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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 12 Interview – Joe McKinney – Legendary Zombie Master

jm

FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

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Bram Stoker award winning novelist Joe McKinney is to fans of zombie fiction what Elvis is to rock and roll.  Simply mention Joe’s name to zombie enthusiasts and they’re likely to swoon and pass out.

If a zombie invasion were to ever go down, Joe could handle it.  After all, in his day job, he’s a Sergeant with the San Antonio, TX Police Department, where he’s a patrol supervisor.  He’s also worked as a homicide detective and a disaster mitigation specialist.

51CTSWUWJzL__SX302_BO1,204,203,200_As if that weren’t impressive enough, he’s also the author of the Dead World series.  The action begins in Dead City.  After a series of hurricanes rocks the Gulf Coast, a zombifying virus spreads to San Antonio, where police officer Eddie Hudson has to brave a zompoc in order to get his wife and son to safety.

Joe’s also the author of the Deadlands series, the latest book of which, The Dead Won’t Die, came out last month on September 29.  In fact, word has it that he’s heading to Atlanta October 16 and 17th for book signings, so if you’re in The Walking Dead territory, you might want to keep a pen handy.

Thanks for taking the time to speak with me today, oh wise zombie master.  My 3.5 readers and I greatly appreciate it.

NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=JOE

Q.   You got in on the ground floor of a zombie fiction renaissance that began in the mid-2000’s and to date, doesn’t show any signs of stopping.  What is it about zombies that have kept fans of these creepy creatures coming back for more after all these years?

A.   I was on a zombie panel at a horror convention a while back, and one of my fellow panelists was a writer who is generally regarded as “one of the literary elite” sort. I like this guy.  I have a lot of respect for him, both as a person and as a writer.  I’d even go so far as to call him a mentor.  And we’re good friends on top of that.  Well, somebody from the audience threw out a question very similar to this and my friend answered something like this:  “Zombies are a symptom of our self-loathing.  We so hate ourselves and our society that we invent a straw man like the zombie, a monster that both looks enough like us so that we see in its putrefaction how much we disgust ourselves and yet is anonymous enough that we can imagine those who anger us as we fire an endless barrage of headshots at the approaching horde.”

Now, I don’t totally buy that.  I don’t think self-loathing, or even societal loathing, is a strong enough emotion to turn a drive-in movie monster into a cultural archetype.  There may be something to that explanation, especially for the readers who spend too much time arguing about politics on Facebook, but that isn’t everybody.

What about the rest of us?  Why do we love zombies?  Well, aside from the creeping dread that comes with imagining streets filled with the undead and the way really great zombie stories tend to treat the apocalypse like a crucible that distills humanity down to its core, I think the zombie has caught on because it’s a blank page upon which writers and readers can draw anything they want.  What are you afraid of?  Disease; death of the mind, a la Alzheimer’s; societal collapse; or possibly illegal immigration?  You name it, if you’re scared of it, we have a zombie for you.  They are sponges for metaphor.  They can be anything you want them to be, and I believe that that’s their secret storytelling power. 

Q.   On your site, you mention how your daughter’s birth inspired you to follow your dream of becoming a writer, but it wasn’t easy.  You explain how you penned a 1950’s style space opera, came to the conclusion that it was “crap,” and wondered why you were even bothering.  Honestly, in my experience, most aspiring authors stop when they reach the “This is crap!” point, but you kept going and today you’re a rousing success.

For those of us who are convinced our writing is “crap,” can you give us a little pep talk to inspire us to keep going until we hit our non-crappy groove?

A.   Getting started is hard. Really hard.  There are days when you spend a lot of time looking at yourself in the mirror wondering why you’re even bothering.  And when you do finally get your first few pieces out there, there’s never a shortage of nasty trolls to tell you how you shouldn’t have bothered in the first place.  You need a lot of hard work, a lot of bullheaded determination, and a really thick skin.  Oh, and a super harsh inner critic that isn’t afraid to occasionally be a cheerleader.  Like I said, it’s hard.

But it can be done.  And while I can’t tell you the secret of finding that determination you need to get out of your own way, I can let you in on a little secret that will make it easier for you to write that first novel.

First, outline your story, in exhaustive detail, before you ever start thinking of your opening sentence.  It seems like every time I go to a convention, somebody says, “You know, I’ve got this novel I’ve been working on for three years now.”  I usually stop them right there and ask them if they outline or write by the seat their pants.  Invariably, I get some confused rambling about how Stephen King said writers should be pantsers because anything else would stifle creativity.  I usually answer by pointing out that never getting the story written is even more stifling to creativity.  Outline, outline, outline.  It’s the first step to success.  My outlines for novels will usually go 70 to 90 pages and they take me about two months to write…about the same amount of time as the novel itself.

The second part of the secret?  Write a little bit every day.  Don’t listen to the stories of Ray Bradbury writing Fahrenheit 451 in 9 days, or Robert Louis Stevenson writing Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde in 3 days.  You don’t need that kind of self-abuse.  What you do need is a manageable word count that you promise yourself each day.  When I started out, that promise was 500 words a day.  These days, it’s 1,500.  But you have to work up to that.  You have to start with digestible chunks and gradually build up from there.  Remember: How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time!

Q.   “Write what you love” is one piece of advice you mention on your blog.  Specifically, you hit your stride when you realized that after growing up on a steady diet of monster flicks, the zombie apocalypse genre was right up your alley.

So in other words, aspiring writers should just be themselves and stop trying to be something they’re not?

A.   Yeah, pretty much. One simple lesson I try time and again to convey is that if you want to be interesting, you have to be interested.  What that means is that you have to love what you’re writing about.  I don’t mean simply loving zombies, so you write a zombie story.  I mean loving the life of being a cop with a family, and so you write a zombie story about a cop trying to fight his way home to his family on the first night of the zombie apocalypse.  You’ll see the same love in every writer you read, both the great ones and the hacks.  The point is that writing is all about getting your inner joy out there, even if the mood in which that joy conveys is tragic.  Simply put, if you don’t love it, nobody else will either.  It doesn’t matter what you’re interested in.  If you are crazy cool madly in love with ladybugs, and you write a murder mystery, or a romance, or a horror novel, or a science fiction space opera about how cool ladybugs are, your chances of successfully connecting with an audience just went up about ten thousand percent.  We don’t care what your interest is, just that you convince us that you love it, and that we should too…through your characters!

Q.   “Write what you know” is a phrase often heard in the literary world.  As a police officer, you know law enforcement procedure and it shows in your writing.  For example, when I discovered that Dead City involved a series of hurricanes, it didn’t surprise me to learn that you worked as a disaster mitigation specialist.

How else have you drawn on your police experience to bring greater detail to your writing?  And should aspiring scribes go out and get some experience in something, anything before they put pen to paper?

A.   Well, I have to be careful about that. My department has specific rules about writing for publication that prohibit me from writing on cases I have personally worked on and cases that have yet to be adjudicated.  You can imagine why.  Imagine being a rape victim.  You somehow work up the courage to report the rape, and you spend the afternoon pouring your soul and anger and all the rest of it out to a detective.  Now imagine that detective turns around and sells your story to some magazine somewhere.  Imagine the outrage and violation you would feel.  I take my oath as a cop very seriously, and that trust is a bond I will never break.

Still, I get quite a bit of mileage from the things I’ve learned on the job.  Being on the job you learn a lot about human nature, and that definitely helps with writing.  It also helps with creating a unique niche for my writing.  Lots of horror utilizes police procedure, but grudgingly, because most writers lack any firsthand knowledge of it.  Writers will create situations where the police have to make an appearance, and then they’re forced to tap dance until they find a reason to get rid of the police.  I see it all the time.  I don’t have that problem, though.  I would definitely recommend that all writers develop some kind of skillset like that, be it beekeeping or pot making or anything, really.

Q.   You hold a Master’s Degree in English Literature.  For anyone out there hoping to break into the literary world, do you recommend such a formal course of study?

A.   It worked for me, but I’m just one voice shouting in the wilderness. I know hundreds of writers, and they come from every profession imaginable.  Some are butchers; some are call girls.  Some are beekeepers; some are college professors.  Some are cowboys; some are stand up comedians.  One writer I know owns a barbeque restaurant in New Braunfels, Texas that serves the best braised beef short ribs you could possibly imagine.  It really doesn’t matter what your background is.  What does matter is that you love something so much that you want, want, need to fit it into a story.  Find that spark inside you, and the words will come.  I promise. 

Q.   OK.  Here’s a big question.  You’re a busy police officer.  On top of that, you’ve got a family.  And yet, amidst all of these important commitments, you have managed to have an amazing career as a writer.

Meanwhile, I don’t want to call myself a slacker, but one time I sat down with my laptop to write an epic masterpiece, got frustrated after the first few lines, then ended up watching a Steven Seagal movie marathon while devouring an entire box of Oreos instead.

Please, for myself, and anyone else who can’t get their act together, give us some tips on how to juggle work, family, other stuff that happens in life, and still find time to pursue writing.

A.   Any author who tells you every day is an orderly procession of getting the words on paper is a filthy liar. Some days are hard, even after you make a name for yourself.  Some days, the Oreos and movie marathons are what the body and soul need.  There’s no shame in that.

But you have to hold two seemingly disparate ideals in mind if you want to write professionally.  First, you have to have a love of craft and a determination to keep butt in chair that, frankly, defies human nature.  The kids are playing with the dogs in the backyard, and begging you to come join them.  There’s a lovely breeze blowing.  Your youngest looks at you with a smile you know won’t be there in her angsty teenage years.

But you have a deadline.

That kind of denial of human nature.  Bullheadedness, my wife calls it.  Maybe even assholery.  Yeah, it sucks that bad.

But how do you get to have problems like that?  Well, that comes with manageable word counts.  Seriously, folks, 500 words a day.  Treat everyday like it’s NaNoWriMo.  Do 500 words a day.  You can do it.  Outline first, figure out what you’re going to be writing during those precious few moments out of each day that you can spare for the keyboard, and then start typing.  Get the first draft done.  Don’t go back and edit what you wrote the day before, just push forward to the end.  Once you’re done, go back and edit.  That’s why they call them first drafts. 

Q.   Thanks for checking in, Joe.  Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A.   Well, yes…obviously Cardio! Oh, and as a cop, I wholeheartedly recommend the double tap as well.  But after that: Be smart.  Be watchful.  Pay attention; it don’t cost nothing.  Take a good look around you every moment of every day.  Even if the apocalypse doesn’t come (and I think I’m not alone in kind of wishing that it would come), you will still have the observational aptitude to write about it.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 3)

“Where to?”  VGRF asked.

“You know where, babe,”  I replied.

VGRF took a right onto Pondmore Road and from there it was smooth sailing.  An occasional zombie would take interest, but they were no match for a skilled driver.

Five minutes later, VGRF pulled up to a box shaped building.  The sign on the front read:

Decrepit Oaks

Our Seniors Put the “Do” in “Can-Do!”

“You’re going to risk our lives for your old ass aunt?”  Blandie asked.

“You know, Aunt Gertie used to talk about you all the time,”  I said.

Blandie perked up.  “Really?  What did she say?”

Aunt Gertie - Dead, missing, or zombified?

Aunt Gertie – Dead, missing, or zombified?

“That you’re shallow, materialistic and when it comes to relationships, you care more about what a man looks like than what he’s got going on inside.”

“And that’s a problem…why?”

“I give up, Blandie,”  I said.  “If you want to stay in the car, fine, but I need to check to see if the woman who raised me is still alive.”

“Fine.  I’m coming.”

I got out and Bernie passed Alien Jones to me.  The little guy was still exhausted from shooting a force field out of his body, so we were on our own for the rest of the day.  I threw him over my shoulder like he was an extra bag.  He didn’t weigh that much at all.

The gang grabbed our gear and we entered the old folks home.

Decrepit Oaks wasn’t so much a nursing home as it was an apartment building for old timers.  It catered to elderly folk who were still active, but needed some help with meals, cleaning, and so on.  I’m not sure my aunt even needed to live there but that’s what she wanted.  There were times when I thought Gertie might live long enough to bury us all.

Bernie and VGRF shined their flashlights.  The place was deserted.  Oddly though, everything appeared to be in immaculate condition.

We headed down the hallway to the residential section.

“Yo, y’all need to be hella careful,”  Bernie said.  “Some of these damn old peeps might look just like zombies.  You don’t wanna gank an old ass human by accident.”

“That’s partially accurate and partially offensive, Bern,”  I said.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What’s her number?”  VGRF asked.

“Forty-nine.”

We walked and walked.  Along the way, a few apartment doors had been left open.

I peeked inside each one of them.  They were all nice and neat, beds freshly made, everything in order.

“Maybe they were able to evacuate in time?”  VGRF asked.

“I hope so,”  I said.

We reached forty-nine.  Gertie had given me a spare key.  I found it on my ring and opened the door.

The place was a mess.  The coffee table was turned up on its side.  Broken glass pieces were strewn everywhere.  A lamp was shattered on the floor.

From the bathroom came a loud moan.  I put Alien Jones down on Gertie’s bed, drew my gun, pointed it at the door, and nodded to Bernie, bidding him to open it.

Sure enough, a zombie ran out.  He’d once been a young man, late twenties, in combat fatigues.  Whoever he was, he was out of place at an old folks home.  I exploded his head with one shot.

Zombie attack!

Zombie attack!

I borrowed VGRF’s flashlight and entered the bathroom.  The floor and walls were soaked with blood.  In the tub, there was a ripped apart corpse.  It was so badly disfigured that it was unrecognizable.

VGRF put her hand on my shoulder.

“Is it…”

“I…I don’t know.  God I hope not.”

Bernie picked up the Esteemed Brainy One and carried him for me for awhile.

“What now?”  my friend asked.

“This place looks pretty safe,”  I said.  “Let’s clear all the rooms to be sure, lock the building up, then pick a room and spend the night.  We’ll consult Alien Jones on what to do next when he wakes up.”

“I can’t stay here,”  Blandie said.  “This whole place reeks of bengay and depression.”

“Then feel free to…”

“I know, I know,”  Blandie said.  “Wait in the car.  Fine.  Lead the way.”

An hour later we finished checking all the apartments and after discovering the building was zombie free, we locked the front and back doors, took over apartment one, the unit closest to the front door in case we had to make a break for it, and settled in.

“You guys get some sleep,”  I said as I took a seat on the couch.  “I’ll take first watch.”

Bernie stepped out of the bedroom and made some googly eyes at Blandie.

“The bed’s big enough to share if you catch my drift.”

“I’ll rip off any part of you that touches me, nerd,”  Blandie said as she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door in Bernie’s face.

“Shoties be trippin’ yo,” Bernie said.

He crashed on the floor.

VGRF snuggled up into my arm nook.

“Are you going to call another zombie author now?”  she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “And a plot this thick requires not just any zombie author, but one of the most legendary zombie masters of all time!”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 2)

“Grab the gear,”  Alien Jones said.  “We’re leaving.”

“Out there?  With those things?”  Blandie asked.  “No way!”

“You heard the human military leader,”  Alien Jones said.  “By tomorrow morning, this entire structure will be a pile of charred ash.  We can’t stay here.”

I picked up my bug out bag.  VGRF and Bernie did the same.

“What’s the plan, Esteemed Brainy One?” I asked.

The Compensator - when only a vehicle capable of depleting the oil reserves of a third world country will do.

The Compensator – when only a vehicle capable of depleting the oil reserves of a third world country will do.

“I sense there is a brand new, fully loaded Compensator Sports Utility Vehicle illegally parked across two handicapped parking spaces outside the nearby entrance.  It was formerly owned by what you humans would refer to as a ‘One Percenter Douche Bag.’  We will make our way to it, hit the open road, and improvise a further plan from there.”

“Can I have a gun?”  Blandie asked.

“You’ll shoot your foot off,”  I said.

“You let HIM have a gun,” Blandie said, pointing to Bernie.

“Good point,”  I said.

I pulled a spare pistol out of my waistband and handed it to her.  She handled it rather clumsily.

“So how do you take the safety off?  Is it just this little…”

BAM!

Blandie fired a shot right into the roof.

“Gimme that!”  I said as I took the piece back.  I searched around for a blunt instrument and handed her a trophy that read, ‘Blandie Settler:  Hipster Hutt Manager of the Year.’”

“You were manager of the year?”  I asked.

“Yeah,”  Blandie said.  “So?  What?  I can do stuff good!”

I opened the door.  That dumb, confused zombie was still bumping into the corner.  He was harmless, so I left him alone.

“I need new duds,”  my alien buddy said.

Hipster Alien

Hipster Alien

Alien Jones picked out some hipster wear – a white bucket hat, plaid cargo pants, a muscle shirt and oversized sunglasses.

“What planet are you from?”  Blandie asked.

“Oh, it doesn’t really matter,”  Alien Jones said as he adjusted his sunglasses.  “I doubt you’ve ever heard of it anyway.”

The little green guy punched a button on the space phone and the security gate lifted.  A throng of zombies poured in but were instantly vaporized when our tiny protector threw up his force field bubble.

“We only have five minutes,”  I explained to Blandie as we ran out of the store. “And whatever you do, DO NOT TOUCH THE BUBBLE!”

Away we went, turning multiple bloodthirsty, brain hungry zombies into mist clouds until we hit the parking lot.  Alien Jones’ bubble began to flicker.

“There’s the douche-mobile!”  I shouted.

Alien Jones punched a button on his phone and the Compensator’s engine started and the doors unlocked.

“VGRF,”  I shouted.  “Take the wheel!”

The bubble passed out and so did my alien friend.  I scooped him up into the back seat then took the front passenger’s seat.  Blandie and Bernie got in the back.

The parking lot was quiet but as soon as VGRF backed the SUV up, zombie heads turned and they all converged on the vehicle.

“BQB you pussy!”  Blandie shouted.  “You’d let a girl drive?!”

I turned around to face Blandie.

“She’s not just any girl.  She’s the Goddamned Number One International Car Thief Mayhem Champion Ten Years in a row.”

I looked at VGRF.

“You got this baby.  Punch it!”

The Highest Ranking Car Thief Mayhem Champion in the World

The Highest Ranking Car Thief Mayhem Champion in the World

VGRF took off like she was in a stolen car, not just because she was, but because her nimble fingers had played out this scenario on her gaming console millions of times before.  She smashed through piles of the undead like they were nothing.  Blood and guts sprayed all over the window and she didn’t even flinch.  She just sprayed the cleaning fluid and ran the wipers.

She banged a right out of the lot and floored it down the mall access road.  Zombies chased along side the SUV, banging on the sides.  She swerved right and left, taking them all out.

Full steam ahead, VGRF sailed the big truck at 80 MPH down the road until she came across a gaggle of beasts blocking the way forward.  Too thick to slam through, she improvised.

“HANG ON!”  my sweetie yelled.

With expert precision, VGRF yanked the emergency hand brake up, swerved out and just barely missed the horde car as she took a right and headed down Main Street.

To our left was a steep hill.  More zombies ran down it and flanked the left side of the car.

VGRF rolled her window down and pulled a handgun out of her jacket pocket.  She shouted, “BREAK YOSELF, FOOL!” then took them all out.

“BQB?”

“Yeah Bernie?”

“I don’t wanna be rude but your old lady is givin’ me a mad chub right now, B.”

“Me too, Bernie.  Me too.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 11

“I am the way into the city of woe,
I am the way into eternal pain,
I am the way to go among the lost.

Justice caused my high architect to move,
Divine omnipotence created me,
The highest wisdom, and the primal love.

Before me there were no created things
But those that last forever—as do I.
Abandon all hope you who enter here.”

-Dante’s Inferno

I felt like I was in the seventh circle of hell.

Typical Blandie

Typical Blandie

“You’re so useless, BQB,” whined my ex-girlfriend, Blandie.  “A real man would have rescued me already.  A real man would have swooped me up in his arms and whisked me back to his house for drinks by now.”.

“Maybe you should call Troy,”  I said.  “Or Channing.  Or Lance.  Or one of those perfectly coiffed hair muscle bound douches you assured me you weren’t sleeping with behind my back even though you totally were!”

“Oh whatever,”  Blandie said.  “A real man wouldn’t have his head stuck in the past.”

“Call the Mighty Potentate,”  I said to Alien Jones.  “I want him to vaporize me and put me out of my misery.”

“He won’t do that,”  my alien buddy replied.  “He believes in you too much, though personally, I wonder if he might have jumbled his prophecy.  Not that I’d ever tell him.”

“Why do you keep writing on that stupid blog of yours, anyway?”  Blandie asked.  “Writing.  Please.  Lame.  I mean, ‘Hello?’  It’s the twenty-first century!  No one reads anymore!  Get your head out of the clouds!  Duh!”

Bernie was fast asleep.  VGRF distracted herself from Blandie’s blatherings with Alien Jones’ space phone, playing a rousing game of Car Thief Mayhem: Mobile Edition.

Can't get enough of that Car Thief Mayhem

Can’t get enough of that Car Thief Mayhem

“When are you ever going to stop being a nerd and grow up, BQB?”  Blandie asked.

“You know what?”  I asked.  “No.  Forget it.  It’s not even worth it to tell you off.”

“Oh whatever,”  Blandie said.  “Like I care.”

“People are different, Blandie,”  I said.  “I act like a nerd because I AM a nerd.   You made me feel like shit for years, that there was something wrong with me…”

I put my arm around VGRF and snuggled her close to me.  Her eyes remained fixated on her video game.

“…it wasn’t until I met this goddess that I realized it was ok to be me, that there’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.   I am nerd, hear me roar, in numbers too big too ignore.”

“Aw sweet!”  VGRF said.  “I just ran over a crack dealer and stole all his money!”

Blandie blew a raspberry, making a big “PBBBHHHT!” sound.

“Whatever.”

Blandie was a big fan of the word, “whatever.”

“You’re a nobody, BQB,”  Blandie said.  “You think you’re somebody but you’re not.  The whole time we were together, you were just this big geek who played with action figures and read comic books and wrote boring stories and wore dorky glasses and….and….”

Blandie’s eyes welled up and tears poured out.

“BQB, the human is leaking,”  Alien Jones said.

VGRF paused her game.

Bernie snored.  He could sleep through anything.

“…and you were always THERE FOR ME!!!”

Blandie broke out into full weeping mode and threw herself at me, blubbering incessantly as she forced her words out between sobs.

“You never cheated on me like Troy did and you didn’t steal my life’s savings and run off with my sister like Channing did and I don’t even want to tell you what Lance did…”

“Um,”  I said as I timidly patted Blandie on the head.  “There there?”

“I’m going to die alone in the zombie apocalypse and my last thoughts are going to be about how I gave up the only man who ever truly loved me and that he’ll never take me back now because he’s in love with a girl who buys all of her clothes from the dollar store!”

“This is all JC Penney, bitch!”  VGRF said.

Blandie snorted and cried some more until she passed out and fell asleep.  Gently, I rested her head down onto one of the bug out bags, letting her use it as a pillow.

“I’m the man,”  I said.

“What?”  VGRF asked.

“I’ve found the love of my life in you, plus the girl who broke my heart is beside herself in agony over losing me.”

“Please,”  VGRF said.  “That’s just the zombie apocalypse talking.  When she wakes up, she’ll go back to chewing you out again.”

“True,”  I said.  “Being locked in this small room with her is like being trapped in…”

“Hell?”  Alien Jones asked.  “As described by the human writer, Dante?”

“Exactly,”  I said as I picked up the space phone.  “Come to think of it, I know an author who could shed some light on this.”

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 10 Interview – Armand Rosamillia – 150 Stories, 2 Podcasts and Still Going

ArmandDrawing

FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

Amazon          Website

 Facebook         Twitter

Today’s guest is Armand Rosamilia.  A New Jersey native transplanted to sunny Florida, he’s an active member of the Horror Writer’s Association, a baseball and metal music fan, and an expert on everything zombie.

Armand is the author of over one-hundred and fifty stories, running the gamut from horror and zombies, to contemporary fiction, thrillers and more.  Not one to be hung up on genre labels, Armand’s goal is to write a good story, no matter where the subject matter takes him.

When he isn’t busy writing, Armand runs two very successful podcasts on Project iRadio:

Arm Cast: Dead Sexy Horror Podcast – interviewing fellow authors as well as filmmakers, musicians, etc.

Arm N Toof’s Dead Time Podcast – with co-host Mark Tufo, the duo interview authors and filmmakers and anyone else they feel like talking to.

Zombie fans will want to check out his series, Dying Dayswhich chronicles zombie killer Darlene Bobich’s ongoing efforts to save the day from the undead.

Welcome Armand.

NOTE:  BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=Armand

Q.  I’m having a hard time getting started as an author.  I have several ideas but am never able to focus myself on just one.  I’ll work on one idea for awhile, get distracted, then before I know it, I’m onto something else and nothing ever gets done.  What advice do you have for someone in my situation?

A. Just keep writing. I have 5-7 projects going at all times so it never gets stale. I might work on one more than the others (especially if it is already paid for and I have a solid deadline) but the goal is just to keep writing and get your daily words in so it keeps growing.

Q.  Why are people so fascinated with zombies?  Is it the creatures themselves?  Is it the fantasy of living in a post-apocalyptic world with no rules?  Is it something else?

A. Zombies are just cool to me. I know you can do the entire ‘mirror to consumer society mentality’ crap if you want, but they are just interesting to write and read about for me. And we all want to shoot the neighbor in the head but can’t until they turn, right?

Q.  Do you think zombies are going to stick around in the entertainment world for awhile?  Is there another type of monster that could unseat them?

A. Everyone keeps talking about how five minutes ago zombies are, but I don’t see them ever truly going away. There will always be a small rabid fan base into zombies. I’m one of them. I’ll keep writing zombie stories until I have nothing more to say about them.

Q.  What inspired your interest in zombies and moreover, what motivated you to write about them?

A. The Rising by Brian Keene. I was always a fan of some zombie movies but his book showed me you can do something unique with the genre. It led me to write a couple of flash fiction pieces and Highway To Hell, an extreme zombie novella. That led right into Dying Days.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  Brian Keene was kind enough to grant me a Twitter interview.  Check it out!

51mUO31KscL__UY250_Q.  Regarding your protagonist, Darlene Bobich, one Amazon reviewer wrote, “she is a well-developed character who grabs a hold of you with her guts, fears, pain, uncertainty, and determination to keep going.”  There has been a lot of discussion for the need for more female roles in fiction lately.  How did you come up with the idea for Darlene and how were you able to portray her in a way that intrigued readers?

A. It started out as a flash fiction piece I wrote for an anthology. I wanted to see if I could write a zombie story. The idea was simple: a woman is faced with having to shoot her turned father with the gun he bought her. I loved the character (who is named after a real person, a friend I’ve never actually met on Facebook) and wanted to portray her realistically in future stories. She’s a regular woman. A little overweight, average looks, boring mall job, and no military training. She cries, she has panic attacks and she is just someone you can relate to.

Q.  You’re also the author of Keyport Cthulhu.  Kudos to you, sir, for I’ve always felt Cthulhu has been underrepresented in fiction.  So here’s my question.  Zombies vs. Cthulhu – who would you put your money on?

A. I will not give the odds on it, because if either side wins we all lose. Isn’t that how it works? But it would be a helluva fight to get some popcorn and sit down and watch as the world ended.

Armand and Cthulhu (fun-sized)

Armand and Fun-Sized Cthulhu

Q.  Thanks for taking the time to talk with me today.  Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help me survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A. Keep your eyes open and don’t get caught in a dead-end or surrounded by these monsters. Good luck.

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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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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 9 (Part 2)

There’s something about being chased by ravenous creatures of the damned that puts your body into overdrive. Adrenaline takes control and gives you that extra oomph you need, at least it did for me.

Zombie after zombie crashed into Alien Jones’ protective bubble, getting instantly vaporized.

East Randomtown was a small community where everyone knew each other, and I recognized many of the zombies that the Esteemed Brainy One was plowing through.

There was Edna, the lady who ran the beauty parlor and Sid the the old man who wandered around collecting tin cans to take back to the recycling center. I’d recognize his ‘stache anywhere, even on a zombie lip.

There was another zombie wearing track shorts and a whistle around his neck. That had to have been my old high school gym teacher, Mr. Culpepper. Sure, that guy was a dick, but I never wanted him to become zombified and then vaporized by an alien force field either.

Alien Jones was running as fast as his little green legs could carry him when suddenly, he slipped on an errant banana peel, careened face first into the floor, and dropped the force field.

We were screwed.

VGRF, Bernie and I huddled together, taking as many shots as we could as the beasts circled around us. It was pitch black but we could see the monsters’ yellow eyes drawing near and smell the fetid stench of their breath.

Seriously. Those undead dudes needed a mint.

“This is it,” VGRF said.

“Not yet, baby,” I said.

I turned around, hoisted the dummy, aka, the decoy human over my head and threw it as far as I could.

“Go get it, zombies!”

Have you ever thrown a milk bone across the room only to watch your dog trip over itself to get it? It was just like that. The zombies abandoned us completely.

Stupid zombies.

            Stupid zombies.

I found Alien Jones and helped him up.  Out came the force field bubble and we were back in action, running until we reached the end of the mall.

“This is it!” Alien Jones shouted.

I looked up and shined my flashlight.

The sign read “Hipster Hut.”

Hipster Hut was a small boutique store catering in the latest “I work extra hard to look look like I don’t care what you think about me when secretly I really do” fashions.

Their motto?  “Is there a store that’s better at bringing you the latest hip fashions than Hipster Hut?  Sure, but we doubt you’ve heard of it.”

Welcome to Hipster Hut.  Are you sure you belong here?  We're pretty exclusive.

Welcome to Hipster Hut. Are you sure you belong here? We’re pretty exclusive.

The store was empty, sans one zombie who kept walking into the corner, bumping his head on the wall over and over again.

Bernie raised his 9MM to take him out but VGRF put her hand on his.

“No,”  I said.  “He’s not a bad zombie.   He’s just stupid.”

“Gotcha,”  Bernie replied.

Alien Jones took the space phone from me, hit a button, and the store’s security gate closed.  A torrent of zombies crashed against it.

I knocked on the door to the back office.

An angry female voice yelled, “Go away!”

“Blandie? It’s me! Bookshelf Q. Battler!”

“Oh. It’s about time!”

Blandie - known for ripping BQB a new one early and often.

Blandie – known for ripping BQB a new one early and often.

The lock clicked, the door opened and out popped my ex-girlfriend, the voluptuously hot yet soul crushingly mean Bland Life “Blandie” Settler.

Yeah, I know like it seems as though I’m trying to make a point with that name, but I didn’t give it to her. You can check her license.

“Why did you bring nerds?”  Blandie asked, pointing to my posse.

“They’re my friends,” I said. “You remember Bernie.”

“Yo.”

“And this is my girlfriend, Video Game Rack Fighter.”

“Blech,” Blandie said. “A snow hat? You might as well just wear a sign that says, ‘I’m a lesbian.’”

“You were right,” VGRF said to me. “We should have left her here.”

Alien Jones stretched out his hand.

“Ms. Settler, I’m Alien Jones, Emissary of the Mighty Potentate, it is nice to meet…”

Blandie screeched like a howler monkey, kicked AJ in the face and punted him across the room.

“What are you doing?!”  I shouted.

I ran over to check on AJ. He was out cold. I scooped his listless little body up in my arms.

The Esteemed Ouchie One

The Esteemed Ouchie One

“What the f$%k is that thing?!” Blandie asked. “Is it a mutant zombie?”

“He’s an intergalactic adventurer and thus far, he’s been the brains of our operation, saving our asses at every turn, and you just put him into a damn coma!!!”

“Well I didn’t know,” Blandie said. “You think you’d give me a warning. ‘Hey. I have an alien with me.’ Is that too much to ask?”

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re ALWAYS right aren’t you? Everything I do is totally wrong and EVERYTHING you do is perfect isn’t it?”

“Oh here we go with your crybaby routine,” Blandie said. ‘Waah waah waah, I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I have a tiny…’”

“Awk-ward,” Bernie said.

I walked into the backroom and laid Alien Jones across Blandie’s desk. The group followed. Blandie shut the door and locked it behind us.

“So what’s the plan now?” Bland asked.

“I don’t know. You just auditioned for the Rockettes on my planner’s face.”

“Are you still on that? Typical BQB, always living in the past.”

“Typical Blandie. Never able to apologize for anything.”

I overheard VGRF whisper to Bernie.

“Wow. Did they always fight like this?”

“Y’all don’t even know the half of it, boo.”

Video Game Rack Fighter grabbed the space phone.

“I better call someone.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 9

At the entrance to Price Town, Alien Jones assembled a massive pile of laptops (ten percent off because Price Town has the best prices in town!), tablets, and game consoles, all hooked together with cables. Somehow, he connected that mess to one giant battery he formed by connecting thousands of smaller batteries together, and then attached everything to a dehumidifier which was, in turn, rigged up to a leaf blower.

“Switching from suck to blow now,” Alien Jones said, inadvertently paying homage to Spaceballs.  “Does everyone have their Sarah Lyons Fleming approved bug-out bags?”

“Affirmative,” VGRF replied. “And remember, if you see a zombie like Jaime Johnesee’s ‘Bob,’ don’t shoot him.”

“That’s quite a contraption, AJ,”  I said.  “But what did you need the troll doll for?”

Alien Jones held up the tiny little plastic guy I’d found for him.  It had a tuft of blue hair popping out of its head.

“I just think they’re adorable,”  the Esteemed Brainy One said.

“OK then,”  I said.

“Is everyone ready?” Alien Jones asked.

“One more thing,” I said.

I walked to the clothing section, grabbed a mannequin, tucked it under my arm, and rejoined the crew.

I never go anywhere in a zombie apocalypse without a decoy human.

I never go anywhere in a zombie apocalypse without a decoy human.

“Why are you bringing a dummy?”

“Insert joke about Bernie here,” I said.

Bernie was too busy admiring his duel 9mm automatics. (Conveniently located next to the toy aisle, come on down to Price Town!)

“This isn’t just a dummy,” I said. “It is a…decoy human.”

“What?”

“My sweet Video Game Rack Fighter,” I said. “Earlier this year, my life was saved thanks to the wisdom of one of the wisest sages in the self-publishing game.”

“Not the decoy wallet story again,” VGRF said.

“The decoy wallet story indeed!”

I put the dummy down, then pulled one leather bound wallet out of my jacket pocket and a second velcro wallet out of my pants pocket.

“This wallet,” I said as I held up the wallet in my left hand, “Holds my driver’s license, credit cards, and money. To be relieved of it from the likes of a common street hoodlum would be an arduous ordeal for certain.”

“All you have to do is call up the credit card company and have them cancel your old card,” VGRF said.

“This wallet,” I continued, ignoring my girlfriend’s protestations while holding up the wallet in my right hand, “is a distraction. NAY! An illusion. A decoy!”

“I’m sorry I asked,”  VGRF said.

“It contains one expired credit card, exactly three dollars, no more, no less, and a punch eleven and get your twelfth sub free at Sub Shack coupon.”

“How many punches?” VGRF asked.

“Ten. Come to think of it, I’ll be damned if some degenerate mugger is going to walk away with my free sub.”

I switched the sub punch card to the real wallet.

“A few months ago, as I was strolling down the street, a villainous desperado jumped out of an alleyway and demanded I turn over my wallet. Turn it over I did, yet little did he know I turned over a decoy. I walked away safe and sound and did not have to spend an hour on the phone waiting for an operator  to replace my cards.”

“So if your decoy wallet was stolen, then what is that?” VGRF asked. “A decoy, decoy wallet?”

“No,” I replied.  “A REPLACEMENT decoy wallet.”

“What if the mugger gets mad that you only have three dollars and blows your head off?” VGRF asked.

I pondered that question for a moment.  Failing to think of an answer, I chose to ignore it.

“Moving on,” I said as I picked up the mannequin. “This is a decoy human. If the zombies corner us, I can fling it in the opposite direction. They’ll go after it and by the time they wise up we’ll be long gone.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” VGRF said.

“No,” I said. “The decoy wallet is a brilliant invention brought to us from Dave, the wisest of all the self-publishing sages.  Dave is truly a gift from the creator, sent here to Earth to share his wisdom and advice on decoy wallets, book covers, and the lousy service at Olive Garden.”

“Oh right,” VGRF said. “Johnny, Sean and Dave of the Self-Publishing Podcast. You love those guys. Why don’t you call Dave? He co-authored a zombie book series.

“What?” I asked. “VGRF, please. As if a renowned celebrity/decoy wallet enthusiast of such a high stature would ever, EVER take a call from a peon like me. I love you baby but come on. Get your head out of your ass.”

“Whatever,” VGRF said. “Just a thought. Let’s roll, Alien Jones.”

This post dedicated to Self-Publishing Podcasters and All Around Awesome Dudes Johnny, Sean, and Dave, noted zombie writer and decoy wallet enthusiast.

This post dedicated to Self-Publishing Podcasters and All Around Awesome Dudes Johnny, Sean, and Dave, noted zombie writer and decoy wallet enthusiast.

The little guy yanked the cord on the leaf blower and started his device up.

“Remember,” he said. “This is a primitive recreation of a vaporization cannon, so it will only be capable of firing one shot. After that, we’re on our own.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Open the gate on 1,” my intergalactic colleague commanded.

AJ had set his space phone up so all I had to do was hit a button to make the security gate open. The Esteemed Brainy One was able to hack just about any electronic device with that thing.

“3…2…1!”

I hit the button. Slowly, the gate rose. The zombies, who’d been standing there for over a week, just biding their time, yearning for a chance to tear into our flesh, stampeded toward us like a herd of wild buffalo.

Alien Jones pulled the trigger and a bolt of blue light reduced over a hundred zombies into nothingness. Their particles simply floated away.

We walked into the mall’s main thoroughfare. It was dark and we weren’t able to see anything. I shined my flashlight and was able to see a group of zombies gathered around a waterfall in the center. They were too busy bumping into each other to notice us, but that would surely change.

The waterfall had stopped flowing days earlier and had become just a mere tepid pool of water.

“Turn out the light,” Alien Jones said. “It attracts them.”

I did as instructed.

“Take my hands, humans,” Alien Jones said. “I can see in the dark.”

VGRF and I each grabbed an alien hand. Bernie, the odd man out, grabbed hold of my backpack strap.

The Esteemed Brainy One led the way. I could hear the zombie gurgles and groans grow louder.

“Are we there yet?” Bernie asked.

“No,” AJ answered

“How ’bout now?”

“Silence human.”

I could hear footsteps moving towards us.

“Humans?” Alien Jones asked.

“Yes?”

AJ let go out our hands, outstretched his, and made another force field bubble, misting all oncoming undead.

“RUN!”

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 8 Interview – Joseph “Zombie” Zuko – Getting Apocalypse Fit

Joseph

Joseph “Zombie” Zuko poses with a replica based on a weapon from his novel, “The Infected.”

FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

Amazon               Blog

      Twitter                 Podcast

Today’s guest is a bonafide zombie expert, so much so that “Zombie” is his middle name. Joseph “Zombie” Zuko is the author of The Infected Series, as well as the owner of Zombie Camp 17, a zombie themed T-shirt comedy.

To round it all off, he brings his wit and wisdom to the masses with his podcast, Shotgun and Scotch. In his spare time, he studies Krav Maga and works on his fitness to remain in peak zombie fighting condition so as to be prepared to take on the undead hordes at a moment’s notice.

Joe, thanks for taking my call.

Q.   I hate to admit it, but I’m out of shape. I’m trapped in a zombie infested mall and just had to drag my friend across a store. Now I’m out of breath and I’m wishing I’d hit the gym more. I noticed on your blog, you talk about Krava Maga and getting “Apocalypse Fit.” It’s too late for me, but do you have any words that could inspire my 3.5 readers to get off their butts, head to the gym, and prepare themselves should a zombie outbreak occur?

Zombie Apocalypse Training

Zombie Apocalypse Training

A.   “Zombieland” said it best. Cardio! Cardio! Cardio! If you can bench 350 pounds that’s cool, but how long can you run for? Can you run a mile in under ten minutes? Can you run with a backpack on and for how long before you have to sit down, rest and get eaten by a quick moving dead head? Can you do one pull up? If you’re hanging from a ledge over a zombie horde can you pull yourself up to safety?

If the answer is “no” to any of these questions then that’s got to be your motivator. Do you want to live or die? I enjoy feeling strong and healthy. I love knowing I can do twenty pull ups at a time, run a mile in under seven minutes and kick the shit out of most zombies you would come across on the street.

Start simple. Run a mile. Then do it a little faster the next time. Do as many pull ups as you can. If it’s only one then do one and then shoot for more. I also recommend signing up for mud runs, like the Spartan race. That will let you know just how fit you are and what you need to work on. I’ve done two and plan to do one next year and the goal is to get faster and faster. I like to train with a weighted vest on. It adds forty pounds to my body and shows you how long you could run with a backpack on.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  I made my own personal forty pound weighted vest out of Doritos and cheesecake!

Q.   How did you end up with “Zombie” as a middle name? I feel like there’s a story there. Did your parents really want you to become a zombie fighter?

A.   My folks rolled their eyes when I said that I was going to put that on my books. People love to ask me about zombies all the time. In my group of friends, family and coworkers I am the zombie aficionado. I haven’t seen or read everything out there, but I know more than most and have loved them my whole adult life.

The true story about the name “Zombie” is a little silly. I was driving to work thinking about my first book and worried people wouldn’t know that it was a zombie book without the word zombie on the cover and then it hit me. Give yourself a made up nick name. “Throw the name zombie on there,” I told myself.

What a creepy, weirdo, silly thing to do, right? I had looked over a ton of other author’s book covers and no one had done anything like that as far as I could tell. So I thought it might stick out when a zombie reader is scanning the cover art of what’s out there on the market. I could also be alienating a ton of people with my crazy, made up nickname, but what are you going to do? Screw them if they can’t take a joke.
Q.   The Infected series begins with Jim Blackmore, an average, regular guy, who finds himself at ground zero of a zombie apocalypse and has to fight his way home to his family. Jim isn’t some totally buff bodybuilder or a superhero with special powers or anything. For readers, he’s pretty relatable isn’t he?

A.   When I got started I read a handful of other authors’ works and noticed that there was a trend to focus the story around an ex-military bad ass with tons of guns and fighting experience. Well, I don’t know a ton about guns and I was never in the military so I didn’t want to talk out of my ass when I wrote Jim’s First Day.

I decided to keep it simple and did another weirdo thing and made Jim based on myself. His whole family, job and life experiences are all based on mine. I’d like to think that I’m a relatable husband and father. People have really seemed to respond to that aspect of the books. I really tried to write it from my heart. I love zombies because they scare me so badly and I wanted to share this fear of mine with as many people as I possibly can.

Q.   In Book Two, the story continues from the perspective of Jim’s wife, Karen, who’s at home and has to protect her children from becoming zombie chow. That’s a unique idea, to tell a story from two different perspectives. What motivated you to do that?

A.   Karen’s character is based on my wonderful loving wife and she told me that I better give Karen as good of a book as I did for Jim. At first it was only going to be a few chapters about Karen and the children having to deal with the start of a zombie apocalypse. Then the story would kick back up again with Jim and his crew. The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea of watching this nightmare unfold through her eyes. She doesn’t have fighting skills or military training and she has to take care of two small children. That’s a terrifying idea and I tried to imagine what would my wife do. It was a very fun book to write and so far the feedback has been amazing. I actually think that the second book is a better story with better characters than the first one. I had worked out what my style was and just let it rip.

Q.   Surely you realize Mrs. Zombie Zuko is a saint.   I’m doing a mental inventory of all my ex-girlfriends (it’s not that long a list) and I’m pretty sure all of them would have commanded me to “drop the zombie crap” by now.

A.  She is a saint and an angel. I met Mrs. Zombie Zuko when I was eighteen. She has been there from the very beginning. We fell in love and bonded over the movie Scream. We were just out of high school when Scream came out on video and we were both obsessed with it. So our relationship started out with us loving horror. We love zombie movies, TV shows and video games and are both looking forward this season of The Walking Dead.

Writing the books was really her idea. We found out about self publishing on Amazon and she told me she thought I could do it, even though I had never written anything with the kind of length a novel would require. She believed in me and cheered me on like I was her local sports team.

I still bounce all of my ideas off of her before I get them down in the computer. She is my zombie muse and it would have been impossible to finish the first book without her pushing me to get it done.

I am very lucky and blessed man to have her in my life. There would be no Joseph “Zombie” Zuko without Katie Zuko.

Q. You go above and beyond when it comes to entertaining your fans. Your site has a photo of you posing with a nasty looking zombie killing weapon and you’ve put out fun videos promoting your books. Do your readers get a kick out of it?

ZUKO’S DAUGHTER:  I see a zombie!

                         ZUKO:  No, that’s just a picture of dad in the morning.

A.   I think they get that I’m only trying to entertain them and I’m not taking myself too seriously. I enjoy making the videos and want to get across what kind of guy I am. We are here to have fun, right? I would love to make more videos and get to interact with the fans more, but I’m neck deep in the third installment of The Infected: Nightfall. It comes out on Amazon October, 11th 2015. Same night as The Walking Dead premiere of season six.

That saw I’m holding was built for me by my cousin and it is a brutal as it looks. It’s on the cover art for Book 3.

Q.   In your first book, you provide a note that your zombie obsession began as a teenager when you first played Resident Evil 2. Admittedly, I lost a lot of my youth to that franchise as well. What is it about that game that inspired a generation of zombie enthusiasts?

A.  I had never seen anything like it before. It blew my freaking mind. It was like playing with an interactive movie. The sound design. The graphics. The great zombie scares. Every aspect of it had me hooked. I had never played a game that told that level of story before. You’re a cop that just got to town and you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on and oh yeah try and survive the night from hell. It was amazing and thrilling. I was the perfect age for it and the movies that followed. I have since become addicted to Left for Dead One and Two and most recently the State of Decay game on Xbox. Plus Sony’s Last of Us was not a typical zombie story but has the same level of WOW that Resident Evil 2 had.

Q.  You’re trained in Krav Maga. If one of these zombie jerkfaces makes a move on me, what’s the best move you recommend to take him down?

A.   Krav Maga teaches you how to escape a human’s grip, so it focuses a lot on groin strikes and hits to the nose. These moves will have no effect on the dead jerkface so if you are unarmed and zack is coming right for you…kick at its knee. Cripple its zombie ass. One well placed knee strike could send the creep to its belly and then you stomp its brains in or better yet RUN! I always recommend for you to run first and fight second. You don’t want to end up in a zombie’s digestive track.

Q. Joe, thanks for being my Day 8 Zombie Apocalypse advisor. Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that could help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Outbreak?

A. That’s a great question. Read as many zombie books as you possible can. Especially mine. That’s rule number one. They are excellent field guides in how shit can go wrong fast. Each one will give you advice on how to survive and show you the pitfalls that can happen in a zombie outbreak.

Keep your head and keep moving. You stay in a building for too long and you might find yourself surrounded by blood thirsty, meat hungry biters. Learn a martial art. Something that focuses on escaping holds. Run Spartan style races to see how well you can get over an eight-foot wall. Carry knives on you at all time. I always have my Swiss Army knife in one pocket and Gerber lock-blade in the other. You might need to make something, fix something or kill something at a moment’s notice. You don’t want to be armed with a butter knife.

I also recommend keeping a handful of weapons and tools in the trunk of your car. A crowbar, axe, hammer, a few machetes and if you can swing it, a crossbow with a grip of spare bolts to fire. It would cost less then two hundred dollars and increase your chances of survival a hundred fold.

Thank you for the call, Bookshelf Q. Battler. This was awesome and I appreciate being selected for this month of horror. Fall is my favorite time of the year. It gets cold and creepy out and Halloween is the absolute best holiday in my opinion.

Would you agree that it’s an amazing time in the history of zombie entertainment? Books, movies, TV shows and video games all seem to be peaking and it’s only going to get better. Zombies are a simple concept, guy comes back from the dead, feeds on his neighbor and so on and so on, but in that simplicity lies the brilliance of it all.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  It’s a real, zombie renaissance, ZZ.  Thanks for stopping by.

3.5 readers, don’t forget, Zombie Zuko’s third book comes out this Sunday!

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 8

October 8, 2015

Alien Jones walked over with a hand covering his eyes.

“Humans, it’s been an entire day now and since another human’s life is at stake I must insist you cease your primitive bodily fluid exchange ritual posthaste.”

“OK AJ,” I said.

The Esteemed Brainy One uncovered his eyes to find VGRF and I playing Car Thief Mayhem.

I prefer Car Thief Mayhem 20

I prefer Car Thief Mayhem 20

“Finally,” Alien Jones said. “There was one point last night  where I wondered whether or not I needed to investigate. It sounded like one of you was being eaten alive by a zombie.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That was me. I got stuck in my zipper.”

“Spare me the details.”

VGRF paused the game. Alien Jones held out his hands and projected a map of the mall into the air. Spectral mapping was just one of the little guy’s many talents. He could display the layout of any location within a mile thanks to his highly complicated built-in sonar processing system.

“We are here,” Alien Jones said, pointing to the store on the map marked “Price Town.”

He could even use his mind to put little notes on the map. Creepy.

“Unfortunately, Hipster Hut, where BQB’s ex has barricaded herself in a backroom, is all the way over at the opposite side of the mall.”

“I can’t believe we went at it all night,” VGRF said. “Poor Blandie, I hope she’s still ok.”

“She’s fine,” Alien Jones said. “I’m reading her mind as we speak. She is cursing out BQB and making fun of his tiny…”

“OK!” I interrupted. “So let’s plan this out, shall we?”

Alien Jones used his mind to project a trail of red dots leading from Price Town and across the mall to our intended destination.

“The zombies have stacked themselves up at the gate at the inner mall entrance to this store, waiting for us to come out so they can eat us,” Alien Jones said. “Well eat you, anyway. My body is made of a durable rubbery substance so their teeth will just bounce right off me, but when you’re all gruesomely murdered by undead savages, I will remember you fondly.”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked.

The Mighty Potentate really hates reality television.

The Mighty Potentate really hates reality television.

“That this mission is inadvisable but if I cannot change your minds I will do my best to protect you,” Alien Jones said. “But remember BQB, more is riding on this than just your former bump buddy. The Mighty Potentate has issued standing orders to a billion shock troops to be on standby to invade Earth at the precise moment when your heart stops beating. It will be a complete violation of Intergalactic Space Law, but the MP believes it will be worth it to contain the menace that is reality television.”

VGRF whispered to me, “You really need to get to work on that novel.”

“I can project a force field bubble that will protect us for five minutes but there won’t be a second to spare. As soon as it shuts off, we will be surrounded and outmatched. Our goal needs to be to get to Blandie and hole up in the Hipster Hut until a further escape plan can be devised.”

“Can we just come back here?” I asked.

“Doubtful,” Alien Jones said. “Once the gate is opened, Price Town will be overrun with the zombie horde.”

“You’ll need to wake up Bernie,” I said.

“Yes,” Alien Jones replied. “Bring him to me.”

“What?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do, carry him?”

“Indeed.”

“Why cant you just go to him?”

“We can’t have him anywhere near the button that opens the gate when he wakes up.”

“Oh right,” I said.

“Do you want some help?” VGRF asked?

“No I’ve got it.”

I headed over to the gate and found Bernie right where we’d left him. He was frozen solid, his hand stretched out, a finger pointing at the button, a revoltingly angry look on his face.

I grabbed him by the waist. He wasn’t that big of a guy but still, it was an entire human being. He wasn’t budging.

I grabbed him by the arm, tilted him downward, and dragged him behind me. It worked for awhile until I lost my grip and he fell right on his back. I yanked on his arm again and kept dragging until I was before the Esteemed Brainy One.

AJ worked his magic with a single point of his finger.

Funky Hunks Forever

Funky Hunks Forever

“FUNKY HUNKS FOREVER!” Bernie cried.

He looked around.

“What the?”

“Alien Jones had to freeze you for awhile,” I said. “You flipped out and were going to let all the zombies in.”

“I was?”

I nodded.

“Aww dang, B.  I’m sorry.”

“The zombie apocalypse means never having to say you’re sorry,” I said. “Just get your shit together.”

“Humans,” Alien Jones said. “I will need one more day to prepare for this rescue mission. Don’t worry. I can see Blandie’s situation through her eyes and the door she is behind is holding. Video Game Rack Fighter, I need you to gather every computer in the store and bring them here.”

“I’m on it,” VGRF said.

“Bernie,” AJ continued. “Bring me Price Town’s entire stock of batteries.”

“Will do space dawg.”

“BQB,” AJ said. “Find me a leaf blower, a dehumidifier and a troll doll.”

“Sure thing,” I said as I sat down, feeling winded. “Just give me a minute though. Dragging Bernie’s fat ass all the way over here wore me out.”

“That’s not good,” Alien Jones said. “A zombie fighter needs to be in peak physical condition.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “In fact, that reminds me. I need to call someone.”

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