshit,”  Morganstern said.  “You’re seeing things.  Blow it all up!  Now!”

“Are you nerds ready?”  Alien Jones asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

VGRF kissed me.

“For luck.”

“Thanks baby,” I said. “But Read N’ Plenty don’t need no luck because he got mad ass skills!  Hit it!”

Alien Jones snapped his fingers and the space phone laid down a hip hop beat.

In the distance, I saw a light and heard helicopter blades whirring.  The NN1 SkyCopter drew closer, coming to a hover over BQB HQ.

“Aww shit,”  Bernie said.  “The Funky Hunks reunion show broadcasted live.”

Suddenly, it was like we were both in our early twenties again.  We were jumping, running around, performing sick dance moves, all the while debuting Bernie’s latest jam:

STRAIGHT UP FLOSSIN’

Yo.  2015.  Funky Hunks back on the scene.

Check it!

You’re out on a date with a fly ass honey.

But damn that girl be lookin’ at yo ass hella funny.

I wonder what the hell does she see?

Awwwww shit!  It’s a rogue chick pea!

Time for the chorus:

Straight up flossin!  Straight up flossin!

Now here’s some advice that yo ass better not be tossin!”

Alien Jones twirled his finger again and the space phone displayed the Network News One feed on a holographic monitor large enough for the whole crowd to see.

Kurt Manley was in studio.

“Sources say that the Congressman located his pants and issued a contrite apology to his constituents.  In other news…”

Kurt pressed his finger down on his earpiece.

“Hold on.  Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going live to the NN1 SkyCopter where the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties is covering a breaking story.  Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties, are you there?”

The F-15s swooped overhead once more.  Bernie and I kept jamming, keeping an eye on the coverage.

The crowd didn’t care for us at all, though some of the forty something moms in denim stretch pants in attendance did sing along.  The faux fireworks continued to brighten up the night sky.

Wearing a pair of headphones, the blonde reporter, sitting in the back of the helicopter, appeared on screen.

“Yes I am, Kurt,”  the reporter said.  “I’m reporting live over the home of East Randomtown resident, Bookshelf Q. Battler.  As you recall, General Morganstern told me earlier this evening that there are no survivors remaining in town, thus clearing the way for an aerial strike, yet as you can clearly see below…”

The camera man zoomed in on BQB HQ.  We could see ourselves on the screen.  Bernie and I waved.

“…the poorly reviewed late 90’s/early 2000’s rap duo known as ‘The Funky Hunks’ are performing an impromptu performance of their wholesome hip hop to a large group of survivors.”

Bernie and I kept rapping.

When you hang up yo toothbrush yo job aint done.

Get that floss on that bicuspid, son!

There’s all kinds of shit behind your incisor.

Cavities between teeth can be a real surpriser!

“Damn,”  Kurt said.  “That is the worse music I have ever seen.”

“Agreed,”  the blonde reporter said.  “But these nerds have blown the lid off a vast conspiracy tonight.”

Morganstern’s voice came over the space phone.  Alien Jones amplified it loud enough that the blonde reporter’s mic was able to pick it up way up in her helicopter.

“Buzzkill, blow that bitch out of the sky.”

The F-15’s tore up the sky once more.

“Overlord, have you lost your mind?”

“She has entered a restricted area!  Do it!”

“ShockinAwesome.  Limpwrist.  Let’s head back to base.”

“I HAVE GIVEN YOU A DIRECT ORDER!”  Morganstern hollered.

“Court martial me if you want, General,”  Buzzkill said.  “But I’m not about to murder a bunch of civilians, especially the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties.  She’s a national treasure.”

Bernie and I wrapped up our song and I looked at the holo-screen.

“Kurt, did you get all that?”

“We sure did, Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties.  General Morganstern has a lot of explaining to do.  We’re going to stay with this story as it develops.  Meanwhile, is your cat trying to sit on your face and suffocate you while you sleep?  A prominent veterinarian will weigh in after this commercial break…”

The NN1 SkyCopter banked right and took off.

The crowd cheered and celebrated.  Alien Jones cut our mics off and caught the space phone as it landed in his hands.

“Um, nerds?”  the Esteemed Brainy One said as he pointed his finger towards the neighborhood.

AJ pressed an app that turned his phone into a powerful pair of binoculars.  I looked at the screen to see a legion of hungry zombies marching down the road.

“It’s not time to party yet,”  AJ said.

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