Before I begin, I want to thank Charles Millhouse for including me in The Writing Process Blog Hop. I’ve known Chuck for several years, and he was the first independent author I ever met. I had toyed around with the idea of self-publishing for a long time, but Chuck is the pretty much the reason I finally took the plunge. I’m glad that I have the chance to follow his post.
So here it goes:
What am I working on?
I’m currently working on a few things. First and foremost, I’m preparing for the release of my next novel, Nothing Zero. It’s scheduled to be unleashed on February 11. Secondly, I’m reworking bits of the novel I completed as part of NaNoWriMo. Psychopomp needs a lot of love and attention before I can release it in May. Finally I’m mulling over ideas for my third novel. I have a couple of contenders, but nothing definitive. I hope to wrap up the work on Psychopomp this month and fully commit to my next novel at that time.
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I guess the main thing that sets my work apart would be the characters I write about. I tend to gravitate towards characters that are broken in some way. I like writing about the outcasts, the losers and the freaks. People that lead different and alternative lifestyles. I just find writing about them way more intriguing than utilizing a teacher or writer.
Why do I write what I write?
I love horror. I have ever since I first discovered The Movie Channel when I was a little kid. John Carpenter’s The Thing, David Cronenberg’s movies, Friday the 13th, George Romero’s zombie flicks, Nightmare on Elm Street; that stuff absolutely blew my mind. That love for the genre inevitably carried over to my reading habits. Clive Barker, Stephen King, Poppy Z. Brite and Anne Rice. When I finally started writing my own stories, it was only natural I work within the genre.
How does my writing process work?
I don’t do note cards. I don’t do outlines. I don’t really plan in a normal fashion. I get ideas and then think about them. Usually I think about them for a few days, or weeks, and then when I think I have a handle on things, I sit down and write. If I’m lucky, I have a good idea where the story is going. But if I don’t, that’s cool too. I’m happy just stumbling through the plot until the work is done.
Next week these questions will be answered by Chris Weston.
“Chris Weston is a freelance writer, and the author of The Dragon’s Tear. Chris lives in South Florida, and enjoys relaxing with his two dogs. In his spare time, Chris discusses various topics on his website and on his social media. Every week, Chris helps run a local writing group for aspiring authors, which assists from start to finish in a writer’s process.”
The feedback reaching crescendo, Nothing screamed.
Microphone cord wrapped tightly around his forearm, he sank to his knees. At first his screams were atonal wailing, but gradually he formed a sentence. Thrashing wildly, he shrieked the words that haunted his every waking moment for the past week. He didn’t understand what they meant, only they held some deeper meaning not readily apparent. “This is the end of everything,” he cried one final time before he collapsed to the stage.
Lying on his back, Nothing watched the pink and white confetti swirl through the air. Tilting his head to the side, he saw Wraith kick one of the hundreds of black balloons bouncing across the stage. The normally surefooted bassist slipped and crashed to the ground.
Nothing crawled towards Aiden.
Rising to his knees, he stared up at his guitarist.
Head down, Aiden coaxed demonic washes of feedback from his instrument. When he noticed Nothing knelt in front of him, a devilish smile flashed across his cherubic face.
Snatching handfuls of hair, Aiden pulled Nothing’s face towards his crotch and thrust his hips. As Aiden pantomimed fucking his mouth, Nothing grabbed Aiden’s ass. Squeezing tightly, Nothing heard hundreds of excited squeals in the crowd.
When Aiden let his hair go, Nothing theatrically wiped his mouth and staggered to his feet.
Aiden leaned forward, and embraced Nothing. Arching his feet, Nothing found Aiden’s lips. Even though the kiss was now only part of their act, Nothing couldn’t help but remember feelings long forgotten. There was a time when he loved Aiden and Aiden loved him in turn. As their lips parted, Nothing wondered why either of them ever stopped.
Turning away from Nothing, Aiden smashed his guitar against the stage.
Hair in messy tangles, skin lacquered with sweat, eyeliner streaking his face, dress torn and barely clinging to his body and stockings hopelessly shredded, Nothing staggered to the front of the stage. The Red Rock Casino Amphitheatre was sold out. 10,000 kids, all deathly pale and dressed in black raised their hands to the star-filled Las Vegas sky as they chanted the band’s name—his name. Looking at the crowd, Nothing Zero felt alive.
Unfortunately the feeling was fleeting.
The afterglow from his performance starting to slip, Nothing tore the tattered remains of his dress off. With thousands of videos posted to YouTube of him performing the act, he knew everyone in the crowd had already seen him stripped down to his underwear and garters, but that didn’t matter. Without fail, each time he did the striptease, he received a wave of excited squeals as reward. It was enough to make his high last a precious few seconds longer.
When he was alive, Nothing would have done anything to hear those screams. He dreamed of performing with a band for thousands of adoring fans, selling millions of records, posing for magazine covers and filming music videos. But living in rural Ohio, far from the shimmering glamor of New York or Hollywood, he feared his dreams would never come true. He dreaded the thought of being trapped in his small town life, all of his hopes and dreams unfulfilled and his life unnoticed by anyone but the bullies and assholes who lived to abuse him.
But then Nothing died.
Death awoke something dark and terrible inside him. Nothing was reborn as a creature of great power and endless hunger. But most of all, Nothing found himself with everything he dared dream of when he was alive. It was the final night of a sold out tour promoting his third chart-topping album, Nothing should have been elated. He should have felt like a conquering hero as he surveyed the crowd. But staring out at the thousands of adoring kids with their Nothing Zero shirts and screaming for him to throw them his dress, Nothing felt nothing at all.
On February 11th Nothing Zero will finally be released. Its publication marks the end of a very long and difficult road. It also signals an end to this cycle of the Undead Chronicles. I do have other stories in this world to tell, but I want to step away and explore other creative avenues for a while. With that said, here is the synopsis for Nothing Zero:
The third installment of the Undead Chronicles.
Infamous. Rock Star. Vampire.
Everyone knows his name. Nothing Zero is the world’s biggest rock star. He tours the country, bringing his brand of Goth Glam to sold out arenas and amphitheaters. He’s sold millions of records and his latest album may be his biggest commercial success yet.
But what the world doesn’t know is that he’s falling apart.
Nothing’s band hates him, his personal life is a mess and the bloodshed and drug abuse that fills his nights is beginning to consume him. As Nothing struggles to regain control over his life, a forgotten figure from his past returns.
Emilie was among the first vampires created by Nothing, and she hates him for it. She stalks the Hollywood night feeding on her fellow undead. With each successive night, she grows stronger and more powerful. Soon she’ll be able to set her sights on Nothing Zero himself. But killing the rock star isn’t enough. Emilie wants to make sure Nothing Zero will never forget her name again.
NOTHING ZERO contains depictions of explicit sex, gruesome horror and graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.
Here’s the cover art for Nothing Zero, the next full length installment of the Undead Chronicles. The art was provided by Rosaria Battiloro and I couldn’t be happier with the piece. She’s an amazing artist and I’m lucky that she’s been willing to handle the covers for my books. Nothing Zero will be available via Amazon on February 11.
On November 1st, I began work on Haunt Me as part of NaNoWriMo 2013. Haunt Me was meant to represent a shift away from the gore and sex that marked Live Undead and Nothing Zero. It was supposed to be a straightforward supernatural novel for general readers. In a word, it was supposed to be “mainstream”.
Funny how things work out.
One week later, I realized I had made a mistake. Haunt Me wasn’t ready to be written. The concept was there, but the storyline and characters simply weren’t developed enough to support the breakneck pace that NaNoWriMo requires. So I shifted gears. I decided to move away from Haunt Me and toward another book that had been in the back of my head for nearly two years. The book I had originally envisioned as the follow-up to Live Undead. I started writing Psychopomp on November 10th and completed its first draft on November 30th.
Psychopomp is a grim and gritty superhero story; sort of a 90s style comic but in novel form. Blood is shed, limb are severed and hell is literally unleashed on a city. It’s pretty much the antithesis of what I intended Haunt Me to be. Psychopomp is blood soaked and powered by Satan; but it won’t be released for a while. I have unfinished business to take care of first.
Today I start editing Nothing Zero. Weighing in at 90,000 words, Nothing Zero is morbidly obese. I know I’ll need to cut it down to size. Ideally I’ll be able to chop some 10,000-20,000 words out of its bulk. But it’ll take time. I plan to spend the entire month of December working on the first edit, which means January will be dedicated to finalizing the final draft. Currently Nothing Zero is schedule for release on February 11, 2014.
With Nothing Zero keeping me busy, I won’t be able to give Psychopomp the attention it deserves until January. Hopefully I’ll be able to release it in April or May of 2014. But the edit process for it will be much slower, as I intend to start work on my next novel in January as well. Hopefully I’ll be able to walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, but I’ve never tried it before.
I currently have no idea what my next novel will be. I could write the zombie Bigfoot story that’s been floating around in my head for a while. I could tackle a Gothic horror. I could write a slasher novel. Maybe a biker werewolf tale? I might even revisit Haunt Me. Regardless of what I do next, it won’t be for another month. Right now, I have a vampire rock star that needs my attention. He hits the stage on February 11th and I don’t want him to be late.
“If you die, I will die too.”
Tracing his razor across Kimber’s snow white wrist, Adam knew her promise to be true. Teasing the delicate blue of her vein with the blade, Adam kissed her. When their lips parted, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the deep unending misery behind the icy blue of her eyes. In that moment Kimber had never been more perfect.
“I want you to know, I belong to you.” Adam took her hand, razor blade pinched tightly between her delicate fingers, and led it towards his wrist.
“I know.” Kimber pressed the blade in, gently breaking the skin.
Again their eyes met and Adam couldn’t find any trace of apprehension or regret. Not that he expected to. There hadn’t been an idle moment during the past six months where the seventeen year olds hadn’t discussed the act. Be it laying in Kimber’s bed after making love, doing homework in Adam’s room or even curled up on the couch in his parent’s rec room watching The Evil Dead, they inevitably returned to the idea of taking their own lives.
Adam often told Kimber that there was a short in his brain’s wiring. He simply couldn’t experience pleasure or happiness like a normal person. While other boys would celebrate having Adam’s effortless 4.0 average or savor the attention his brooding good looks brought from the girls, Adam simply couldn’t care less. Depression and indifference grew where pleasure and happiness should have taken root.
While Adam’s emotions could be described with a thousand indifferent shades of gray, Kimber experienced the whole rainbow, often swinging from the brightest shades of delirium to the deepest hues of depression in a matter of minutes.
After meeting during their freshman year, it didn’t take long for each of them to realize they had found a partner to help cope with their damaged psyches. But as they opened up, sharing their favorite music, books and movies, they discovered they had far more in common than just their faltering mental health. Joy Division, Kurt Vonnegut and Lucio Fulci finished forging the bond that misery had started. As the days turned into weeks, the weeks piled into months and then the months amassed into years, things couldn’t have been more perfect. They were two miserable kids destined to become miserable adults together.
Then Adam started hearing the voices.
Clawing forward from the dark recesses of his mind, the voices embodied all the hatred and self-loathing that Adam felt. But regardless the obscenity they hissed, the violent action they urged or ugly truth they whispered, Adam resolutely ignored them. He hoped they would eventually sink back into the black pit from which they came.
But his burgeoning psychosis would not be ignored.
No matter how often he ignore them, the voices kept returning. Screaming, growling and hissing. He couldn’t stand hearing them. Growing tired of their abuse, he told Kimber.
When he confessed his troubles, Kimber’s understood his admission to mean only one thing. It was a diagnosis Adam feared, but could never allow himself to believe. Schizophrenia. The word was ugly but the truth it carried was even uglier. The voices would only progressive become worse without medical help. But medical attention meant medication or even hospitalization. Neither were options Adam could live with. They decided they would fight Adam’s condition together.
Less than three months later, they realized it was a fight they could not win.
The voices had grown so disruptive Adam couldn’t ignore them, even when Kimber was around to help him focus on reality. As they stared down the possibility that Adam would be hospitalized, Kimber suggested they take their own lives.
It was a desperate and stupid suggestion, but as the days passed it was one they kept returning to. The thought of taking their own lives was so simple but yet it was somehow deeply profound. They had lived their lives on their own terms and they would end them the same way. In death, they would be together forever.
“Together forever,” Kimber stated.
Pushing the hair from her face, Adam leaned forward. Wanting to taste the warmth of her lips one final time, he kissed her. Soft, fleeting and perfect; it was their love perfectly summarized in a single act. “If we part, my pulse will guide you through,” Adam said. Despite the conviction behind his words, Adam heard his voice falter and fade. It sounded painfully thin and weak. He just hoped Kimber hadn’t heard the same weakness to his words.
“I love you,” she said.
The unending darkness of her eyes never wavered as Adam cut her wrist.
Her blood drizzled in a long languid crimson trail down her wrist and along her hand. Kimber smiled and tenderly stroked Adam’s face. The wetness she left behind was warm and sticky, like paint that had freshly dried.
Now that it was Kimber’s turn, Adam took a deep breath.
The cut was smooth and perfect, Adam barely felt the razor slash his vein. It wasn’t until he felt the warmth of his own blood pulsing down his arm that Adam realized Kimber had followed through.
Slowly exhaling, Adam mentally counted down. He started at sixty. By the time he reached thirty, his head felt hazy and the world started to spin. Kimber blurred into a ghost like presence. He barely felt her hand gripping his own.
After a minute, Adam realized the ghost was gone.
His whole body growing number by the moment, Adam looked around. He found Kimber on the ground and gently consigned himself to the floor right beside her.
The warmth of their collective blood cutting through the numbness of his body, Adam smiled and pulled Kimber close to him. As her body slumped against his own, Adam found a stunning moment of clarity. He could see the two of them on the ground. Neither of them breathing. Motionless, in a dried pool of crimson, they were young and beautiful. Together forever. Feeling his vision growing ever clearer, Adam noticed a shape in the distance.
Kimber’s mother entered the room.