I've been asked a lot about a sequel for Breathers.

Am I writing one? Did I plan on one? When will the next one come out?

To be honest, I never intended to write a sequel to Breathers or to turn it into a series. First, I already had ideas for several novels after this one. Second, I didn't want to be pigeonholed as a zombie author (not that there's anything wrong with that) and be limited to that genre for my writing life. And third, the original ending for Breathers was much darker than the one that made it into print. No ambiguity. No hope. No chance of a sequel.

So while I prescribe to the concept of never say never, at the moment I don't have any plans for a sequel to Breathers. If I can come up with an original idea that isn't derivative of the original material and doesn't tread over a lot of common ground, then maybe. But I have a hard time believing that a sequel would be better than the original.

Which brings me to the topic of this post...

It's been rare that I've enjoyed any sequel or any second or third installment of a series as much as I enjoyed the original. Most of the time, they failed miserably to live up to the expectations of the first installment.

The Matrix. Star Wars. Indiana Jones.

I can watch the original Matrix over and over, but the sequels? Yawn. I thought The Empire Strikes Back was a lot of fun, but it ended like a serial, which pissed me off, even as a teenager when I saw it at the theater. Return of the Jedi was a little silly and the three prequels lacked any heart. And while The Last Crusade rivaled Raiders of the Lost Ark, the other two Indiana Jones films, especially the last one, bordered on being unwatchable.

Some other random sequels:

Airplane II had some wonderful moments but wasn't nearly as funny as the original. Goldmember helped to redeem the Austin Powers series after The Spy Who Shagged Me, but still couldn't measure up to the first of the bunch. And Men in Black II was such a huge disappointment that I often forget it was ever made.

And don't even get me started on the Rocky series. Clubber Lang? Dolph Lungren? Please.

On the flip side, I loved the Alien trilogy, (though I'm trying to expunge Alien Resurrection from my brain). Yes, I even enjoyed Alien 3. The Road Warrior was a worthy sequel to Mad Max, but Beyond the Thunderdome was a bit of a blight on the series. I thought The Dark Knight was an excellent film on its own, perhaps even better than Batman Begins (Heath Ledger's portrayal of The Joker is worth multiple viewings). The only problem was the fact that Christian Bale started growling halfway through the film. None of the children of Tim Burton's Batman were as good as their father.

The Lord of the Rings trilogy was a fun ride all the way through, though admittedly I'd never read Tolkien's version so when the first film ended without an ending, I let out a groan along with most of the rest of the theater audience. The Bourne Ultimatum was an improvement over The Bourne Supremacy and arguably better than The Bourne Identity. And while Godfather III was an average film, The Godfather II was a worthy, and some will say better, follow-up to The Godfather. I'd say "it's hard to argue with a Best Picture Oscar," but Titanic won out over L.A. Confidential in 1997 and Dances With Wolves beat out Goodfellas in 1990, so I can't use that criteria as justification.

Oh, and my vote for the best sequel based on how much an improvement they were on their originals? It's a tie. Evil Dead 2 and Terminator 2.

Obviously, I'm leaving out a lot of series and sequels, including Star Trek, the James Bond franchise, Rambo, Friday the 13th, American Pie (I thought American Wedding was the funniest of the bunch), Hellboy, Die Hard, and Pirates of the Caribbean (the second and third installments weren't nearly as good as the first).

And yes, since we're here, I can't forget the Romero Films, but other than the original Dawn of the Dead, I don't think the last three in the series hold up to NOTLD.

Admittedly, I haven't read as many series or sequels as I've seen on film. I think part of this is that, when I do a search for the Best Book Series of All Time, most of the lists I come across are filled with YA titles like Lemony Snicket, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Golden Compass.

While I did read the first Harry Potter and the first installment of Twilight (I'm of the opinion that Edward's a psychotic stalker and that vampires should never sparkle). Although I know a lot of adults loved both series, they're YA novels and I'm not exactly the target audience, so I didn't feel a desire to continue.

While I'm sure there are sequels and series out there for adult readers, the only series I have read all the way through is Stephen King's The Dark Tower saga, which I thought peaked with the fourth installment, Wizard and Glass. After that, I felt it sort of wound its way down rather than building up to the end.

And in case you're wondering, no, I still haven't read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

So what the hell does all of this rambling and listing accomplish other than to share my own personal tastes? It says that I'm dubious of sequels to stand up to the originals. Most of the time, they just don't cut it, so going back to the original question about a sequel, the only way I will write one is if I think it will hold up to Breathers.

So what are your thoughts? On a sequel to Breathers? On the films and books I've listed? On the films and books I haven't listed? On sequels and series in general?

People are always asking me about zombies:

Have you always loved zombies?
Do you think you’ll survive the zombie apocalypse?
Is it necrophilia if you’re both dead?

In case you’re curious, the answers are:

Yes.
No.
Probably not.

Truth is, I’m not an authority on zombie sex. However, I do know a lot about sloughage, frothy purge, and cadaver impact testing.

For some reason, this troubles my parents.

But the one question that seems to come up most often is:

Why do you think zombies are so popular right now?

I hear a lot of people saying that the current mainstream popularity of zombies is a direct reflection of global fears regarding the economy and terrorism. Horror as catharsis for the fears and anxiety of a society making commentary on itself. They contend that zombies are the proletarians of the monster hierarchy and in troubled economic times, they become the poster child for the financial ills of a nation. An allegory for the end of the world as we know it.

Me? I'm not drinking the Kool-Aid. I don’t believe the current surge in zombie popularity has anything to do with a reflection of global or economic fears. And I sure as hell didn't write Breathers because I was concerned about terrorists or my IRA.

Truth is, I think people have a tendency to apply social context where it doesn't exist.

After all, where was the zombie mania during other major crises or catastrophes of the 20th century? Like the Vietnam War? Or Watergate? How about the Iranian Hostage Crisis? The Stock Market crash of 1987? The Persian Gulf War? The election of George W. Bush?

It didn’t exist. Not on this scale.

So what happened to make them so popular today? I'll tell you what happened. Zombies were taken out of their proverbial archetypal box. No longer are they just the shambling, mindless, flesh-eating ghouls we've known and loved for most of the part four decades. They’ve expanded their range, become more versatile. More well-rounded. And who doesn't enjoy a well-rounded zombie?

28 Days Later and the Dawn of the Dead remake made them faster. Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland made them funnier. Fido made them domesticated.

Meanwhile, zombie fiction developed into a solid sub-genre, getting its start in 1990 with the publication of the John Skipp and Craig Spector anthology Book of the Dead. Prior to that, zombie literature didn't really exist and it didn't really explode until this decade.

The new millennium brought with it a surge of zombie fiction, including, among others, The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z (Max Brooks), The Rising (Brian Keene), Monster Island (David Wellington), Cell (Stephen King), Patient Zero (Jonathan Maberry), Day By Day Armageddon (J.L. Bourne), Happy Hour of the Damned (Mark Henry), Breathers, and of course, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (Jane Austin and Seth Grahame-Smith).

Not to mention all of the YA titles, like The Forest of Hands and Teeth (Carrie Ryan), Generation Dead (Daniel Waters), Zombie Queen of Newbury High (Amanda Ashby), and You Are So Undead To Me (Stacey Jay).

Young adult readers aren't eating these up because they're afraid of what's happening to their 401k's or if some terrorist is going to board their plane. They're reading about zombies because they're fun and scary and entertaining.

Truth is, today’s zombies are faster. Funnier. Sentient.

In addition to running like Olympic sprinters, being domesticated as pets, and fighting for their civil rights, modern zombies write haiku, perform household chores, and are used as terrorist weapons. They can also be found on the Internet going to marriage counseling, falling in love, and singing to their former co-workers about how they want to eat their brains.

That's why zombies are so popular today. To misquote Bill Clinton, it's not the economy, stupid. It's the fact that they're branching out and discovering that undeath isn't just about decomposing and eating brains anymore.

To commemorate the 200th anniversary of the death of Edgar Allan Poe, I thought it appropriate to share the following abridged retelling of his poem, "The Raven," which I originally penned for a friend on the occasion of his 40th birthday.

The friend, like many others at the end of their fourth decade of existence, was dreading turning the big 4-0.

It seems doubly fitting considering Poe died at the same age...

Ode to Poe: The Raven Reprised
Once upon a birthday dreary, as I pondered, weak and weary,
Over thirty nine years of curious memories I’d forgotten long before.
Feeling spent, I started napping, when there came a subtle tapping,
The sound of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some solicitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember how I once was young and limber,
And my hard, athletic body made women's jaws drop to the floor.
Drowsily I wished for slumber, for an age of lesser number,
To remove, to unencumber, what the years had brought before.
To fit into the button fly blue jeans which I often wore
In mothballs now, for evermore.

Presently my sleep grew troubled, so out of bed I on-the-doubled,
And pulled a muscle in my back that I had injured years before.
With Icy Hot I started wrapping, but still there came a gentle tapping,
The sound of an insistent tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
"All right, all right," I mumbled softly and opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.

For a moment I stood fearing, that age had finally claimed my hearing,
When in there stepped a stately raven, uninvited, through my door.
Not the least respect he paid me; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But like an old, incontinent lady, shat upon my hardwood floor --
Then perched upon a lamp from Macy's just inside my chamber door --
Shat, and sat, and nothing more.

While this brazen bird sat mocking, I, mouth open, stood there gawking,
Until I found my voice and questioned what the bird had come here for.
"With thy crest so shorn and shaven, why choose here to take up haven?
Ghastly grim and ancient raven who tapped upon my chamber door --
Tell me why your black butt wandered in and shat upon my floor."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

How I marveled this ungainly, ill-mannered fowl had spoken plainly
Though its answer seemed bizarre and enigmatic to its core;
Not another word he uttered; not a single feather fluttered–
So with aching back I muttered and cleaned the bird shit off the floor:
“Stupid raven, quit the stained glass lamp inside my chamber door.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Ignoring his reply so spoken, as I wiped up the bird’s fresh token
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the shiny hardwood floor.
My waistline had become my master, and my hair was a disaster
Thinning fast and thinning faster until it covered less than more.
Till I wondered if I’d even look appealing to a whore.
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, sitting lonely on the stained glass lamp spoke only
That single word and shat again upon my pristine hardwood floor.
“Asshole,” said I, patience shrinking, back and neck both tight and kinking
And I betook myself to thinking what this stupid bird of yore --
What this rude, obnoxious, one-note, defecating bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but my mind it kept digressing
To thoughts of Rogaine and Viagra, to how my youth I could restore.
This and more I sat divining, the fantasy I kept refining
Until I once more started pining for the years that came before
For the thirty-nine years of youth and vigor I had known before
Years recaptured, nevermore!

Then, it seemed, the air grew thicker, and my breath a little quicker,
As perception dawned like sunlight on a shadowed, misty shore.
"Wretch!" I cried, "Oh beast of treason, cursed bird I know the reason
Why you've shown up at this season -- to mock the past that I adore.
Please grant respite, and diversion, from what forty has in store."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Villain!" said I, "dark intruder." Then I called him something cruder.
"Have you no compassion for the life that I once knew before?
Youth and muscles once were flaunted, now by excess years are taunted
And my face by wrinkles haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there life past forty? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

On the lamp the bird did linger, so I, with grace, gave him the finger
And called him vulgar names that would have shamed my mother to the core
"Tell this soul with sex drive waning and with old age quickly gaining
Is there nothing else remaining? Is this to be the final score?
Will I have another chance to once more spread my wings and soar?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, stupid bird!" I yelled, upstarting --
"Get the hell out of my house and speak to me of this no more.
Leave no black plume as a token of the gloom thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my vanity unbroken! -- quit the lamp inside my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy black butt out my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the stained glass lamp from Macy's just inside my chamber door.
And he quotes with constant nagging to remind me how I'm flagging,
How my flabby ass is sagging almost to the hardwood floor.
To remind me how my waistline and the hair that I adore
Shall see my thirties -- nevermore!

I ran across a random clip from War of the Gargantuas the other day, the 1966 Ishiro Honda film where the bad green Gargantua and the good brown Gargantua battle through the streets of downtown Tokyo, crashing into buildings and bringing them crumbling to the ground, generally causing mass destruction, and it got me to thinking:

Do people who live in Japan have the option of purchasing monster insurance?

After all, we have earthquake insurance in California, hurricane insurance in Florida, and tornado insurance in Oklahoma. So I figure in Japan, they ought to have monster insurance. After all, a monster does a lot of damage to a city. Maybe not so much in Kyoto or Osaka, but definitely Tokyo. I bet the rates would be astronomical in Tokyo.

I wonder if there would be separate policies, depending on the monster. Coverage against Godzilla would probably be the most expensive policy, while Mothra, Rodan, and the Gargantuas would be less expensive monsters to insure against, since they attack the city less frequently.

I think if I was a contractor, I'd want to live in Japan. They'd always be rebuilding, so I'd never have to worry about finding work.

And then there's the question of monster warnings. Would they be like tornado warnings, with the siren sounding throughout the city while on the news they'd say something like "Mothra sighted over Guam heading west."

Or maybe it would be like a weather report:

"The weather today will be cloudy, with a chance of Rodan by late afternoon. The extended forecast shows a break on Tuesday and Wednesday, possible Gargantuas Thursday, with a Godzilla trend taking us through the weekend."

Or maybe I have too much time on my hands.

Last weekend at the Horror Realm Convention in Pittsburgh, PA, I found myself watching Minority Report just before I passed out one evening and realized how much fun I have watching Tom Cruise run in his movies.

First there's The Firm, where he runs from Wilford Brimley and that creepy albino dude. Next up is the original Mission Impossible (which I loved), when he leaps through the window of Aqvarium and runs away from Agent Kittridge (no relation to Kit Kittridge). But in Minority Report, he outdoes them all, running for his life through the streets of a futuristic world imagined by Philip K. Dick.

It's not just that he runs with fervor and intensity, it's that he looks so serious doing it. I believe he's in trouble, with his arms and legs pumping like pistons and the look of absolute determination on his face. And most of the time he's not doing this in running shoes and sweats, but in a suit tie and dress shoes. And while I'm sure he probably runs in Jerry Maguire, Collateral, Vanilla Sky, War of the Worlds, and a number of his other films, I believe his work in the first three films I mentioned should qualify Tom Cruise for the Lifetime Achievement Award for Running in Film.

I know some will cast their votes for Will Smith and offer up for consideration his work in Bad Boys, Enemy of the State, Men in Black, I Robot, etc., and that would be a legitimate argument. Maybe even Dustin Hoffman for his work in Marathon Man. But for me, I stand by my assertion that Tom Cruise is the best runner in the history of film.

Best driver? That's easy. Steve McQueen.

So I'm back from Pittsburgh, where I spent the weekend at the Horror Realm Convention meeting lots of new writers, hanging out with a bunch of great people, and watching movie clips from a bunch of low budget 60's and 70's horror films with titles like Cannibal Girls, The Hanging Woman, and Scream Baby Scream.

Though my favorite movie clip was from the classic The Vampires Night Orgy, which prompted a discussion about how vampires have the best orgies, werewolves have the best pajama parties, and zombies have the best pot lucks. Though I can't take credit for the discussion. That goes to Emily Fear and Maureen White of Joseph-Beth Booksellers in Pittsburgh, who graciously hosted me at their booth for the weekend signing books with Jonathan Maberry and eating gummy body parts.

In addition to the wonderful staff at Joseph-Beth, I met a bunch of zombie authors from Library of the Living Dead and Permuted Press, including, Rhiannon Frater, Eric S. Brown, Rob Fox, Kody Boye, Kim Paffenroth, and James Melzer, among others. You can read about all of the authors on the Author Page of the Horror Realm web site.

I also had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Pus, the force behind Library of the Living Dead, as well as Rebecca May, Sandy Stuhlfire, and the rest of the organizers of Horror Realm. Having never traveled to an event on the east coast south of Manhattan (and even then, not since 2002), I hadn't met the majority of those who attended the convention but soon found myself enjoying their company and sharing in the camaraderie of the weekend.

However, in addition to the wonderful memories, I also brought a cold back with me from Pittsburgh and have been laid up the last couple of days trying to kick it out of my apartment, so if you'll excuse me, I have to go exorcise my germs with some green tea and a shot of vitamin C.

Next time I'll talk about why I think Tom Cruise should win the lifetime achievement award for running in movies.

They're jackhammering again.

Across the street.  The never-ending Add-A-Garage project.  At least it's been never-ending for the past year.  But honestly, they've installed the framework for the structure.  What the hell are they using a jackhammer for now?

Electric saws I can handle.  It's white noise.  Freeway traffic.  Ocean waves rolling along the shore.

Hammers pounding?  Not a problem.  Distant tribal drums.  World music from a neighbor's stereo.

But jackhammers are fingernails on a chalkboard connected to a Spartacus vibrator and pumped through Nigel Tufnel's Marshall guitar amplifier.

Not exactly ideal conditions in which to write.  And since I don't drink coffee and am easily distracted by baristas, cafes aren't an option.  So I have to resort to drowning out the noise with my iPod.

But I can't listen to just anything when I'm writing.  No B-52s or Squirrel Nut Zippers of Blink-182.  Nothing too distracting.  Nothing I haven't heard a million times. And when Green Day's "East Jesus Nowhere" from 21st Century Breakdown comes on, focusing is pointless.  I just want to hold my lighter in the air and sing along with the band.  (Yeah, I know.  Everyone holds their cell phones in the air now.  Call me old school, but holding a cell phone in the air at a concert instead of a lighter is like eating sushi at a baseball game instead of a polish sausage.)

All right, where the hell was I?  Oh yeah, playlists.  In order to drown out the vibrational dissonance of the jackhammering, I need comfort music.  It's like comfort food, only for my ears.  Nothing heavy.  Nothing nostalgic.  No love ballads or screeching guitars or house music.  Just some of my favorite bands whose lyrics and music inspire me and that I've heard so many times that I can listen to the songs without getting distracted by the lyrics.

That comes to more than eight hours of Morphine, The Pixies, Sublime, The Beatles, The Doors, and, yes, some Green Day.  Just nothing from their new album.  Throw in some Booker T. & TheMG's, some surf music, and some selections from the Fight Club and Pulp Fiction soundtracks, and I'm good to go.  Cocooned in a world of inspired familiarity.

Now if only I could do something about the fact that my cat keeps sitting in front of my monitor.

(This is a feature from Undead Anonymous where Andy, the main protagonist of Breathers, answers your questions.)

Chris, from the wide wide world of AOL, asks:

I particularly loved the references to eating your parents. Thanks for the recipe tips, but you left out one of my favorites, Momloaf. What goes in it besides Mom? Thanks!

Well, your basic Momloaf recipes are all pretty much all the same: a pound of ground Breather, 2/3 cup milk, 1/2 cup cracker crumbs, 1/4 cup ketchup, 1/2 cup finely chopped onion, 1 tsp salt, 1/8 tsp black pepper, and one egg, beaten.  Mix it all together, form into a loaf, bake in a baking dish or loaf pan at 350 degrees for an hour, then slice and serve with mashed potatoes, green beans, and a nice central coast Pinot Noir.

Some recipes call for Worcestershire sauce, sage, garlic, or dry mustard, but that's just showing off. If you want basic Momloaf the way, well, Mom used to make, then follow the recipe above.

Just remember that when selecting what portion of Breather to use, the shoulder cut, or chuck, makes the best all around ground Breather. It has just enough fat to make it juicy and provide an excellent natural flavor. Though if you want to go for the leaner option, meat taken from the thighs, or round, is a good choice for calorie counters.

Thanks for the question!

Andy Warner here, main protagonist of Breathers, bringing you my updated version of The Wizard of Oz ditty, "If I Only Had a Brain," originally sung by Ray Bolger and Judy Garland.

In this instance, however, there's just the one singer who is, obviously, a zombie.


If I Only Had Some Brains
(lyrics by Andy Warner)

I could gnaw away the hours, delightfully devour
Digesting Johns and Janes.
And my mouth I’d be fillin’
While my hands were busy killin’
If I only had some brains.

I’d faddle and I’d fiddle, fat fry you on the griddle,
Sautéing your remains.
On your flesh I’d be snackin’
And your skull I would be crackin’
If I only had some brains.

Oh, ever since I’ve died
I’ve longed for blood and gore
Just to sit and eat the brains that I adore.
And then I’d sit and eat some more.

I would bake you up in muffins, complete you with some stuffin’,
Or maybe some whole grains.
In a shake made with dairy
I would top you with a cherry,
If I only had some brains.

vanity >noun (pl. vanities)  1) excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievements.  2) the quality of being worthless or futile.

It's interesting that the two definitions of vanity should seem to have such extreme opposites, but it's actually a pretty good description of what it's like to be a writer.  Not that all writers take excessive pride in their achievements, but there's definitely ego involved for anyone who sits down to write with the goal of publication in mind.  After all, if you think something you've written is good enough to be read by a bunch of strangers who would actually pay to read it, then there's a pretty good chance you've got a healthy ego.  Hopefully not on steroids, but an ego, nonetheless.

Let's not confuse ego with arrogance, either.  While arrogance and conceit have negative connotations, an ego is a good thing to have.  Losing your ego can have significant consequences.

John Lennon once admitted that he'd done so much acid in an attempt to destroy his ego that he didn't believe he could do anything.  By the time The Beatles were creating Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, he'd given up all control of the band to Paul.  I'd like to think The Beatles would have been even better had Lennon chosen to put more of his mark on their last few albums.  But then, I think Abbey Road is a masterpiece.

Once again, I'm off on a tangent.  Which is why I'm my in-person interviews are always all over the map.

Back to vanity.

Okay, so there's ego and then there's pride in one's achievements.  For the sake of argument here, let's take the word "excessive" out of the definition and just stick with pride.  Of course writers are proud of their achievements.  You spend six months or two years of your life creating something and when you're finished, you have a sense of accomplishment.  A sense of pride.  And when that first manuscript actually appears in your mailbox in the form of a published book, with your name on the cover and a blurb from Kirkus on the back, the feeling is even greater.  Almost surrealistic.

But along the way, through the writing and publishing process, the second definition of vanity comes into play, as well.  The feeling that what you're writing is worthless.  That the hours you're spending sitting at your computer writing about imaginary places populated by imaginary people is futile.  What the hell did you think you were doing?  Who in their right mind would want to publish this?  Or pay money to read it?

But when that first e-mail arrives from some stranger who read your book and they tell you they loved it and couldn't put it down and didn't want it to end, those concerns vanish like John Lennon's ego.

A friend of mine, who is also a writer, once said that having a book published is like jumping off a cliff.  You have no control over what's going to happen and you just have to hope that you land in something soft rather than in a dumpster filled with broken bottles.  Or something like that.  I'm paraphrasing, but the point is you're at the mercy of the world, so you might as well enjoy the fall.

(Next entry: W is for World War Z)

It seems like I've had a lot of interview requests lately, which is a good thing.  Hopefully I'm not just regurgitating the same story every time.  Like Jude Law in I Heart Huckabees, who tells the same Shania Twain joke over and over as a way of defining himself before being called on it by Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman who wonder if he is himself without the story.

"How am I not myself?"

Where was I?  Oh yes, repetitive responses to interview questions.  It seems like whenever anyone asks me to describe Breathers during a "live" interview, I end up either rambling about social satire and zombie angst or paraphrasing the back cover copy.  Usually at the end of this, I'll say, "It's Fight Club meets Shaun of the Dead, only with the zombies as the good guys," and then wonder why I just didn't say that in the first place.  Short.  Simple.  And it conveys the basic idea in less than 20 words.

My favorite interviews are the ones in which I get asked odd or playful questions, such as:

What scares you?  (Children. And paraplegic mannequins.)
How do you escape these days? (By hot air balloon.)
Can you describe Breathers using haiku? (It’s like Fight Club meets / Shaun of the Dead only with / Cannibalism)

I actually prefer doing the written interviews by e-mail, which give me a chance to edit my responses and maybe wax a little philosophical or throw in some amusing comments. While I appreciate that people find Breathers as amusing as I do, I'm not nearly as funny in person. I need to be able to edit my thoughts or do research before I come up with a good, snappy response. I would make a poor stand-up comic.

So if you're interested, you can read my most recent interviews, which include a phone interview for the Santa Cruz Sentinel, a written e-mail interview about the marketing of Breathers with Buzz, Balls, and Hype, and an in-person lunch interview with Gothic Angst Magazine.  You can even check out my video interview with Suvudu.com from Comic-Con.

As always, thanks for listening...

Rolling in a little late with the post Comic-Con update, so let's just hit the high points and get out of here so I can go grab some dinner and watch Adaptation on DVD.

This being my inaugural trip to Comic-Con, it was definitely a unique experience.  The entire convention center looked like Disney vomited upLooney Tunes.

In addition to all of the Predators and Storm Troopers and medieval knight sword skirmishes, I had a great time being graciously hosted by the Random House / Crown Publishing booth, meeting marketing manager Jay Sones on Thursday, who helped to shamelessly plug Breathers with promotional buttons, stickers, bookmarks, and postcards.  He also happened to have an extra copy of Breathers that I signed and personalized to Max Brooks, who was in the house signing advanced preview copies of his upcoming graphic novel The Zombie Survival Guide: Recorded Attacks.  It was the first chance I'd had to meet Max and it was a pleasure.  Even if he does think zombies are the bad guys.

I also had the good fortune of meeting Seth Grahame-Smith, author of the Jane Austen mash-up Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, at his Saturday signing and played fanboy.  We even had a photo taken together.  Unfortunately, it was with his camera, not mine, so I don't have any proof it happened.  You'll just have to take my word for it.  And look for Seth and I to double-team the zombie fans at the August 15th outdoor screening of Shaun of the Dead in Los Angeles, as well as at the October 4th West Hollywood Book Fair.  We'll be on a zombie/vampire panel at 1:30pm, followed by a signing hosted by Dark Delicacies.

Okay, well, most of that had nothing to do with Comic-Con, so back to it.

On Saturday, I shared an enjoyable little panel on zombies, shapeshifters, and other assorted monsters called Monster Mash with Amber Benson, Alice Henderson, Walter Greatshell, Marlene Perez, and Rob Thurman.  The panel was hosted by the incomparable Maryelizabeth Hart of Mysterious Galaxy Books in San Diego.  It was my second official panel, so I guess I am now officially no longer a virgin.

Finally, Kyle with Suvudu, also affiliated with Random House, did four short video interviews that showcase just how much I need to cut down on my caffeine.  Either that or I need to tie my hands behind my back.

Overall, it was a great and exhausting experience.  Given the opportunity, I will definitely attend Comic-Con in San Diego in 2010.

 

First of all, you have to understand that I'm a SportsCenter junkie. I love watching highlights on ESPN during every SportsCenter broadcast. And when the NFL season comes along, you might as well just hook up an IV to my television and leave me on the couch.

Which is why I don't have a regular cable TV package.  I have what is called Basic Limited Cable at a cost of about $20 per month, which provides me with about 40 channels -- including FOX, CBS, NBC, ABC, Discovery Channel, Travel Channel, Golf Channel, FX, and the Sci-Fi Channel (which is now the SyFy Channel - a separate blog if there ever was a need for one).  But no TNT, TBS, USA, CNN, MSNBC, Comedy Central, or ESPN.  That's how I cured my addiction.  I took it away.  Made it impossible for me to get my fix.  Which is probably why I spend all of my time on Facebook and Twitter now.

So I don't have On Demand movies.  I don't have HBO or Showtime.  I've never seen an episode of Weeds.

I don't have TiVo.  A DVR.  A Blue Ray.  Or a Wii.

I don't own an iPhone or a Blackberry.  My cell phone is an LG ENV.  I have texting.  But I don't have e-mail capabilities.

While I do own an iPod and a laptop and have my entire library of music on iTunes, I still enjoy buying CDs.  I even own a turntable and I love vinyl.  It sounds better than digital music.  Maybe not as convenient, but it's much richer and warmer.  Go out and get Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon or the Beatles' Abbey Road on 180 gram vinyl and you'll understand what I'm talking about.

While not a complete Luddite, I'm definitely averse to getting sucked into becoming dependent upon all of the modern technological amenities.

Which brings me to Kindle and e-books.

While I understand the convenience and economy of using e-readers and realize, as someone who loves trees, that e-books reduce the need to chop trees down, I still enjoy the tactile feel of a book in my hands.  And, I have to admit, I enjoy seeing my novel sitting on my bookshelf amid all of my favorite authors and books.  It's the narcissist in me.

My issue with the deletion of the Orwell novels in the recent fiasco involving Amazon and Kindle isn't so much that the books were removed from the Kindle library.  I understand that.  They were bootlegged copies uploaded using the Kindle stores' self-publishing system, so the publisher of 1984 and Animal Farm asked for them to be removed.  Fine.  But the customers who had already purchased the novels should have been able to keep them. Yes, I know Amazon admitted it made a mistake by deleting the customers' copies, but apparently they did the same thing previously with books by Ayn Rand and J.K. Rowling.  So why didn't they learn their lesson then?

Reaching into your Kindle electronically and replacing your book with a credit is not only unacceptable but it raises questions as to the ownership of electronic book and music collections.  Apparently, because of the Kindle terms of service, you don't actually have full ownership of the books you purchase.  Amazon can delete anything it wants from your e-reader.  The justification on the basis of intellectual property is beside the point.  The power to be able to do this at all is, while not exactly Big Brother, definitely disconcerting. And another example of why I'd rather have to dog-ear a page to mark my place.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen to Van Halen's first album on my turntable.

I'll be attending Comic-Con this year at the San Diego Convention Center July 23-26 as part of the Random House / Crown Publishing booth.  It will be my first time ever at Comic-Con.

I've listed the Random House booth location and my schedule of signings, as well as the location of Mysterious Galaxy Books where you can get a copy of Breathers at the convention.  The Random House booth will not have copies of Breathers for sale but they will have some free buttons, stickers, and bookmarks.  I've also included information for the panel I'll be on Saturday afternoon.

Hope to see you there!

Random House / Crown Publishing: Booth #1128
Mysterious Galaxy Books: Booth #1119

Signing Location and Schedule
(Note: Saturday's signing is in a different location and follows the Monster Mash Panel)

Thursday  AA29     11:00 am - 12:00 pm
Friday       AA29     11:00 am - 12:00 pm
Saturday   AA1         4:00 pm - 5:00 pm
Sunday     AA29      11:00 am - 12:00 pm

Panel Location and Schedule
Saturday   Room 2    3:00 pm - 4:00 pm

Monster Mash Panel
Panelists: Amber Benson (Death’s Daughter); Alice Henderson (Voracious);Walter Greatshell (Xombies: Apocalypse Blues); S.G. Browne (Breathers: A Zombie's Lament); Marlene Perez (Dead Is So Last Year); Rob Thurman (The Cal Leandros Novels); and Samantha Sommersby (Forbidden: The Temptation)

Moderator:  Maryelizabeth Hart, Mysterious Galaxy Books

Yes, originally I said this post was going to be U is for Undead.  But Z is for Zombies, like that's a big surprise, and it seemed kind of silly to preempt zombies with the undead, so I tried to come up with something else and, well, this was it.

Why Ulysses?  Because I have a confession to make.  I've never read it.  I don't even know what it's about.  And I have never understood any of the obscure references Dennis Miller has made about James Joyce in his stand-up routines.

And it's not just James Joyce.  I've never read any Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, W. Somerset Maugham, Joseph Conrad, Jane Austen, Henry James, John Milton, H.G. Wells, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or William Faulkner.  And I hated Crime and Punishment.  Read it in my Western Lit class in high school.  The crime was that the book was ever written and the punishment was that I had to read it.

Oh, and I think Hemingway sucks.  Yes, he sucks.  His writing blows.  I don't know how the man got published.  Yeah, I know.  His writing style had a significant impact on the development of 20th century fiction and his works are considered classic American literature, blah blah blah. 

But A Farewell to Arms?  Absolute crap. It's filled with run-on sentences, repetitive use of qualifiers (like VERY lame), and frequent stretches of dialogue involving multiple characters with no indication as to who's speaking. Plus, the death scene at the end, where Catherine is in the hospital and the main character, Frederic, is trying to comfort her.  I don't have the book in front of me, but I seem to recall the dialogue going something like this:

"I love you," he said.  "I love you.  I love you.  I love you."
She smiled weakly. "And I love you."
"I love you so much."
"I love you."
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
"I love you."

And don't tell me that's how they wrote back in the 1920s.  Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, published four years prior to A Farewell to Arms, had beautiful language and believable dialogue.  Hemingway is an overrated hack.

So what is this blog entry actually about and what the hell does it have to do with Breathers or zombies?  Nothing.  Except for the fact that I am obviously not a student of literature and have drawn on none of the famous literary giants in my own writing.  Well, except maybe for Fitzgerald.  Though someone wrote a review of Breathers and mentioned something about channeling Faulkner, which is funny since I've never read him, so I have no idea how I channeled the man.

Oh, and I also don't know what a gerund is.  Though I'm pretty sure I know how to use it.

(Next entry: V is for van Gogh...or maybe Vampires)

On Friday, July 10, San Francisco's undead rose up to make their groans and voices heard as they protested for equal rights, love, and brains.

Tired of getting shot in the head, randomly dismembered, and tossed into fires, zombies of all races and states of decay shuffled and dragged themselves to the steps of San Francisco's City Hall to let the living know that they are fed up with the name calling, the discrimination, and the getting pelted with expired food products.

Just because we feel no physical pain doesn't mean we can't get our feelings hurt.

While two zombies were chased away from a wedding photo shoot, causing the police to drive by to make sure things didn't get out of control, there were a number of Breathers present acting as advocates for zombie rights, including S.G. Browne, who was interviewed by an independent film crew on hand to document the protest.


For the most part the protest was peaceful, with more than two dozen zombies on hand to try to push across the point that zombies are people, too. A photographer with SF Weekly showed up and took a number of photos of the event.

This is Andy the Zombie, reporting the truth as it's portrayed by the corporate media.

(This is a feature from Undead Anonymous where Andy, the main protagonist of Breathers, answers your questions.)

This installment of Ask Andy comes from Anthony, who asks:

Will you be back in another great novel?

Well Anthony, if I had my way I would, but I have to leave that up to the so-called creator of my world, the author of Breathers, who at this point is non-committal about whether or not there's a sequel.  According to him, if he can come up with something fresh and original, something that doesn't just seem like a derivative of Breathers, then he'd be willing to consider it.

But from what I've heard, he's just sold his second novel and as far as I know, I'm not in it.  Some other guy named Fabio is the main character and is apparently the immortal personification of Fate.  I guess a reanimated corpse wasn't good enough anymore.  Whatever.  I guess I'll just sit around and twiddle my thumb and wait for the phone to ring.

Thanks for the question.

4000 zombies showed up in the Fremont neighborhood of Seattle, WA, on Friday, July 3rd to break the Guinness Book of World Records. And yours truly was there to be a part of it.

The event, officially titled the Red, White, & Dead Zombie Party, was put together by Ryan Reiter and his team from the Fremont Outdoor Cinema, who provide "almost" free outdoor movies every summer in Seattle complete with pre-movie entertainment that capitalizes on the theme of that week's film. An ABBA sing along for Mama Mia. A styling contest for Edward Scissorhands. And with Shaun of the Dead being the third film on this year's schedule, Ryan decided to do up something big and shoot for the largest zombie walk in the record books.

My part in the event kicked off at Fremont Place Books for a reading and signing of Breathers, which was attended by fifteen or so friends, fans, and local authors, including Seattle scribes Mark Henry and Cherie Priest, who were decked out in their zombie finest. Also attending were surprise guests, Andy and Rita, who stopped by to show their support for zombie rights.

After the reading, I shambled down the street to the set of parking lots where Ryan and the crew from Fremont Outdoor Cinema were in full countdown mode, taking care of final preparations as the horde of zombies waiting to get in stretched down the street and wrapped around the block. When 6pm rolled around, the doors opened and the zombies flooded in, bloodied and rotting and sporting screwdrivers and knives that protruded from chest wounds.

Of course, the problem with having several thousand zombies staggering around waiting for direction is that they can tend to get bored and hungry, so to distract them until they were able to begin their walk, they were treated to a Zombie Fashion Show and the musical offerings from Kyle Stevens of Kirby Krackle Music, who sang such hits as "Naked Wii" and "Zombie Apocalypse." And for those who wanted to shake their rotting booties, there was a mass "Thriller" tribute dance that was shuffled to by 2000 zombies strong.



There was also a booth set up at the event, courtesy of Fremont Place Books, which sold copies of World War Z, The Zombie Survival Guide, Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, and Breathers. Fortunately, quite a number of zombies still have enough brain function to read, so I had the pleasure of meeting some fans and signing their books. Though I did have a couple of people tell me how much they loved World War Z and wanted me to sign it for them. I had to explain that unfortunately, Max Brooks wasn't able to attend the event.

Finally, around 10pm, once the record-breaking zombie walk had taken place through the streets of the Fremont Street neighborhood, all the remaining zombies pulled out their chairs and blankets and sat down for the screening of Shaun of the Dead. At which point, this zombie went out for a drink with some local friends and then climbed back into my coffin to get some sleep.

You have to understand about Tom.

First of all, he lives with his mother. Sure, so do I, but Tom was living with his mother before the pair of Presa Canarios tore into him like Mike Tyson going after Evander Holyfield’s earlobe.

Second, Tom is what Jerry would call a Magoo. A doofus. Sweet and naive. The kind of person others would have made fun of even when he was a Breather. Chances are pretty good that Tom was the kid in your high school who wore corduroy and plaid, who ate lunch by himself, and who routinely had his clothes stolen from his gym locker. The phrase atomic wedgie comes to mind.

Third, even among zombies, Tom is self-conscious. Sure, we all finger our stitches and our wounds or play with little knobs of exposed bone, but Tom obsesses with his loose flaps of skin as though he either can’t get used to the idea that they’re real or else he thinks he can somehow make them go away.

Now his right arm is gone. Stolen. As a prank. Without any regard to his feelings or his sense of equilibrium. And that's just not right...

The previous entry was lifted from Chapter 14 of Breathers, partly because it's the best description of Tom, partly because it's in the voice of Andy, and partly because I felt lazy this morning and couldn't come up with anything fresh or clever to say about Tom.

But suffice it to say that Tom plays an important role in Breathers, as the crime perpetrated against him by the fraternity pledges inspires Andy to take a stand for the rights of zombies.  True, the dismemberment of Walter gets Andy moving along his path initially, but with Tom, the cause becomes more personal.

(Next entry:  U is for Undead)

(This is a feature from Undead Anonymous where Andy, the main protagonist of Breathers, answers your questions.)

Sique, from the United Kingdom, asks:

Would a living person be welcome (as a guest, not a snack) at a UA meeting? Would they be welcomed with open arms, or open jaws?

At least once a month, the Breather liaison from the County Department of Resurrection stops by to check in on us and make sure we're behaving and decomposing like good little zombies.  While we resent the fact that the county sends a Breather to monitor our meetings and behavior, we still do our best to make them feel welcome.  But for some reason, the living seem to be more uncomfortable around us than we are around them.  It doesn't help when Naomi puts her cigarette out in her empty eye socket or when Tom constantly fingers the loose flaps of skin on his face.

But to answer your question more directly, yes, they would be welcome.  All we ask is for the opportunity to have a dialogue with Breathers so that they can understand who we are and what we desire.  The liaison is simply there to observe, not listen, so there's not a whole lot of give and take with them.  But if we could get a reporter or a police officer or a member of the PTA to attend our meetings so that we could have an honest conversation with them, they would be welcome with open arms.

Of course, most Breathers tend to run away screaming when a zombie comes walking toward them with a big smile on his face and his arms open for a hug.  Oh well.

Thanks for the question!