I've Been Deader

The readers have spoken

2012-10-08T07:20:00.005-07:00

But I had to ignore most of them to bring you these favorable quotes:

“ It is definitely not your everyday zombie book; I think it will appeal to zombie fanatics, as well as readers who enjoy snarky humor. ” Tiffany A. Harkleroad | 6 reviewers made a similar statement

“ I also deeply enjoyed the humor and wit of the author as it shows through in his characters and dialogue, a refreshing break from the norm! ” Ella Isabelline | 4 reviewers made a similar statement

“ While many have only a small part to play, there are some that return throughout the book as the over-arching story line develops. ” Grant McHerron | 2 reviewers made a similar statement

There it is!! Zom-buy

Don't fill up on candy this Halloween. Fill up on crap! Buy "I've Been Deader" today!

I interview me!

2012-10-08T07:16:00.003-07:00

WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As you know, "I've been doing the book blog tour thing for the past few weeks. People I don't know have been asking a lot of questions. Sure, they're not in uniform, but it still makes me edgy.

So I thought I'd find someone who really knows me and ask them if they'd like to interview me. I have a lot of close friends and all of them said no. Then I found this guy:

"I'll ask you anything you want, just keep that beautiful hand all the way up there!"

Splinker is my online persona and he keeps me warm on lonely winter nights. As some of you already know, "I've Been Deader" is a near-perfect blend of horror and comedy. What you might not know is that Splinker did the comedy and I did the horror. That's one of the reasons the book took twice as long to write, as we each were forced to type with only one hand.

Anyway, I'll post the links to the interviews I've given later. Right now, let's see what the sock puppet wants to know.

Splinker: "Hello. Today -- and every day really -- I am pleased to have Adam Sifre, author of "I've Been Deader," a near perfect blend of horror and comedy.

Mr. Sifre, thank you for joining me, again. Tell us, what's it like being a published writer, accomplished poet and extraordinary tennis player?"

Adam: Um.. Yeah. Well, it's a bit hard on the knees. As for the published writer bit -- I'm sorry. You do know that isn't the cover of my book?

Splinker: "Sorry! (prima donna). Tell me, as a writer, do you have any shame? I mean, we post on the Amazon forums, Twitter, FaceBook, Authonomy, Scribophile, Mitt Romney's web page, etc. Always asking people to read our book. I mean, are we a writer or are we the Home Shopping Network?

Adam: You're talking about what we call Spam. The constant referring to one's product in inapporpriate -- Listen, about the cover...?

Splinker: "Jesus."

Here's the cover of I've Been Deader, the greatest zombie novel ever written. Okay? Can we get on with it now please?

Adam: So, spam. I know I hate seeing plug after plug after plug on my Facebook page from writers announcing that they just wrote another page, or that their story was one that "just had to be written." It's tiring to read those kind of things over and over. So I figured, if I have to be subjected to it, I'm going to give as good as I get. Only better. My spam -- or as the kids call it today, "Splinker Spam" --

Splinker: Really??

Adam: No. Not really. And that's still not the right book cover. That was the cover I used when I self-published. But when "I've Been Deader" was picked up by Taylor Street Publishing, they put the new cover on.

See, that there is a bit of spam, although it's not exactly --

SPLINKER: Funny? Interesting? Worth repeating? I completely understand. Why don't you give us an example of "Splinker Spam?" Something right off the top of your head?" Go!

Adam: Hi. I was hoping you might be able to help me. I wouldn't normally bother you, but tt's just that my mother's dog Sparky died last night. Mother's been widowed for the past 4 years since the leaf blower incident. Sparky's been her only real companion since then. After my dad was found in the compost heap, Mom was so devastated that we all thought she'd follow him in a matter of weeks. Not necessarily ending up in the compost heap, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, Sparky was a kind of Christmas miracle. That scrappy little puppy saved mom's life just by being there for her on those lonely Wisconsin nights. Last night, mom was making a batch of smores for St. Jude's orphanage for Iraqi war children, like she does every time this year. Only last night... last night.

The thing is, Mom's getting on in years and she doesn't see as well as she used to. But she's so vain about her eyes, especially the glass one. Always cleaning it, she is, and showing it off to the Jehova's Witnessess when they come to call. Anyway, she had a roll of Brawny paper towels too close to the stove and it caught fire.

She panicked and would have burned with the house if it wasn't for sparky. That beautiful, crazy dog threw itself on the small fire, smothering it before it got out of control. I know the cynics here will say he was just going for the S'mores. But you don't know Sparky. That dog was all heart. And a lot of fur. Flamable fur.

No S'mores?

Anyway, by the time Sparky was put out, it was too late. The S'mores were cold and Sparky was overcooked. I think it was too much for Mom. She took to bed and won't get up. She just keeps staring at the ceiling and mumbling something about "A writer? Where did I go wrong?" She just keeps saying that over and over.

So I come before you, hat in hand, knowing full well there are others here with better books and more deserving than I, and I'm asking you all to help make another Christmas miracle happen for us.

Please, on this Halloween season of giving and brotherly love, take a moment out of your busy, important lives, and consider buying "I've Been Deader," and then maybe, just maybe, the bitch will finally shut up and give me a moment of peace and quite.

God bless you all.

Splinker: That was very good. Not really an off the cuff original piece of spam though, was it?

Adam: Well, no, not really.

Splinker: I don't think Mom's going to like that last part much either.

Adam: Yeah. Maybe we better not use it.

Splinker: Good idea.

That's not it either.

Adam: So, any other questions?

Splinker: I think we've done enough for today. But thank you for coming by, I guess.

Adam: You're welcome. Hey do you think you can put the right book cover up?

Splinker: Jeeze. You never stop do you?

2012-10-06T06:28:00.000-07:00

"Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickes (U.S.A.)

Inside My Shorts (U.K.)

The first short for free here. If you're quick, you can get the whole book for free today. Otherwise you'll have to shell out $1.99.

BEACONS

By nine-thirty that morning, Clare felt completely done in. Rain -- unyielding, unforgiving and unending -- fell in cold sheets, washing away what little color was left in her world. Even her morning coffee and scone were tasteless and dry.

She sat at her desk, her three-walled prison, patting her still damp hair with a paper towel, Clare worried over the thousand small stresses that seemed to have taken over her life. A mental game of jeopardy, with categories like "RELATIONSHIPS," "FINANCES," "FAMILY" kept surfacing and fading in her mind.

"This bill needs to be paid by Friday if you want to stay warm. Answer: What is gas? Correct!!

Days like today muted happiness and magnified the rest. The rain’s soft and constant splatter whispered in her ear, encouraging her to give up.

Her coffee, long gone cold, sat on her desk, ignored. Even the weak fluorescents jumped on the bandwagon, pulling at the frayed threads of her spirit. Not ready to deal with the numbers on her screen, she glanced out the office window and gave a soft gasp. For the past forever it had overlooked a white desert of snow, snow dunes, and snow banks.

Now, today of all days, she was presented with a new vista. Most of the snow had washed away. Muddy grass, resurrected from a summer a million years ago greeted her eyes.

And daffodils!

She leaned forward in her chair and drank in the sight. A clutch of four, sunny yellow daffodils, framed in a sea of muddy, dead grass.

She felt the warmth of them. A ghost memory of warm grass and sunlight tickled her nose. She sat for some time as unacknowledged tension melted away, sloughing off her shoulders and back, an invisible avalanche reacting to her thaw.

And then she smiled....

Joe from accounting stared at his monitor, another office zombie waiting for motivation.

Nothing.

Friday – cold and rainy. The last place he wanted to be was exactly where he was. Days like this always left him tired and feeling thin from the moment he woke up. Everything appeared muted, unreal. A slate gray sky hanging inches above the world, pressing down on everything.

He looked up from his work, his gaze wandering aimlessly across a dull room of secretary desks and bleached green carpet. His eyes touched upon Clare for a second, another colorless prop.

And then she smiled.

Heat flared inside him as he drank her in.

Breathtaking.

He’d heard the phrase used on many occasions and now he understood. She smiled and he couldn't breathe, stunned.

The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; a blazing promise of joy and summer. Life.

He stared, hands shaking slightly on his keyboard. Not thinking, just being. Everything changed right then.

Impossible to tell whether the world or the man was transformed.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Sgt. Splinker's Lonely Undead Band.

2012-10-01T07:15:00.002-07:00

Don't worry about the title. Not everything has to make sense.

"I've Been Deader" is in the middle of a whirlwind book tour. What this means to you, I have no idea.

"You have to read this thing!"

I'm giving interviews, getting guest promos on various websites, and funny looks from Mrs. Kennsington, my neighbor. You'd think she'd never seen a bathrobe on a windy day.

Anyway, today I'll be appearing here: http://www.kaydeeroyal.blogspot.com

Please pop over there and leave a comment like "This was the best thing I read since breakfast!" or
"50 Shades of Gray, move over. There's a new poorly written book in town!"

You get the idea.

"I am NOT Bruce Jenner!"

Thoughts on 9/11

2012-09-11T04:38:00.003-07:00

(Slightly revised speech given in 2002).

A martyr is a person who endures persecution and often death for the sake of their religious profession or position. It is a Greek word, meaning "witness." On September 11, I witnessed the instant initiation of more than 2,700 martyrs in a span of minutes.

I saw martyrs who chose to sacrifice their lives and their humanity by committing mass murder on a horrific scale.

I saw martyrs who choose to embrace humanity and sacrifice their lives trying to rescue people that could not be rescued.

And I saw martyrs that simply choose to go to work and live their lives, but who died anyway.

When I came out of the Chambers street subway station that day the first plane had already hit and the tower was on fire. There were about 70 people on the street corner watching with me. All of us trying to convince ourselves that it was a terrible accident and that most of the people would be okay.
Then the second plane hit. It must have hit the other side of the tower because I didn't see it. All I saw was the explosion and what looked like an engine turbine come flying out of the building. I later learned that the turbine landed two blocks away on Murray Street. At that point we all just ran. I fell and was stepped on by a few people but almost immediately helped me up. I walked the block to my office. My window looked out at the towers at the time.

I remember seeing people hanging out of the windows, waving sheets or curtains back and forth, and thousands of pieces of paper fluttering in the sky. At the time I couldn't process what I was seeing. I just kept thinking of a ticker tape parade. Part of me thought they were just "killing time" while waiting to be rescued; waving to the world and seeking attention the way some people always seem to do when the news cameras are on.

Then people started jumping; and the illusion was shattered for me. I was no longer capable of narrating a story in my mind to explain what was happening. What was happening defied explanation.

Hearing downtown New York gasp in disbelief as people fall from the sky defies explanation.

Watching the tower collapse in on itself, destroying in a moment the hope of thousands of spouses, children and parents, defies explanation.

Walking from City Hall to the George Washington Bridge with hundreds of people, many without shoes and covered in a shroud of gray dust, defies explanation.

Under normal circumstances our minds immediately begin making up stories to explain what we see. A constant and comforting voice in our head explains and narrates reality to us, telling us how everything that happens affects us. We witness something and our mind invents a meaning to fit what we witness. Someone doesn't call and we know it means they are forgetful, or they are angry, or we were supposed to call them. There's traffic on the bridge, so it means it is rush hour, or I'll be late. We get through our day by imposing meaning on our world -- by inventing stories to explain what we perceive.

But that day there was no rationalizing anything. There was no internal voice narrating any story for me. The city was on autopilot. We all shared an experience which left no room for internal commentaries.
Last year during the High Holy Days, I remember discussing how the sound of the Shofar calls all Jews back to Sinai, to the moment of revelation. And how we all stand at Mt. Sinai and hear the revelation of Torah for the first time, again and again. It is the greatest of spiritual good. A time when an entire people turn as one to God; and God, as One, turns to his people.

Whenever I hear someone speak of 9/11, or watch video of the towers, I hear a different Shofar. Its blast calls me back to that day, and I am again standing at the corner of Chambers and Church Street -- a witness to the instant infliction of pain, suffering, death, and mourning on a terrible scale. A time when an entire nation - a nation of martyrs - was murdered in God's name.

After 9/11 our rabbi, like many of the clergy, spoke of a new and fuller understanding of the need to eradicate all sources of hatred and evil in our world. She spoke of the preciousness of each and every life; and called on us to experience a new appreciation of every night we're able to kiss and hold our loved ones. A beautiful thought. But the reality is that after a short amount of time passes we tend to ignore the value each moment of life possesses and concentrate on just getting through the next moment, just waiting for the work day to end or for the kids to go to sleep.

And so, what does this all mean? What have we learned in the last eleven years? For all of us who were able to walk away from 9/11, how have our lives changed? There has to be meaning in so many deaths. Something other than shock over the immense waste of life, or anger with people who would do such a terrible thing. I find myself thinking about all those people who died and how the whole story of 9/11 has been laid out in great detail for us, like some great midrash, demanding that we find meaning -- some truth -- in the those terrible events.

So here is my midrash - my story. On Yom Kippur Jews give up life affirming actions - procreation, showering, eating and drinking. It is a day when we are not permitted to pretend we're immortal -- that death is someone else's problem. Instead, we come together as a community and we rehearse our deaths. And while we are not martyrs; while we are only a group of people pretending that we can prepare for death, that is no small thing. It is no small thing to stand as witnesses for each other. It is no small thing to come together as one people and acknowledge the innate value and fragility of life. It is no small thing to acknowledge that our own lives are grass in the wind - fleeting and at the same time infinitely precious.

We know that he who saves one life it is as if he saved a universe. And we know we are but no more than ashes and dust. September 11 will always call me back to these two truths. It is a Shofar blast that ingrains this paradox in my bones and blood.

How Things Can Spin Out of Control Review-wise.

2012-09-09T07:45:00.001-07:00

Here's a perfect example of how things spin out of control due to over-zealous reviewers.

I received this review on I've Been Deader.

From BookLover33
(4 stars)
"I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Was it the greatest book I ever read? No. But a fun read. Highly recommend!"

Okay. So my biggest fan. But I didn't want her to feel ignored, so I left the following comment:

"At first I wasn't going to respond to this, but it is obvious to me that you read too much. Many people only read less than one or two books a year and if they read mine, it is very possible that "I've Been Deader" would be the greatest book they ever read. Please try to think before you post next time. Thank you."

I figured that would be the end of it. But two hours later, the same reviewer responded:

"Excuse me??"

I was going to let it go, but it gnawed at me all day. So after dinner I logged back on:

[Splinker]
'I was surprised that your reply was a one word bit of snark rather than an apology. I have to question whether you actually read my book or if perhaps you have some other agenda. Either way, please take your Negative Nancy attitude somewhere else. I did not spend several hours of my long weekend writing a novel just so you could shit all over it!
Thank you."

Now, I know you're thinking: 'That's a reasonable request. I'm sure that was the end of it." Unfortunately, you'd be wrong. Ten minutes later "another" reviewer posted a comment.

[PJ Bottoms]
You are an author, not God. You don't get to give a thumbs up or thumbs down to a reviewer's comment. Your job is to shut up and write. I haven't read your book and now I never will. You are going on my "Would rather poke myself in the eye" shelf. Shame on you."

Well, this gave me pause. I certainly never intended to alienate anyone while expressing my opinion and I thought maybe I just wasn't making myself clear to the reviewer or this new person. It was probably time for some damage control.

[Splinker]
"Fuck off. If you were a real reader, you wouldn't be trolling my book page looking for an excuse to trash my novel. Maybe you need to step back, take a breath, and ask yourself why you are behaving like such a jerk. I understand that my book, no matter how well-written, won't be for everyone. But the reviewer did not have to say it wasn't the greatest thing she had ever read. I mean, how does that help anyone? Do we know what else she's read? Or if she has trouble understanding more detailed stories like mine? Or maybe she's just a liar. I wonder what she tells her husband when she goes out at night!

I am not trying to insult either of you idiots. All I ask is that next time you take a minute and think before you post."

That's where we left it. I'll let you know when I get an apology.

The Amazon Review Mafia. I know a guy who knows a guy.

2012-09-05T10:03:00.002-07:00

Okay. First things first. I'm running low on Hormel Chili and Applebees won't let me take any more free after dinner mints. So please, stop what you're doing and go buy "I've Been Deader." This blog post will be here when you get back and, it isn't going to be anything special anyway.

Feed my need, and watch Fred Feed. http://tinyurl.com/zombuyme

Now that that's out of the way.

As some of you may know, there has been talk recently about Goodreads review bullies and an Amazon Review Mafia. Allegations of a group of people who seek out authors they don't agree with and then attack them on their book's website or Amazon page. Obviously, this is happening to some extent. But should we care?

Here is what I observed on the Amazon forums. I can't really speak for Goodreads, because their Badly Behaving Author group, is private and for some reason they won't let me in. But there's serious overlap with the cast of characters and they seem to feed on each other's anger.

WE KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE!

First, a word about the victims. Authors. The authors that the target of ARM attacks are generally not the most behaved lot. You have have read recent news stories about big time writers who pretend to be someone else by creating what is known as a "sock puppet" and leave nasty reviews on their competitor's book. I know it sounds like fun, but people have a problem with this type of behavior. Well, imagine that behavior multiplied by several magnitude and you get an idea of what a lot of self-published authors are up to. There are no innocents in this little drama. That being said, there does seem to be concerted actions by a core group of reviewers, focused on attacking these authors and doing so in a way that impacts their book without actually reviewing or apparently reading the book.

Here's what's happening:

There seems always to be a thread on the Amazon Kindle Book Forum (KBF), that deals with "Badly Behaving Authors." The thread is filled with about half a dozen posters who search out links to books where the author has done one or more of the following:

1. Left a review of his own book (Guilty, but I assure you it was all in good fun).

2. Had friends and family leave shill reviews or engaged in swap reviews with another writer.

3. Spammed, or self-promoted their book in a place that Amazon says they can't (Guilty).

4. Responded poorly to a negative review of their book. (Joe Blow gives a two star review of my book and I comment on the review, calling Joe Blow a jerk).

I'll use example 4, since this seems to generate the most inappropriate comments from essentially the same group of people.

Here's what happens. Someone writes a book. Probably not a great book. Joe Blow buys the book, doesn't love it, and leaves a review that says "I didn't love it."

"Too many POV shifts and the ending was predictable. Two stars!"

Then the author comments on the review, saying "You didn't love it because you only read 30 pages and why is this your only 2 star review?? You're a dope."

"NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME! THAT'S WHY I WRITE!"

Then, someone on the BBA thread discovers the authors comment, posts about it, and before you know it, there are a string of comments defending the reviewer and attacking the author. Usually, the author not being the brightest bulb in the patch, continues to argue and things quickly spiral out of control.

In the end, the author is blacklisted on the Goodreads, BBA site, where everyone puts the book on their "Do Not Read" shelf, and the BBA thread posters on Amazon spend a few pages dissecting what they did and how terrible so many writers are.

Now, as you may also know, Dougie Brimson, a writer from the UK, is stirring the pot over this and causing no end trouble over at Amazon and a webpage called "STGRB" (Stop the GoodReads Bullies) is attacking the reviewers who are engaging in this type of behavior, or worse.

In the end, literary apocalypse.

(Where did everybody go?)

So, my conclusion is that there certainly is an organized group of people who are committed to harming the reputations of authors they feel deserve it. I'm not saying they pay dues or anything. But they know what they know and they support each other in their quest.

Of course, the easiest way to resolve this problem is to refrain from engaging in bad behavior. If you have a book and someone writes a negative review, shut up. You won't be doing yourself any favors by arguing. If you are going to put up fake reviews, be prepared to be called out on them. And when you get caught, don't respond. Just delete.

Yes, there is a Review Mafia. Yes, they seem to have a lot of time on their hands and enjoy overreacting. Yes, they often inflame a situation that would have died down on its own. But in the end, they don't have a book to sell. So shut up and get writing.

Any thoughts? Comments? Haiku?

"I'VE BEEN DEADER: THE MUSICAL!" II

2012-08-01T11:32:00.001-07:00

SPLINKER:

And now, without further ado, let’s get this show on the road!

Cue lights!

Cue music!

And let the massacre – er, the fun, the FUN – begin!

=======================================================

CURTAINS OPEN TO REVEAL ENTIRE CAST OF BREATHERS AND ZOMBIES

[Oklahoma! – Oklahoma!] (Richard Maitland)

ALL:

I – I – I – I’ve Been Deader !
A show of comedy and horror
Why not come along
And join in our song
And then come back again tomorror !

Oh – oh – oh – Fred’s a Zombie !
He’ll eat your heart, your liver and your lungs.
And he’ll taste your gore
Then go back for more
His feasting has only just begun !

We know you’ll enjoy our little show
Pitching Breathers ’gainst Zombies – deadly foes!

We’ll make you – cheer (YAH !)
For Zombies that you’d – fear (YAH !)
For though you may be Brea–thers
Fred the Zombie’s OK !

(Zombies. Zombies. Zombies. Zombies...)

We know you’ll love this story about Fred
Even though the folk you’ll meet are all Undead !

We’ll make you – cheer (YAH !)
For Zombies that you’d – fear (YAH !)
For though you may be Brea–thers
Fred the Zombie’s OK !

Zed – Oh – Em – Bee – Eye – Ee – Ess
We all love Zombies ! – YAH !

B.Lloyd

CAST STANDS AROUND, MILKING APPLAUSE. A MURMUR IS HEARD: “Do we, uh, just stay here? Weren’t we supposed to go offstage now?” FOLLOWED BY: “I’m sure Mr Dadoo said we ought to just stay put while Splinker waffled on a bit.” AND “Well, I heard we came off now, and there’d be chance of a bun and a cup of O-rhesus negative before we were needed again. I think the Breathers come on next”

(whisper offstage) Get off! Just bloody get off!

AudreyB

Oooh. I'm so excited to be here for this show. I've read it's marvelous. (fans self with program)

Richard Maitland

(Backstage tannoy: Dadoo, B., -- anybody! Get that woman off the stage and seated in the audience, please.

B.Lloyd

(Backstage tannoy : calling stagehands and Zombie Herder, calling stagehands and Zombie Herder, remove female from stage, we have a female intruder on stage, repeat, please remove)

Richard Maitland

SPLINKER:

Our tale tonight is set in England, in the near future. First there was the Olympics, then came the Apocalypse. Frankly, there was a bit of a blurring between the two events – losing finalists at the Olympics began disappearing at an astonishing rate – and, on the rare occasion a Brit was on the podium, anyone failing to sing the words of the National Anthem simply vanished. No one’s seen Wayne Rooney since Euro 2012. In that year, 2012, suspicions that the dead were reanimating came firstly with Englebert Humperdink at the Eurovision Song Contest, and confirmed at the Jubilee Concert by the appearance of Sir Cliff – a man of 72 with the ageless features of an embalmed corpse.

Once the Zombies grew in strength, they formed bands of the Undead [music sting] – not those sorts of bands – driving the living – the Breathers – indoors. Terrified of going out for fear of being bitten, they had only the State broadcaster for entertainment. But when Zombies over-ran Television Centre, turning the BBC from the British Broadcasting Corporation into the Breathers’ Brains Consumption organisation, people switched off the TV and listened to the radio instead. Although that, too, was also under Zombie control.....

SCENE I. THE LIGHTS COME UP ON A BREATHER SITTING-ROOM. A COSY, DOMESTIC SCENE. THREE FLYING DUCKS ON A WALL. ON A SIDEBOARD, A SMALL WIRELESS SET. UNINTELLIGIBLE GIBBERISH AND “BRRAAIINNSSS!”
COMES FROM THE RADIO.

THREE BREATHERS ARE SEATED IN WING ARMCHAIRS: FATHER, MOTHER AND DAUGHTER ALETA. FATHER IS DRESSED IN BEIGE TROUSERS AND A YELLOW KNITTED CARDIGAN. HE HAS A THICK BLACK MOUSTACHE AND SMOKES A PIPE. MOTHER IS A PLUMP DOWDY WOMAN. SHE IS KNITTING. ALETA – A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG GIRL IN HER EARLY TWENTIES – IS READING A MAGAZINE.

FATHER GETS UP, SWITCHES OFF RADIO AND COMES DOWNSTAGE TO DIRECTLY ADDRESS THE AUDIENCE.

[Radio Gaga] (Richard Maitland)

FATHER:
We sit at home, in dread and fright
Hiding from the Zombies’ bite
For every day outside the door
The living and the Undead war

MOTHER/ALETA: (looking up momentarily) Undead war.

FATHER:
BBC TV don’t care a jot
The service has all gone to pot
So everything we need to know
Now comes from Zombie radio

MOTHER/ALETA: Radio.

FATHER:
The latest Zombie victories and a
Stream of Zombie propaganda
Is all we hear. The news distorted
With only Breathers’ deaths reported
Like the demise of Jeremy Paxman
Felled by the blow of a Zombie axeman
Radio.

MOTHER/ALETA: Radio.

FATHER:
All we hear is Radio Zombie
Radio goo goo, Radio ga ga
All we hear is Radio Zombie
Radio goo goo, Radio ga ga
Radio, what’s new?
Radio, tell us it’s not true.

FATHER IS NOW STRIDING AROUND THE STAGE LIKE FREDDIE MERCURY.

We’re forced to lead a hunted life
Surrounded by this Zombie strife
Each day another Breather dies
Their brains made into Zombie pies.

We’re lost for news; no one explains
Why Zombies want to eat our brains
We only know they find us toothsome
In a way that’s particularly gruesome
And so we live in abject fear
Cos all we ever get to hear is radio

MOTHER/ALETA: Radio.

OK, AUTHONOMY BOYS AND GIRLS – GET THOSE HANDCLAPS GOING!

Richard Maitland

ALL:

All we hear is Radio Zombie
Radio goo goo, Radio ga ga
All we hear is Radio Zombie
Radio goo goo, Radio ga ga.
Radio, what’s new?
Radio, tell us it’s not true.

MOTHER SITS DOWN AND RESUMES KNITTING. FATHER RESUMES SEAT AND TAKES UP HIS PIPE AND THE PAPER. ALL IS TRANQUIL. ALETA DISAPPEARS MOMENTARILY, AND RETURNS, WEARING HER COAT.

FATHER: Where do you think you’re going?

ALETA: Out.

FATHER: Out where?

ALETA: Just out. I can’t stay cooped up day after day. I’m going mad.

MOTHER: Ooh, no, you mustn’t. It’s not safe. Is it, dear?

FATHER: No, it’s not. Aleta, take off your coat and sit down. You’re going
nowhere.

ALETA: Oh, Daddy, don’t fuss. I’m sure it’s perfectly all right if you’re careful. And as long as you go out in a group, you’re quite safe.

(Points to small trophy on sideboard). I won that every year for three consecutive Sports Days, if you remember. I know it’s a good while since then, and I’m no Usain Bolt, but I still fancy my chances over that of a Zombie if it comes to a 100-yard sprint. Besides, they only come out at night.

MOTHER: Nonsense! I heard only last week a woman was bitten outside theHampstead Deli in broad daylight. Only two tiny holes in her neck, but it was too lateto save her. She’d already started to reanimate, so they had to put her down. (sighs) I’ve no idea who ended up with her bag of groceries.

FATHER: She wasn’t ripped to pieces? Eviscerated? Head torn off? Brains sucked out?

MOTHER: No. You get a nicer class of Zombie in Hampstead.

ALETA: Just two puncture holes? Can’t you tell the difference between a Zombie attack and one made by Vampires?

MOTHER: What! Don’t we have enough troubles? Have we got to put up withVampires now? Neighbourhood’s going to pot! (she knits furiously)

ALETA: You know, Mum, I can’t help feeling sorry for the Zombies. First they were friends; now they’re fiends. We forget they were once our neighbours and workmates. And people we loved – like… like Fred, for instance.

MOTHER: Is that the posh one who used to write you poems? Nice boy. Never understood why he chose to live in the East End.

ALETA: I heard he got bitten at a funeral. Apparently they were just about to lower the coffin into the grave when they heard this frantic knocking. Fred and the vicar managed to get the lid off, and the corpse sat up and said, “How very dare you!” and
lunged at him.

MOTHER: Nasty.

ALETA: I don’t know what happened after that. All I know is that I’ve lost the only boy I’ve ever really fancied.

FRONT DOORBELL RINGS. FATHER GOES TO ANSWER IT.

ALETA: Mum, I promise to be careful. I’ve no intention of becoming a victim. But I must go out for a breath of fresh air. I’ll nip out the back way. Won’t be long.

FATHER RE-ENTERS WITH A NEIGHBOUR

FATHER: Where’s Aleta?

MOTHER: She went out, dear. She was determined. But she’ll be all right. She’s got a sensible head on her shoulders.

FATHER: Hmph. And how long before it’s torn off?

MOTHER: I don’t think she’ll come to any harm, dear.

NEIGHBOUR: I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mrs H. I bring bad news, I’m afraid. They’re on the move – in broad daylight!

STAY TUNED FOR MORE!!

In the meantime, why not sit back, relax, open a can of beer and read a little something?

Click here, well not here, but right here, Inside My Shorts, Baby!

I've Been Deader: The Musical!

2012-07-30T06:32:00.002-07:00

To borrow an expression from my friends on the wrong side of the pond, I am just chuffed that a few loony individuals took the time to put together a rather wonderful musical based on Fred and Aleta, two characters in "I've Been Deader". Unfortunately, the theater in which the musical was scheduled to play is concerned that they won't have enough seating to hold everyone who wants to see the show. That, and the roof apparently fell in. But England's loss is your gain! Because Richard Maitland, with an extraordinary amount of help from Tom Andrews, Robert Gracie, B. Lloyd, and others, have agreed to let me post the musical here!

It's rather long, so I'll be posting it in segments, once a week or more.

Without further Ado (did I mention you can now buy "I've Been Deader" on Amazon.com, both in e-book and paperback? Yes? Okay then.).

Richard Maitland

Welcome to the Authonomy Theatre! In celebration of National Zombie Day and publication by Taylor Street Publishing of Splinker's novel -- a near-perfect blend of comedy and horror (as he has so often told us) -- we proudly present:

I'VE BEEN DEADER -- THE MUSICAL!

============================================================================

DRUM ROLL. SAFETY CURTAIN RAISED…..

OVERTURE: TO ONE SIDE OF THE APRON OF THE STAGE, A FIVE-PIECE BAND: KEYBOARD PLAYER, DRUMMER, SAXOPHONIST AND TWO GUITARISTS. ALL ARE ZOMBIES IN VARYING STATES OF DECAY.

THE VOCALIST – ZOMBIE DADOO – CALLS THE LEAD-IN:

One – two – three – four!

[Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band] (B. Lloyd)

DADOO:
It was twenty years ago today
Zombie Splinker taught the band to play
We sing songs in the Zombie style
But they’re guaranteed to raise a smile.
So may I introduce to you
Some members of the Living Dead?
The Chorus of the Hungry Brains Club Band!

SIX ZOMBIES SHUFFLE ONTO THE STAGE, IN CLOSE FORMATION, LIKE ‘MADNESS’

CHORUS:
We’re Zombie Splinker’s Hungry Brains Club Band
We hope you will enjoy the show.
We’re Zombie Splinker’s Hungry Brains Club Band
Sit back and watch the life blood flow.
Zombie Splinker’s Hungry, Zombie Splinker’s Hungry
Zombie Splinker’s Hungry Brains Club Band!

It’s wonderful to be here,
It’s certainly a thrill
You’re such a tasty-looking crowd
We’d like to take you home for tea
We’d love to take you home.

DADOO:
I don’t really want to stop the show
But I thought you might like to know
The Narrator’s gonna sing a song
And he wants you all to sing along
He’s gonna tell you all a story
— It’s the Zombie ‘take’ on West Side Gory!
It’s Splinker of the Hungry Brains Club Band!

B.Lloyd

(A piece of scenery from the wings falls over . . . )

DADOO:

My lords, laydeez and gennelmen, fellow Zombies and Breathers, please give a warm
welcome to tonight’s host and Narrator of the musical extravaganza – Splinker!

ZOMBIE SPLINKER ENTERS. HE IS DRESSED IN RAGGED MOTLEY, AND CARRIES A LARGE RED BOOK WITH “I’VE BEEN DEADER” TOOLED IN GOLD.

[A Wandering Minstrel, I – The Mikado] (B. Lloyd)

SPLINKER:
A wandering Zombie, I
A thing of shred and patches
Of bloody bones and snatches
And dreamy lullaby!
My catalogue is long
Through every passion ranging
And to your humours changing
I tune my supple song! I tune my supple song!

If blood and gutsy sentiment is wanted
I’ve bloody and gutsy ballads cut and dried
For where’er our Zombie banner may be planted
All those beastly Breathers are defied!

DADOO: (shouting) “DEFILED! DEFILED!

SPLINKER:
A wandering Zombie, I
A thing of shreds and patches
Of bloody bones and snatches
And dreamy lullaby!

DADOO:

And what a “dreamy lullaby” Splinker’s written! I refer, of course, to “I’ve Been
Deader” – a near-perfect blend of comedy and horror – and available from Amazon
and downloadable onto your Kindle for a modest sum. Full details on the back of
your programme. “I’ve Been Deader” is a story about… Well, let me explain:

DURING THIS SONG, SPLINKER SETS UP HIS BOOK ON A DAIS ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE STAGE TO THE BAND, AND SETTLES HIMSELF ON A STOOL.

A CAT RUNS ACROSS STAGE, HOTLY PURSUED BY STAGEHAND

(from the wings): Psst! Gerroff! Now! No – other side! OTHER SIDE!

DADOO: (glaring into wings) As I was saying....

[Do-Re-Mi – The Sound of Music] (Richard Maitland)

DADOO:
Let’s start at the very beginning
A very good place to be.
But our beginning’s right at the end
’Cos we’re working back from X Y Zee

CHORUS: We start with Zee

DADOO: Our first little letter just happens to be

CHORUS: Letter Zee.

DADOO: S – T – U – V – W – X – Y — Wait a minute. I’ll make it easier for you.

Z – for Zombies, big or small
O – a Breather’s cry of pain.
M – for Murder – kill them all!
B – a Breather’s lovely brain!
I – a juicy eye tastes good!
E – another squeal of pain.
S – for slash and sup their blood
Which will bring us back to X – Y – Zee – Zee.

DADOO / CHORUS:
Z – for Zombies, cruel and mean
O – for organs in a belly.
M – for mashed-up brains and stuff
B – all blood and bone and jelly.
I – intestines twelve foot long!
E – for ears so stiff and chewy.
S – so sing this Zombie song
Which will eventually drive you screwy!

DADOO:

But writing “I’ve Been Deader” wasn’t easy. Every night, when other Zombies were out biting and killing, Splinker was burning the midnight oil, trying to find the words for his story.

On many nights he went hungry, for the Muse often evaded him. But his friends and fellow Zombies rallied round, and saved him from a fate worse than… No, actually. Being a Zombie is a fate worse than death.

[With a Little Help From My Friends] (B. Lloyd)

SPLINKER:
What did they do when the words wouldn’t come?
Did they stand by and let me dry up?
Lend me your ears and I’ll tell you a tale
And I’ll try not to eat them all up.
No, I got by with a little meat from my friends,
I got high with a little meat from my friends,
I could try with a little meat from my friends.

BREATHER: (from audience) How did you feel when you wrote through the night? Weren’t you hungry being left there all alone?

SPLINKER:
Thanks to their help I was really all right
I had liver and a tasty bone.
Oh, I got by with a little meat from my friends,
I got high with a little meat from my friends,
I could try with a little meat from my friends.

CHORUS: Is it time you were feeding? We’ll bring grub straight to your door.

SPLINKER: Anything that’s still bleeding. I like food dripping with gore.

BERT: Can you believe that’s he’s written a book?
MARY: I knew he had in it him all the time.
SID: What did you see when you had a quick look?
BERT: Dunno – he’d eaten me eyes, the swine !

CAT RUNS BACK ACROSS STAGE, THEN STOPS IN MIDDLE TO WASH ITS FACE. STAGE HAND WANDERS ON, STOPS, GIVES UP AND GOES BACK INTO WINGS

Richard Maitland

SPLINKER:

Based on two characters from “I’ve Been Deader” – the book “wot I wrote” – our musical extravaganza this evening tells the heart-rending story of love between aZombie and a Breather (a still-living person) in post-apocalyptic England.

This is Romeo and Juliet – with no balcony scene, but much more blood, so those of a nervous disposition are advised to log off the site now.

B.Lloyd

CAT RUBS UP AGAINST SPLINKER’S TROUSER LEG

(whisper from wings) Just nudge her offstage.

Richard Maitland

SPLINKER:

There will be a twenty-minute interval, during which fresh meat – er, refreshments – will be available from The Wig & Podium thread.

(whisper offstage) Here, kitty kitty. Here, kitty kitty – got your favourite Whiskas.

SPLINKER:

Orders for post-performance Bloody Marys should be placed during the interval, as preparation of such a popular drink can be a lengthy process, usually necessitating a fight between the bar staff and our vampiric rivals for possession of certain essential ingredients.

SOUND OF FOOD TIN BEING BANGED. CAT PRICKS UP EARS AND WANDERS OFF.

SPLINKER:

And now, without further ado, let’s get this show on the road!

Cue lights!

Cue music!

And let the massacre – er, the fun, the FUN – begin!

=======================================================

Stay Tuned For the Next Installment!

And while you're waiting, why not settle down with a good book?

Click me, Baby!

Stargate Fanfic?

2012-07-28T15:29:00.002-07:00

I don't know a lot about it, but the author of this website is making himself known in influential Internet circles. Check it out. http://www.StargateTheTwins.com/

Celebrate International Zombie Day

2012-07-13T05:35:00.000-07:00

In honor of my new(ish) book,"I've Been Deader," today is International Zombie Day. There's a facebook page and everything! https://www.facebook.com/events/458142407538835/ Anyway, it's a great day to post something about zombies, read my book, or just bite someone you love.

I actually look better in real life. The camera adds ten pounds.

http://tinyurl.com/Shambler

To celebrate this restive occasion, I wrote a little story. I encourage all you bloggers and floggers and write a little something and mention "I've Been Deader." So here's my little undead contribution:

TUCKS

Charlene hated, hated, HATED her curtains. Even before everyone went crazy and left her, she couldn’t stand them. They were gold, with all kinds of circus pictures. Monkey’s, trapeze artists, clowns, seals balancing balls, smiling elephants…

They were okay during daytime, but at night everything moved. From the safety of her bed, she’d stare at the horrid things, barely visible but still there. First, the dancing bear would start moving, then the trapeze artists would start swinging the tiniest bit. And the smiling clown? Well, his smile would grow! That was the creepiest part, thank you very much. And if she waited long enough – stared long enough, a giant, shadowy gorilla would peek out from behind the things. That’s when Charlene would shout for her Daddy.

She knew she was being a baby, but she didn’t care. Better a baby with Daddy there, then a brave little girl with a giant gorilla in her room!

Except now Daddy couldn’t come into her room and sit on the bed until she fell asleep. Daddy had to stay outside with everyone else.

Charlene knew the trick was not to look. Shut the eyes and the curtains were just curtains again. She could even open them for quick looks, as long as she didn’t staring. Staring always got things moving. Her circus liked an audience. ‘But not looking is hard. It’s scary. Scary to look and scary not to look. And maybe dangerous now,’ she thought.

The lights stopped working almost as soon as everyone went crazy and it got dark so early. She ended up going to bed before bedtime because there wasn’t anything to do anymore. So she went to bed at baby time. Even earlier than baby time, really. Charlene felt safer going to her room when there was still a little light. Sometimes, if she was really, really quiet, it would be okay.

But not tonight. The soft clicking started almost as soon as she was under the covers, Pooh Bear safely cradled in her arms. It came from curtains, naturally. That soft clicking, scraping sound. Charlene closed her eyes as tight and pressed her face against Pooh Bear. It made the clicking and scraping go away, but her face got hot and it was hard to breath, so she stopped doing it.

Besides, soon the clicking and scraping were joined by moaning. Not loud, but deep. She could feel it more than hear it at times. It seemed to come up from the bed but Charlene knew it really came from the curtain.

“From behind the curtain,” she whispered. “It’s from outside.” Pooh Bear agreed.

She sat up in bed and risked a look at the curtains. No moving animals or circus clowns tonight. Not yet, anyway. Maybe they were waiting, or watching to see what happens next. ‘Maybe it’s their turn to be the audience.’

She waited for minutes and minutes and minutes. Forever. But the scraping and the clicking and the moaning never went away. “I’m going to go sleep in the television room.” There were windows there of course. But no scary curtains, and maybe no noises. ‘I can pretend to watch TV until I fall asleep.’ Quiet as she could ever be, Charlene slipped out of her covers. Her door was close to her bed and she was through it in a second. She didn’t even have to look at the curtains. Down the dark hall and she was on the stairs. Downstairs could be scary at night, especially now. But at least there would be no moaning. Charlene was halfway down the stairs when she remembered.

‘Pooh Bear!’ Without thinking she turned and quietly ran back to her room, her bare feet silent on the carpet. Pooh was still there. ‘Of course he’s there, silly. He isn’t real.’ Charlene wasn’t a baby. She knew Pooh was just a stuffed animal. But she wasn’t old enough to really know that.

Two quick steps and she was at the bed, Pooh in hand. She turned back to the door and then Pooh, that silly old bear, swung into her Little Mermaid night lamp. Arial teetered on the small end dresser and, when she was sure the world was watching, fell to the floor, making a soft noise, loud as thunder.

The moaning stopped.

The clicking stopped.

All quiet. For one long, forever pause. Nothing.

Then louder. Not clicking now. Rapping. Banging. Like the sound a small bird might make if it flew into a closed window.

Charlene’s feet were two stones now. She wasn’t going anywhere. A larger thud. Then the sound of breaking glass. Night air pushed the curtains out and Charlene swore she could see the clowns and the seals and the dancing bears all run away. More sounds of breaking glass, and of course the moaning. Much louder now.

Something on the other side pulled at one of the curtains. The metal rings holding it to the rod resisted for a few seconds and then gave up their ghosts with a series of popping, ripping sounds. Charlene watched the curtain fall to the floor and moonlight – and something else, spilled into the room, making her pee herself. She dropped poor Pooh Bear and closed her eyes. Closed them forever.

“Hi Daddy.”

THE END

But the undead fun doesn't have to end for you. Shell out a buck and download "I've Been Deader" today. You can even see what's going on "Inside My Shorts" if you simply can't get enough me.

Thanks for reading!

Spooky Spam

2012-07-11T07:59:00.001-07:00

Politics

2012-07-06T07:25:00.002-07:00

At a time when I should be talking about the new release of "I've Been Deader," the fact that it is number six in horror on the Amazon Free In Kindle Store, even as I type, and the pending release date for the prequel, "Take A Breather," I have for some reason decided to talk about politics.

Specifically, I want to discuss the Obama Administration's failure to form an adequate contingency plan for a zombie apocalypse.

Is nothing safe??

We've wasted billions and billions and -- well, you get the idea -- saving the auto industry, making sure people have health care, and access to Mr. Obama's alleged birth certificate (I'm not saying he wasn't born, but I'm not saying he was either); but not one dime to explore the possibility of surviving a zombie apocalypse.

                                     "Obama ignores us at his peril!"

Fortunately, I have spent several minutes designing a response strategy to an undead immigration problem. It consists of three simple steps:

1. Put the in-laws on the ground floor.   This won't help, but it can't hurt.
2. Stock up on batteries, canned goods, and tennis balls. I have it on good authority that zombies love       to chase tennis balls.
3. Read "I've Been Deader." It contains no information of value and will help you kill time if not zombies.

Bite Me Here

Reborn on the Fourth of July!

2012-07-04T06:44:00.001-07:00

"I've Been Deader" has been published by Taylor Street Publishing and is available for download for kindle and etch-a-sketch.

What does this mean to you? How should I know. Other than the fact that you get a whole lot of undead goodness for 99 cents. I mean, what's wrong with these guys? I was charging four dollars and doing fine. Now that I have a publisher, the cost goes down to less than a buck? What am I, another item on the McDonald's kiddie menu?? Click Here

I mean, now the book is properly edited, entering an intense marketing campaign, and incurring all kinds of additional costs, and the price goes down to $.99??? This is a great book, not Waterworld! Or Here

(Not THAT zombie!)

So here's the deal. Because I am a giver by nature, I'm already writing the prequel. I don't believe my readers should be kept waiting for entertainment and who knows when Charlie Sheen is going to have another meltdown. That means it is up to me.

But writing is a social contract. I agree to keep it doing it and you agree to keep ripping me off and paying .99 cents for my blood, sweat and various other bodily fluids that have spattered my monitor while writing or doing other things.

(That's better. Still me, but better)

So don't delay, pay today. Feel free to read it as well, if you're one of those kind of people. And don't forget to leave honest, but glowing reviews on Amazon.com.

You're welcome.

Are you kidding me? Click already!

humans being

2012-06-01T09:34:00.002-07:00

HUMANS BEING Ahab curses God Cusak holds up the boom box A world wept on a stunning september morn. Some danced. A thousand promises made today Some kept. Love discovered Love lost. Two share the Sunday Times. A quiet hour A moment of reflection. A child sleeps We share ourselves We hide from others We hoard our worthless treasures We are selfish but We are there for each other. Sometimes we hold hands on a very narrow bridge.

2012-05-26T08:04:00.001-07:00

PUSH

Warm morning sun, coffee, and that first cigarette -- Jon's three reasons for living. The balcony was large enough for two wicker chairs, a small wrought-iron table, crowded with an ash tray, lighter, Parlimants, and coffee cup. He drew a deep drag on his smoke and closed his eyes. All week

'This is what it's all about. This is why -- '

The sound of the glass door sliding open interrupted his reverie as sure as nails on a chalkboard.

"Hi babe." Delicate fingers brushed his cheek, followed by a soft brush of lips. Jon's eyes closed a little tighter and he felt the rough wicker digging into his palms.

"Morning beautiful." Her hand lingered on his shoulder and dutifully laid his hand over hers. 'Like a well-trained dog.'

Guilt followed on the heels of the thought and Jon gently brought her hand to his lips and was treated to the warm scent of vanilla. 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'

Susan gave a contented sigh. "Beautiful day. I love the sunshine." Jon smiled and kissed her hand again.
"You're up early."
"Mmm."

Susan stepped over to the railing. Jon opened his eyes and was treated to a what three weeks ago would have been a vision. A short, white silk robe that had a tendency to ride up a bit, revealing bronze legs and the promise of carnal pleasures. Even without makeup she was beautiful. Green eyes, white teeth, cheekbones -- the whole nine yards. She leaned on the railing and the rode higher making Jon smile. She made him feel like a shark -- all teeth and hunger. He reached out and slid a hand under her robe and squeezed her ass. Susan rewarded him with a half sigh, half purr.

'What is WRONG with me?'

Jon stood and pressed himself against her; pushed her against the balcony railing.

"So beautiful."

He closed his eyes and nuzzled the back of her neck.

"Mmm.'

Her hair smelled like some kind of flower. Flowers and vanilla, that was Susan. The thought should have made him smile.

'What's wrong with me?'

He took a deep breath.

I'm a hit!

2012-04-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

I won't bore you with reposting reviews from Amazon, goodreads, librarything and penthouse readers. There were several four and five star reviews (and one three and 1/2 erections, just like my highschool. sleepovers -- Don't worry Gregg, I didn't use your name!).

So far everyone who has purchased a copy of "I've Been Deader," a near perfect blend of horror and comedy, has at least pretended to be satisfied, and that's good enough for me.

Don't miss an opportunity to fake satisfaction outside the bedroom. Buy "I've Been Deader" today!

Click me, baby!

EGG HUNT!

2012-04-20T05:21:00.002-07:00

Charlene remained flat on the ground, pressed against the wall of the Kansas Children’s Home. Hidden by a gigantic holly bush, the oldest living thing at the orphanage; its thorny leaves scratched at the back of her neck. The rule was no moving until the third Easter egg. She couldn’t see Eddie or the remaining children, but the occasional scrape of feet on tarmac confirmed they were still on the roof. Wilbur, however, she saw just fine.

‘This whole thing is just… stupid.’ Wilbur stood about sixty feet away, next to the rusty swing set. He swayed back and forth on his feet, face turned up to the sky. Charlene had seen them do this kind of thing before. Eddie called it “tuning out,” but Charlene called it “Z” time. Partly because she thought this was the closest thing zombies did to sleeping; but mostly because she knew it drove Eddie crazy. Eddie always had to be right about everything.

‘He thinks being fourteen makes him king of the Home.’

It was Eddie’s idea to celebrate Easter with the egg hunt and to Charlene’s surprise the other kids didn’t say anything. ‘That’s not true. They liked the idea.’ This never would have happened two weeks ago, but things had gone from “Night of the Living Dead” to “Lord of the Flies” since then, and Eddie was no longer just a 14-year old dick. Eddie was trouble.

The third and last “egg” bounced off of Wilbur’s leg and rolled just a few feet away. It was painted bright yellow with little blue circles. Charlene sucked in her breath.

“Shit.”

Wilbur, still in Z-time, paid it no mind. He’d been a short, chubby, mean man before. Charlene guessed he weighed a few pounds less now. Her eyes fixed on Wilbur’s hands. The fingernails kept growing on the undead and Wilbur was sporting some beauties. They must have been two inches long, all of them. Not a broken nail in the bunch. They looked like weapons.

Three eggs: One at Wilbur’s feet; the bright red egg on the grass by the tether ball pole (no ball of course) at the far end of the playground; the third, out of sight somewhere to the left. They weren’t real eggs. Eggs were a rarity even before the zombies. Now they were more precious than gold. These Easter Eggs were rocks.

Three eggs, one tuned out zombie and a lot of open ground. ‘That’s not so bad. Easy peasy.’ But in the back of her mind, Charlene thought ‘Stupid.’ Stupid for opening her big mouth and showing up Eddie in front of the others. But not stupid for wanting to leave.

They couldn’t stay here forever. Wilbur was the only zombie in the playground now, but he wasn’t the only shambling neighbor. Not by a long shot. Others came and went, but more seemed to be sticking around lately, wandering in the visitor’s parking lot (getting more use after the apocalypse than before). At least they hadn’t seen any undead children lately. Charlene shuddered. The children were FAST. They didn’t shamble, they ran. Most had left with the group that had attacked the orphanage, including Emma. Charlene blinked away unshed tears and put Emma out of her mind for the moment.

She wanted to leave, so Eddie wanted to stay of course. “We have beds, food and the doors lock. We should stay and wait for help.” Charlene wanted to smash his face in.

“We don’t have a lot of food. And every day more of those things pop up. If we leave now, we can be in Little Falls in three hours. There’s a supermarket there. And police, probably.”

She wasn’t sure about that last part, but she wanted to believe it. Had to believe it.

So they argued until Eddie tumbled upon the idea of the egg hunt. If she could grab all three eggs and make it back to the dormitory, Eddie and the others would go. If she didn’t make it…

Charlene was horrified to hear herself saying “Deal!” although the shocked disbelief on Eddie’s pimply face almost made it worth it. Almost.

‘Stupid’.

Before she could talk herself into living underneath the Holly tree, Charlene sprinted onto the playground.

Shouting from the roof behind her. Charlene ran to the tetherball pole, giving Wilbur a wide berth. She could see the front of him now. His collared shirt unbuttoned and stained with God knew what. Something dark hung over his belt and Charlene almost lost her footing.

‘That’s intestine’.

Something bounced off the asphalt to her left as she reached the grass at the far end.

“Almost!” Eddie hooted. “First one to hit her gets pudding with dinner tonight!”

Still running, she bent and snatched the red ‘egg’, shoved it into her pocket and started for the egg by Wilbur’s feet. With all the yelling – ‘what a douchebag’—she was terrified Wilbur would wake up. Better to get it done with now and then take her time looking for the last egg.

Wilbur stood, quiet as a lamb, 30 feet away.

“Easypeasy.”

Charlene circled a bit and approach from behind. She stopped a few feet from the egg. If Wilbur took it in what was left of his mind to start shambling, she wanted it to be now, with his backed turned to her, rather than with her bent over with her back turned to him.

More rocks landed around her, but she ignored them. They’d have to get pretty damn lucky to hit her from here.

“Hey. Wilbur. Hey.” Nothing.

She took a deep breath and went for the egg. She grabbed it easily and kept running. Then one of the kids got lucky.

****

Charlene wandered aimlessly. From swing set, to dormitory, the yellow rock still clutched in her hand. It was dark and she smelled food in the building. It smelled good. It smelled like Eddie.

She was so hungry.

And she was fast.

HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED

2012-04-10T06:52:00.001-07:00

President Dobbs looked a lot cheerier than he felt. Or ever was, for that matter. Cursed or blessed with cherub cheeks, Kris Kringle laugh lines, merry eyes and just enough fat to make him look honest, he gave off an aura of accessibility and friendly empathy.
“Shut the fuck up for one goddamned minute, for Christ’s sake, and let me see if I got this straight!”

The bureaucratic murmuring stopped, treating Dobbs to a blessed moment of silence. They were in the “War Room,” as his predecessors had named it. Although these days war was more the norm than the exception and he thought it naïve to keep the name limited to the one room. Two of the walls had large maps of the world, mostly for show these days. Two huge television screens made up the third and fourth walls. There were no windows.

Taking up both screens at the moment was Mother Earth herself, seen in all her glory from a whole bunch of miles away and Dobbs was hard pressed to think of anything he could care less of a shit about.

“A satellite has left orbit and is going to crash somewhere –

“Not the satellite sir, just its payload.” Paul Reinman, NASA geek extraordinaire, continued. “What I mean, Mr. President, is that the satellite itself is still in a stable orbit. It’s the detachable pod with -- “

“I know what you mean, Paul,” Dobbs interrupted right back. The thing’s crashing into earth as we speak, so I think calling it fucking ‘detachable’ is a bit redundant. Now, if you don’t mind?” For a second Reinman looked like he was actually going to continue, but thought better of it at the last instant.

Thank you, Jesus.“ A pod has detached itself – don’t say it, Paul -- and is going to crash somewhere in the Continental U.S., three weeks from today.”

“Sir.”
Stop the presses; Dr. Reinman had something to add. “Yes Paul?”

“The pod itself won’t be entering the atmosphere for months. It’s the pod’s contents that will be making landfall in three weeks."

“Paul, does the fact that it's the pod’s contents, rather than the pod itself, plummeting to earth, even as you interrupt me, decrease the chances of millions dying before Thanksgiving?”

Dr. Reinman glanced around the room looking for a sympathetic face and found none. “No Sir.”

“Then please, shut the fuck up and let me continue. Thank you.” The President shut his eyes for a moment and took a calming breath.." A goddamned detachable pod has detached itself from a goddamned satellite and it’s going to shit the apocalypse all over the goddamned U.S. of fucking A. Does that about sum it up gentleman?" Proving that the DNA pool of the Tea Party was shallow but not empty, the room remained silent. “I’m in office for six months and today I wake up in a Michael Criteon novel,” he muttered. “Tom!”
Defense secretary Thomas Manzo looked up from his papers. He was older, fatter and much less cheery looking that Dobbs.

“Mr. President. Back in 1982, the CIA, as well as NSA, received credible information that Saddam Hussien had obtained various biological agents of weapon grade quality. Anthrax, small pox, Ebola-C, and others.”

“Didn’t he obtain those from us?”

“Yes sir. Which is why we had little trouble verifying the information,” Tom continued. “At the time the administration felt that Saddam Hussein was a reliable ally, but he later proved to be difficult.”

Dobbs raised his eyebrows. “Ya think?”

“Yes sir. Under a ‘non-existing’ Executive Directive, President Clinton approved funding for continued R&D on a few biological weapons, despite the 1972 ban on developing, producing and stockpiling biological and Toxin weapons.”

Dobbs rolled his eyes. “Thank you for that legal opinion, counseler. Get on with it.”

“Yes sir. The result was Zygote3. A relatively hardy bacteria that thrives on inert material until introduced into a living host. It can remain dormant for excessive periods of time and needs only oxygen and hemoglobin to reproduce, which it does at an extraordinary rate –

“Blah blah blah. I read the back of the cereal box. It alters the cell structure of animals, turning them “inert,” but mobile. Now listen to me very carefully, Tom. What, the fuck, does that mean?”

“Yes Mr. President. What it means, sir, is that once infected, the body ceases to live but doesn’t die. Not exactly. That is, it continues to move in order to hunt. Zygote3 kills the host, but it needs living tissue to thrive. So the host is preserved to the extent that it’s able to hunt and ingest living tissue. When the host attacks a living organism, the tissue, once ingested, provides the bacteria what it needs to thrive and the organism that was bitten becomes infected.

“Fine,” Dobbs interrupted. Sounds like a lot of work to kill a few enemies, but whatever. So now this stuff is headed to earth. How much?”

“Twelve hundred nodes, sir.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Dobbs growled.

“Sir. In order for Z-3 to be effective, it needs to be in a living host. I know 1,200 sounds like a lot, but the chances of any of these hitting a living organism are slim to none. Assuming any even survive re-entry.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now the bad news.”

“Yes sir. It’s going to be very difficult to retrieve all – or any – of the bacteria nodes, because they were encased in what for all purposes looks like a small rock. I mean, they are perfectly round so there's no mistaking them for actual rocks, but imagine trying to find 1,200 gray marbles scattered throughout the United States and you have an idea of the enormity of the task.”

Dobbs shut his eyes again. “Super. How long will the virus remain active without a host?”

“Well, we don’t know sir. All samples were put in orbit before tests were completed. The thinking at the time was – well, I’m not clear on exactly what the thinking was, sir.”

“Great. Okay. Assume we win the apocalyptic lotto and one or more people become infected. How fast can or will this thing spread?”

Tom Manzo cleared his throat. “Again, sir, we can’t be sure. It only spreads by direct contact and that’s not an effective method of transfer. It was designed to terrify as much as kill. But if we catch a bad break and don’t contain it in time, it could be severe. Possible projections are in the synopsis.”

Dobbs glanced at the paper, again. “Yay. So. Possible plague of biblical proportions forcasted for Thanksgiving, but football season and turkey continue to remain likely.

“Yes sir.”

“Could be worse.”

There are people out there who aren't me.

2012-04-06T21:38:00.001-07:00

Your kids will love this novel and you can download it for free over the next couple of days. (You'll probably enjoy the book as well, even if it isn't mine).

NeverDark

Look what I found on E-Bay!!

2012-04-05T14:05:00.001-07:00

Sadly, Mr. Furley has fallen on hard times. The bank forclosed on his apartment building, and his wife finally left him for a face massager named tony.
He's crying on the inside.
And so, like so many superstars who have fallen on hard times, Mr. Furley has been selling off memorbelia from his past to the highest bidder.   Recently, he made $250.00, plus 12 twofor coupons at Outback Steak house by selling a pair of Andy Griffith's underwear.
Keep Out Otis!
But greed knows no bounds, and America's favorite landlord recently returned to the auction block with entertainment gold. Specifically, the last, unfinished script of the hit TV show, Three's Company. Fortunately for us, I was able to obtain a portion of the script simply by making the whole thing up. And here it is:
                                         THREE'S COMPANY - Episode XXXIII
                                                                "Eat Me"
Jack is making a sandwhich in the kitchen with Janet, who is leaning against the counter reading a magazine. Chrissy is about to walk into the kitchen but pauses on the other side of the door when she hears Jack and Janet talking.

Jack (taking a salami from the fridge): "look at the size of this thing"

Janet looks up from her magazine: "yum. that looks delicious. Give me some of that"

Jack hands the salami to Janet: "just hold it for a second. Better use both hands. Its pretty big and greasy."
what, what WHAT?!?!?

Janet takes the salami while jack goes back to the fridge: "I'll say. I don't think I've ever held one this thick before!"

Cut to Chrissy making a horrified face.
Cut back to Janet. She starts to gnaw at the casing to try to unravel it.

Jack: Janet! Don't use your teeth!

Cut to Chrissy looking even more horrified....

Cut back to kitchen
Jack takes out a knife: how much do you want?

Janet: just a little. Its a bit salty for my taste.

Jack begins slicing as janet pops a piece of bread in her mouth.: "say when."

Janet starts to speak but chokes a little on the bread: (muffled). Wenn!

Jack: you sure you don't want more?

Janet: (muffled) uhh uhhh
The Moyal was here!

A horrified chrissy bursts into the room only to find Janet on the kitchen floor furiously pleasuring Jack.

Just then Mr. Furley walks into the room. " I KNEW it!" he exclaims.
The rest of the script was written in silver crayon and largely illegible.

Cover Me!

2012-03-29T14:02:00.001-07:00

Coming soon! The prequel!

Sometimes a zombie apocalypse is the least of your problems.

Hunger Games Opening Weekend: The Sordid Truth

2012-03-25T07:11:00.001-07:00

Who cares? It's bad enough my children and a few others read this book before reading "I've Been Deader," a near perfect blend of horror and comedy. Now I find out two of my disowned kinder went off and saw the movie on opening weekend, while I was pulling another excellent nugget out from Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies?

It's one thing to engage in a systematic campaign to crush the debut of my pre-bestselling novel, I've Been Deader. That is evil but understandable in today's Obamaworld. It is quite another do set out to destroy a man's relationship with his family, all for the sake of ego.

"I will only steal children from the top 5%!"

SPOILER ALERT: I didn't see the movie.

In Suzzane Sommer's book, "The Hunger Games," children are raised in a zombie-free world and every few years are forced to run through the woods shouting "The sky is falling!" over and over until they develop eating disorders. Is this really the message you want to give to your children?

By contrast, "I've Been Deader" tells the story of a wonderful little boy named Timmy, who overlooks the negatives of his undead dad and travels thousands of miles through a zombie infested America (think IKEA only ten thousand times bigger and without the meatballs), in order to save him.

"Hunger Games," from what I can gather by rearranging the letters in the title, is about a pron star named Hung Reams, who sets out on a three week journey to defile several lonely housewives and assorted family pets in suburban America.

                                           "I'll take two. And put them in a brown paper bag, please."

So the choice is clear. Do you want to live in an America where your spouses may be zombies, but are safe from being sexually defiled, without pictures? Or do you want to live in a world without America. A world where children, instead of being sent to school for six blessed hours a day, are set loose in the woods where they can return at any time? The choice is clear.

Yes, like Obama, Ms. Collins has all the money and, to my knowledge, never posted her official birth certificate. Yes, she has a movie deal and, as far as I know, is against lowering the price of gas.   And yes, from what I have been led to believe, she has removed most of the pro communist references in her opening chapters. But she's not fooling anyone.

"Hunger Games" is no near-perfect blend of horror and comedy.   It has no zombies, no zombie weddings, no undead mailmen with small rocks in their heads, no apple pie and no thirteen page deadication to this great country of ours (or yours if you happen to reside on one of the lesser countries).

In the end, there is only one clear choice for the God fearing, honest working, self-deluding people of the world, no matter where they are.

Choose Freedom.
Choose Change.
Choose Stability.
Choose American Values
Choose Inclusiveness
Choose Independence
Choose Community

Choose I've Been Deader.and say NO! to four more sequels.

Because Freedom Isn't Free (and neither am I).

"I've Been Deader" Fights Back!

2012-03-22T09:43:00.000-07:00

Suzanne Collins continues to wage a scrupulous campaign against my book, "I've Been Deader." As you all know, on the very day I released "I've Been Deader" on the general public, I heard about the upcoming release date for the movie "Hunger Games," allegedly based on the book of the same title.

Then I found out my own children, f/k/a 'loved ones,' actually read and enjoyed Hunger Games. Then yesterday I made a pie graph demonstrating that the unwarranted media attention on Hunger Games has had an adverse effect on I've Been Deader sales.

I said PIE GRAPH!!

Had Hunger Games reamined out of the media spot light on my release weekend, my forensic accountant (and cleaning lady) estimates that "I've Been Deader" would have sold an additional seven copies by now. Seven!! That may not mean much to Ms. Hooity Tooity Bestseller, but it means plenty to me. Like Jesus, I am in need of seven disciples (let's face it, you can't name seven on a good day). Seven people to go forth and tell the world how much they enjoyed reading "I've Been Deader," and how it made them want to be better people.

It is for this reason that I am giving away three paperback copies of "I've Been Deader." I want you to spread the Word. To shamble forth into the world and moan. Moan about all the undead goodness to be found in these pages. Moan about the beautiful Aleta, the eaten Aleta. Moan about Timmy, and George Potts and poor whatshername, who is too terrified to stay outside and too claustrophic to stay in.
Moan about it all, until the world starts throwing money at me just to shut us up.

And so, without further ado, I give you the link.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

I've Been Deader

by Adam Sifre

Giveaway ends March 30, 2012.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

You're welcome. Nay, verily you are most welcome.

"I've Been Deader" vs. "Hunger Games"

2012-03-18T15:22:00.002-07:00

I am beginning to understand how Rick Santorum feels.

(Readers, why hast thou forsaken me?)

It's bad enough that Susan Conners stole her name from the Terminator movies, put Hunger Games on some self-serving "Best Seller" list, and turned the book into a major motion picture event, in a shameless and blatant attempt to overshadow the release of "I've Been Deader," but this weekend I found out that two out of three of my children read her books. (You're my favorite Jesse!).

Then I find out that none of them have even read "I've Been Deader."   If that isn't bad enough, I also learned they didn't even buy it!

Anyone who pretends to know me, knows that I do all this for the children. The little bastards are our future after all. I give and I give and I give, like Jesus, asking only that the world acknowledge that I am the way (to kill a few hours on the commute).    Now I find out my own blood has forsaken I've Been Deader and taken to worshiping false idols.

At this point, I'm sure you can feel the tears welling up behind your eyes, maybe a haunting Sara McLachlan song playing in the dusky corners of your minds.   But please, don't pity me. I'm not writing this as a devastated parent seeking pity or a shoulder to cry on.   I only want your money. Not even a lot of it. Just a few dollars. In exchange, I'll give you something far more precious.   The gift of laughter (all sales final).

So stop looking into your hearts and start looking into your purses and wallets.   Take this moment to help a damaged parent heal.

Act now and I'll even put you in the deadication.
Buy "I've Been Deader today." I'll be glad you did. Zom-Buy