Copyright 2010 by A.P. Fuchs. All rights reserved.
21: A Trek for Food

It’s been two days since I last posted. To be honest, I forgot about you. See, there’s something about Selena that you need to understand: Time dissolves when she’s around. The passing of moments are barely acknowledged and if they are kept track of, it’s done on a subconscious level and never on purpose. You know when to eat, to sleep and all the rest, but I don’t recall looking at my watch until just this morning, the digital date informing me how long it’s been since I told you about Selena’s dream. Some reading this might say two days isn’t a long time. You don’t understand. In the world I live in, one filled to the brim with the undead, two days is a very long time. Add being reunited with the love of your life after you thought you killed her and Time has no meaning.
Hold on a second . . .
. . .
. . .
Selena asked what I was doing. I thought it might be best to keep this blog a secret. For now. See, girls are finicky like that: they want a guy who needs them, but not one who really needs them. The sad part is, it’s hard for us guys to find that balance.
Anyway, I just said I was writing down some thoughts about the zombies and coming up with a game plan to keep us safe. In a way, it was partially true, but it’s killing me to keep this blog from her. But this thing needs to be written in case something happens to me. There needs to be a record of trying to live on this zombie-infested planet. And if I’m going to be the one to write it, I’m going to do it my way and include the girl of my dreams.
Back to the task at hand: Selena. I know some of you are sick of hearing about her, but it’s important I share everything with you. You’ll understand in the end—if I live long enough to get to the end or even if there is an end.
Food is scarce. We’re not starving, but it’s becoming a challenge to find what we need as either what is found is already rotten, or I end up being the one to clean out an abandoned pantry or kitchen cupboard and there’s not much there to begin with.
Selena and I went on a food hunt yesterday. She insisted on coming, though I pleaded with her to stay at the apartment for her own safety.
“I’d feel safer if I was with someone,” she said. “Besides, I can hold my own, if we need to.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said, though I didn’t really think so. She never struck me as the warrior type. Further–and, yeah, think of me as a politically-incorrect/insensitive/ignorant fool—but, despite the whole “all for equality” mantra that was so prevalent in society, the reality is the children were the first to be eaten, then the women, then the men. Girls are just not as strong as guys. Save for a few exceptions, we dominate. Hunters and gatherers and all that jazz. As for Selena, she’s the kind of girl who, when you hug her, you can feel her frailness. Not that she’s weak, but her frame is small and I’ve never seen her lift anything heavy. Even when she used to give me a good squeeze, there wasn’t a moment where I went, “Okay, that’s enough.”
Digression over.
Selena and I hit the streets. I was armed with my razor-covered baseball bat. She had a cleaver from the kitchen. Unless we had to weave around fallen vehicles or rubble, I made sure she was beside me the whole time.
It took an hour, but we made a direct line from my apartment north to Chinatown. Back in the day, it was one of the most colourful areas in Comptropolis. The curved and rounded roofs with their swooping eaves stood high and proud over elegant shops, some made of solid glass except for their structural supports. Neon signs hung in windows; others naming the restaurant or store in big, bold oriental-styled letters. A tourist attraction, sure, but there was more to it than that. There was a sense of history and cultural pride, something that was lost in most other parts of the city when Comtropolis made its mad dash for modernism.
The downside of searching Chinatown for food was the Chinese used a lot of fresh ingredients in their cuisine. By now, all of it would be rotted. However, the Chinese were also wizards at drying foods and I hoped we could round up a bag or two of rice, noodles, powdered soups and dehydrated vegetables.
At the edge of Chinatown, Selena and I stood side by side.
It had been a quiet walk over. Any undead we saw were quickly avoided by us ducking in behind zipcars or under benches or in bus stops. But here in Chinatown, we had a big problem: the undead roamed the streets, many of them gathered in packs. I counted at least thirty zombies from where I stood.
“Think they see us?” Selena asked. Her voice wavered and I guessed she was still upset over her dream and what she saw before her was too much for her. But to be honest, it is too much. For anybody.
“Not yet, but they will. All it takes is one. After that, they all see you, like their brains are connected somehow.”
“What do we do?”
“Sneak around. I want to hit The Wok over there.” I nodded in the restaurant’s direction.
Selena peered down the street. It took her a moment, but it appeared she finally saw the burned-out sign reading THE WOK. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What’s the plan?”
It was then I really wished she wasn’t with me. If anything happened to her . . . (and yeah, I realize my feelings for her are messed up and I’ve done things too horrible to be forgiven for, but you trying living in a world filled with zombies and do better. No, really, go for it. I’ll be right here if you need me.)
“Here’s the deal,” I said. “Stay close. They come near, first try to avoid them. If you can’t, lay into them with that knife of yours. Just be careful it doesn’t get stuck in them and you lose it. Cool?”
“Okay. You be careful.”
“I will.”
We started in, cautiously, nearly tiptoeing. Less than five feet from where we started, and an undead guy with mottled deep gray skin saw us. He changed direction and started toward us, feet dragging. He brushed past another zombie—a girl with no nose and blood running from her chin—his shoulder scraping strongly against hers enough to turn her so she faced us. On our right, another one saw us.
“Keep going straight,” I said. “Don’t go out of your way to get them.” I did want to take my bat across their undead skulls, but with Selena by my side, getting to The Wok in one piece was more important.
We went around another vehicle, eyes trained forward on the restaurant. More undead saw us. More drew closer.
The moment the dead guy with deep gray skin brushed his fingers against my shoulder, I swung the bat into his head. The razors caught on his skin and peeled his nose and cheek from his face. I raised the bat high then brought it down on his head. The bone cracked and the creature fell to its knees. Selena yelped. I took the bat across the zombie’s head again. It’s neck broke and its head snapped to the side; the razors on my bat took more flesh and bone with it. The zombie fell over.
Selena screamed and an undead dude who was too overweight for even a zombie had his hand on her shoulder. Shrieking, she tried to pull away. The zombie gripped her right shoulder and jerked her toward her. About to come in with the bat, I was stopped when another zombie stepped in front of me. I jabbed the bat into its chest, then brought it around so I clocked it in the back of the head.
Selena turned on her heels, raised the cleaver, and brought it down on the zombie’s wrist. She wasn’t strong enough to have brought the cleaver clean through, but the force was enough to give the undead man pause and look at his hand. That was enough time for me to make two giant strides over to it and bring the bat across its skull. The creature fell to the ground. I went over to its arm, put my foot down on it, then ripped the cleaver from its wrist and handed it to Selena.
“Here,” I said.
She took it.
“Hold it harder. Try chopping instead of just slamming it into something.”
She nodded.
More zombies closed in.
“Watch out,” I said, referring to myself, not them.
I lunged forward, bringing my bat down into every undead head that filled my vision. Men, women, even children received a blow to the head. Some stayed down, others didn’t. Those that stumbled to the side or fell but got back up received another swing. One guy’s head burst on impact. I don’t know what that was about. It was almost like hitting a watermelon. Over-decayed, maybe, though his skin wasn’t in too bad of shape.
A little girl with no lips grabbed hold of my leg and tried to bite my thigh. I brought the base of the bat in between her face and my leg, then pried it back over my leg like a crowbar, loosening her hold on me. Taking a step away, I wound up and brought the bat into her face in a golf swing. The force was enough to lift her off her feet and go flying, a spray of blood hitting the air with her.
To my right, Selena hacked into an old man with no shirt. She ripped the cleaver from the side of his neck. Blood spurted out in an arc. She brought the knife in on the other side.
“I got it,” I said, moving in. She removed the blade and I took the bat across the old guy’s head. The flesh and bones of his neck gave way and his head went flying off his shoulders.
Taking Selena by the hand, I brought her close then ran with her past a couple zombies and in between two more. We were almost at the restaurant.
“Get behind me,” I said and began swinging the bat side-to-side. Every zombie that got close got struck. On one of them, my bat got stuck in between its neck and shoulder and I had to pry it loose while waving off the undead man’s hands as he tried to grab me.
With a shriek, Selena brought the cleaver down and into the man’s forehead.
“Nice,” I said.
“Thanks.” She grinned. It was the first time I saw her smile all day.
Forcing myself to remain focused, I took out another zombie and Selena and I made it to The Wok’s front doors. They were glass and the glass was smashed. Others had been here first.
We ran inside and was immediately greeted by a mound of bodies, mostly piles of bones and gobs of dry and wet flesh. Anything obviously humanoid was lost in the grue.
“Disgusting,” Selena said. “Stinks.”
“Awful, I know. Let’s go.”
The groans of the dead filled the air behind us, as did their banging and clamouring as they made their way into the building.
“We don’t have much time,” I said.
We ran through the dining room, past turned over tables and strewn-about white tablecloths smeared with blood. I accidentally kicked a severed arm when I ran by it.
We burst through the kitchen doors. Silver pots and pans lay everywhere. Metallic cupboard doors hung open and bare. The deep freeze door at the back of the room was also open.
“Pantry. Pantry. Pantry,” I said.
Selena stayed close to me as I walked around and scanned the room.
“Sure this place has food?” she asked.
“I didn’t say I was sure. Just never been here. Most everything between my place and Chinatown has been picked clean. This area was the next stop on my list.”
Footfalls thumped against the ground in the other room.
“Hurry, Marty. Hurry,” she said.
“I know.”
But I couldn’t see the pantry.
The kitchen door swung open.
The dead shambled in.
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From Dry Ice Dreams:

1.) Doesn’t self-publishing—at least in terms of self-publishing books—mean you suck as a writer and couldn’t get published anywhere?

Depends who you talk to, but that’s the general consensus. HOWEVER, you need to remember folks self-publish for different reasons, only one of which being that they couldn’t get published elsewhere. I’ll even admit that my first exposure to the world of self-publishing was initiated by a string of rejection letters but, I’ll also add, I was extremely naive about the industry, and that’s what you need to watch out for: predator vanity presses that take advantage of the naive writer who doesn’t know any better but to pay to have their work published. Basically, if someone comes after you with a “service” or some kind of “publishing package”—run for the hills!

2.) I’m confused. I thought self-publishing meant having to pay to put your work out there. Are you saying that self-publishing is free or to not self-publish or . . . ?

Pay attention because this next bit is very important and will make or break you if you decide to self-publish your work.

Here it is:

What passes on the Internet these days for “self-publishing” is actually complete and utter falsehood. Companies from whom you buy publishing packages from or even don’t buy anything except a few “services” all fall under the same umbrella and it’s called vanity publishing or subsidy publishing. I’m not going to split hairs about the two because, yes, vanity and subsidy publishing are different things but at their core they accomplish the same goal: charge the writer a ridiculous “service fee” to publish their book.

Ahem. Yeah. Right.

Stay clear of those 100% of time. Even 110% of the time.

Self-publishing is utterly different. Look closely at the word: self-publishing. Need me to repeat it? Okay. I will, because many writers just don’t get this—self-publishing.

Under normal traditional publishing circumstances, a writer completes a book, submits it to a publisher, gets accepted, may or may not get an advance, and the publisher publishes the book. A no brainer, I know, but it helps put things into perspective, doesn’t it? Self-publishing means what is said: you yourself publish your book. You are the publisher. You are the one who turns it from manuscript to finished product. You. Not a service. Not another company. You.

A real self-publisher has his/her own publishing company, one that is registered with the powers that be that need to know about it in his/her own country. It’s a business they own, one they report income on, pay taxes on, write stuff off on, etc.

A real self-publisher is not just a writer, but a publishing house. They don’t go outside to other companies for that.

For printing the books and getting the covers done, these can be outsourced, but at the end of the day, you’re not dealing with another publishing company or service, but only you in terms of the one wearing the publisher title.

Capisce?

3.) Is self-publishing even a viable option for a writer or should they just stick to the traditional method of submitting to a publisher and hoping for the best?

Like I’ve said many times before: I would never tell someone to self-publish something. I do it because I love publishing and is something I’m fortunate to make a living off of. Self-publishing is a lot of work, right from the writing phase; to the editing; to cover design; to finding a printer; to marketing; and so on. If you’re one of those writers who just want to write—and even with a traditional publishing contract that kind of attitude will get you nowhere these days—then most definitely self-publishing is something you shouldn’t even go near. But if you have a niche product of some kind and not just a generic horror or mystery or sci-fi or pick-your-genre novel, then it might be something worth considering once you do market research on whatever is you might want to publish yourself.

4.) Market research?

Many self-publishing experts typically write non-fiction. Non-fiction—because it’s niche-oriented by nature (i.e. here’s a problem and here’s your solution)—is a much easier sell than fiction. The reality is, writers and artists are a dime a dozen. You and me are nobody special because of our craft and it drives me up the wall when I see stuffy writers and artists hawking their wares or sneering down on “lesser mortals” for one reason or another. Anyway . . . one of the main things these non-fiction-writing experts tell you is to find your market before you write your book and see if indeed your book is worth writing. In other words, will it sell once it’s released?

Fiction’s a different beast altogether and this is one of the reasons why I think a lot of these experts—or anyone, for that matter—ever tackle it. Fiction really is a gambler’s game. You never really know what might hit or miss with the readers.

I’ve never been one to sell out and write a story solely because I think it’s going to sell. Yes, I’ve looked at selling markets to see what’s moving (market research) and was sometimes inspired to write something, but I could never just stop and go, “Okay, vampires are hot right now thanks to The Vampire Diaries, so I’m going to write a vampire story and try and sell it.” And force myself to write one.

This is why I don’t encourage people to self-publish because most genre writers are just that—genre writers. More specifically, generic genre writers. This isn’t meant as a slight against them by any means. What I’m saying is they either write sci-fi titles or fantasy titles or horror titles or something. Under those particular categories, there’re thousands of books out there. You self-publish yours as a generic horror tale and you’ll be lost to the din in no time. What you need to do is make your book a niche, even if it was originally written under one of those broader banners. Your book needs to be—to a point—in a category by itself, not so off-the-wall that no one knows what it is anymore, but you need to separate it somehow from the other books in the genre and make it stand out.

5.) There seems to be a lot more to this than most writers think. Why do you think most self-published books end up as a failure?

Like the question says, “There’s a lot more to this than most writers think.” Most writers have their book, decide for one reason or another to self-publish, pick a service and run with it without even thinking practically about the business side to all this.

Here’s some breaking news if you want to make it as a for-real self-publisher: writing your books is 10% of it; the business side is the other 90%. This is the side that transforms the manuscript to a finished, quality book, markets the title, arranges signings with bookstores, handles inventory, the monies collected and taxes paid, etc.

Most writers want to write and that’s it. You need an entrepreneurial spirit to truly self-publish properly. You need to be willing to get out there, get it done, and get it done right if you want to self-publish for a living. When you achieve that, it’s a dream come true. If you don’t—like, unfortunately, most self-published titles—it’s heart wrenching, disappointing, discouraging and a million and one other emotions that could drag you to a dark place if you’re not careful.

One week to go.

Leading independent horror, zombie mash up and superhero fiction publisher, Coscom Entertainment (www.coscomentertainment.com) has signed a Management and Production Deal with Hughes Capital Entertainment and newly formed, Management Period. The focus of the relationship is to integrate the Canadian-based Publishing company into mainstream entertainment via motion picture, interactive/videogame, and television mediums. Some of Coscom’s flagship titles such as The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts and Zombies by H.G Wells and Eric S. Brown and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim by Mark Twain and W. Bill Czolgosz are coming out under Simon and Schuster’s Gallery Books imprint later this fall. Standout titles like Alice in Zombieland and World War of the Dead will be the immediate focus of the HCE development team.

Hughes Capital Entertainment is currently negotiating a DVD deal for some of the titles, developing some as larger features, and focusing on top seller Zombie Fight Night as the break out video game title. “What’s better than playing a first person fighter where zombies, werewolves, vampires, samurai, kick boxers, robots, and superheroes like Axiom-man all battle it out to the death?” says HCE President/Producer Patrick Hughes.

Coscom joins HCE and Management Period’s already impressive talent and corporate list of clients which includes best-selling authors, top screenwriters, show creators, top musicians, and directors.

To be clear, I’m not trying to be a jerk. Just telling it like it is.

The eBook market has been around for years and year and years. I’ve been publishing eBooks since 2004. They’ve always been a viable market and I’ve always made money at it. Unfortunately, up until recently–thanks to no other place for writers to turn–they weren’t viewed as “real” books and being e-published didn’t make you “really” published. Sheesh.

It’s only the explosion of eReaders that have changed the game. I daresay it’s not even that. It’s just the eReading technology has improved, making eBooks easier on the eyes. Handhelds have been around for a long while, just not marketed as aggressively as the Kindle or Nook. Like the recent mashups: they’ve been around for ages, but only have recently hit the mainstream.

Regarding my forever stance on eBooks and what I explained to my authors when negotiating contracts and some would say they weren’t sure about the eMarket, I told them, a reader is a reader, a sale a sale. The goal is to reach the readers in the way they want. If they like eBooks, awesome. They’re still getting the same book, just a slightly different format. Why would I deny the reader–and the author–that?

Can’t wait, as I love docu-style creator and/or empire-building stories:

R. Thomas Riley–who’s a friend and fellow writer–does a regular column for Apex Book Company.

On the 27th, he posted an article called “Evolve or Die,” the focusing being horror writers–especially in light of Dorchester/Leisure’s recent financial woes–self-publishing. I read it and wrote something in the comments. After some reflection, I believe what I wrote is worth re-posting here.

It’s a hard truth, one that might bring me a lot of criticism, but the truth does that from time to time. Just think it needs to be posted.

I wrote:

“Of course I’m simplifying, but you know what I’m seeing, to be honest? I’m seeing the same people who used to laugh at self-publishing doing it because they don’t–except for rare persons–have another option. In other words, the shoe’s on the other foot and they are now the desparate author. Sure, you can call it “evolving” or “changing with the times,” but, really, markets are drying up and there’re not many publishers out there doing horror. So, change the label, sugarcoat it and suddenly self-publishing is okay.

And, on a side note, I want an iPad.”

I love the book production process, everything from conception straight through to the final product. Sure, some stages are more fun than others, but it was the book production process that got me into self-publishing to begin with and, a bit later, becoming a full-fledged traditional publisher.

I don’t think many people realize how much work goes into making a book. There’s more to it than writing and packaging it. So much more. Did you know that for each book Coscom Entertainment puts out, I go through a bunch of possibilities for fonts just for the chapter titles alone? Did you know that it takes me over a day and a half to format the book for print and the various eBook editions? Did you know that making a cover is more than just having a picture and putting text over it?

Never mind the editing phase, the rewrites, the research, etc.

The above is why is bothers me so much when a book receives a non-constructive bad review. Sure, if you don’t like something, by all means, you can express that. But it’s the “how” you express it that’s important. Don’t rail on a book and say you hated it without giving reasons as to why (preferrably politely). A lot of work goes into these things and I think so many people out there simply don’t understand that. Even when you review a movie, don’t just say it sucked and move on. I mean, really, as if you could do better.

It’s an important point to make because the Internet has given everyone a voice, which is fine, but–despite popular belief–it hasn’t made everyone an expert.

Anyway, below are a few shots of the first-draft manuscript for my just-written and soon-to-be-released zombie novel, Possession of the Dead, the sequel to my shoot ‘em up undead novel, Blood of the Dead.

I’ve kept the pics small so as to ensure the text is hard to read. Don’t want to give anything away too soon.

Just moments ago I finished writing the first draft of Possession of the Dead, book two in my Undead World Trilogy.

It came in at 69,832 words. (5,644 of which was written today.)

Finishing a book is such an amazing feeling, yet it’s also a weird one. For the last few weeks it’s been go-go-go, type-type-type, think-think-think–then suddenly, BANG, you’re done.

There’s such a strong sense of accomplishment, yet also that strange question of: Gee, I hope my subconscious kept track of everything as I wrote this and it all makes sense.

I’ll soon find out when I start revisions later this coming week.

I honestly didn’t expect to finish today, but the way the story went and despite this first draft being shorter than I thought it would be, I believe I finished the second installment in the trilogy at the right point in the storyline, in turn creating fantastic opening scenes for book three. (And also creating another cliffhanger ending, like the first.)

I’m pleased to say Possession of the Dead is on track for a mid October release and for official launch at Central Canada Comic Con.

Thank you to those who have been so patient in waiting for the sequel which, frankly, is long overdue. I hope you enjoy this book as much as the first as I did my best to make the sequel even better than its predecessor (Blood of the Dead).

Due to my pressing deadline of needing to finish Possession of the Dead by the end of this weekend, all my writing energies are focused in that direction.

Zomtropolis, though a regular thing, is a kind of side project so has the flexibility to be put on hold temporarily if the need arises.

Sincerest apologies, but it needs to be done.

Hope everyone has a good weekend.

Thanks for your understanding.