This week, I am happy to have fellow author, Rebecca Besser, as a guest blogger on my site. This is great for several reason: 1) I am a bit buried under with Nano (and about 2,000 words behind as of this moment. It was a long weekend and I didn't have a second to spare); 2) It's a chance to share some of Rebecca's awesome horror/zombie books and stories with you all. Even if you are not a horror connoisseur, you should give her try.
Enough of me, have a great week everyone and Happy Thanksgiving. I'll catch up next week.
of the Box Zombies
culture has taken the world by storm. We have everything from cell
phone commercials to The Walking Dead (the main cultural phenomenon
that has everyone at the edge of their seats asking for more – if
they’re a fan, that is).
with this surge of interest in zombies comes a problem. What is it?
Well, I’m going to tell you.
problem is that the reader/watcher gets the same scenario over and
over again in almost every zombie story.
people in zombie stories seem to always be trying to fight the horde
of the undead while they are scraping by day to day just to survive.
The survival is what keeps people captivated (and the gore!). If
you’re anything like me, you put yourself in the character’s
shoes and see if you could do better. You’re in awe of some of the
character’s survival knowledge, which actually comes from the
author; these are the things that make each author and story just a
little bit different. It’s all in the perspective.
problem with the plot repetition though, as far as commonality, is
that it’s easy to get bored with the same regurgitate plot over and
over again. Especially when there’s no new survival info
introduced. This gives zombie writers, like myself, a real challenge.
Those of us who have been writing about zombies and want to hold our
own in the genre need to think outside the normal zombie box, so to
speak, and come up with something new to “Wow!”
our audience. We need to give the readers new angles…new stories.
that’s what I strive to do in my books.
my book, Undead
there is one zombie. Yes, you heard me, one zombie. The story is
about a man who comes home to his wife as a zombie, and she loves him
too much to kill him, or let anyone else kill him. What does she do?
She keeps him like a pet until things get out of hand and others get
involved. The book is more about the story of a human heart dealing
with the change of a loved one and the dangers that could bring, than
the classic “survival” zombie tale.
of my books, Cursed
(a novella available for Kindle), is about one zombie as well… Or
it is to start out. There are more by the end. But, in this case, I
give you a voodoo zombie who is being used by a politician for
personal gain, set in the Old Wild West.
you’re interested in some zombie tales that are out of the box, you
should check out my books.
when it comes to short stories… I stay old school and go with the
hordes of zombies and people trying to survive. There’s still fun
to be had there, it’s just harder to be original. In my story, To
Walk the Halls
(now available to read on my blog), in the Code
anthology, I take the hospital outbreak scenario on a whole new
journey of horrific and wrong. It’s sure to…er…turn your
stomach (pun from the story).
even if the stories are something from outside the zombie box, or old
school survival, keep reading zombie fiction! Zombies are always fun,
from Undead Drive-Thru:
- TWO YEARS AGO . . .
Jones was setting the table for supper when her husband, Sam,
stumbled through their apartment’s door. His clothes were torn and
duct tape was hanging from his wrists, knees, and ankles. After only
five steps through the doorway, he fell hard onto the floor with a
Betty screamed and ran down the hall, dropping to her knees beside
him. She lifted his head and cradled it in her left arm, stroking his
cheek tenderly with her right hand. “What happened?”
eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his wife with pain etched
across his face. “Betty . . .” he breathed and then passed out,
his head lulling to the side.
shook him and yelled, “Sam! Wake up!”
didn’t respond. As she moved to lay his head gently on the floor so
she could call 9-1-1, she noticed two things: 1) The tape that had
apparently been used to bind him, had been cut and not ripped; and 2)
There was a small red circle on the side of his neck. On closer
inspection, she noted that there was a tiny hole in the center,
reminding her of an injection site.
thinking on these discoveries for any longer than a split second, she
pulled herself to her feet with the help of a small table set in the
hallway and rushed to the phone to call for emergency assistance.
She’d just gotten through to an operator when Sam suddenly woke up
with a loud, startling moan.
dropped the phone into its cradle and darted back into the hall to
help Sam to his feet, because his movements were slow and awkward.
gasped when he was finally standing and she could look up into his
face. His eyes were glazed and cloudy – almost completely white –
and slobber was running down his chin, dripping onto his shirt.
what happened to you?” she asked on a gasping sob. “Please, tell
leaned closer to her and sniffed loudly before a crooked grin spread
across his face, the drool increasing in volume. Without warning he
lunged forward and tried to pin her to the wall as his jaws snapped
open and shut, seeking flesh.
spun slightly when he tried to attack her and broke free of his
strong grasp, falling to the floor between the hall and the bathroom.
The strength of his forward advance flung him headfirst into the
bathroom, leaving him sprawled on the tile floor. Quickly, Betty rose
up on her knees and gripped the doorknob, yanking the door shut as
the phone began to ring, trapping him.
was sobbing uncontrollably and leaned back against the door for
support; she was shaking too badly to hold herself up on her own. She
screamed every time he slammed against the solid wood with the entire
weight of his body, hissing and moaning.
she crawled over to the phone and answered it; the emergency
dispatcher was on the line. Betty fought for composer and forced her
mind to work. She knew if she told them about Sam, they would come
and take him away. After all, she’d seen enough zombie movies to
know what he’d become. They would either use him as an experiment –
which she thought someone already had because of the tape and the
wound on his neck – or they would simply kill him.
the most controlled, assured voice she could manage, she told the
operator that she’d accidentally dialed the wrong number and
hanging up the phone, Betty let the sobs she was holding back break
she again regained some composure, she stood and walked shakily back
to the bathroom door where the banging continued. She placed her
palms flat on the smooth, white, painted surface of the wood and
rested her forehead between them.
she called out, “I don’t know what has happened to you, but I’ll
be here for you forever. I love you . . .” She paused as her voice
caught on a sob. “. . . so much. I’ll take care of you as long as
I live, and won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. I promise!”
the other side of the door, the hungry zombie who’d once been her
husband continued to try to get the food he knew was just out of
reach; pounding, moaning, clawing, hissing, wanting . . .”
Besser resides in Ohio with her wonderful husband and amazing son.
They've come to accept her quirks as normal while she writes anything
and everything that makes her inner demons squeal with delight. She's
best known for her work in adult horror, but has been published in
fiction, nonfiction, and poetry for a variety of age groups and
genres. She's entirely too cute to be scary in person, so she turns
to the page to instill fear into the hearts of the masses.
out more about her:
Rebecca Besser, 2014.