Easily the number one reason I write about zombies is because I’m a whore. Yes, I want the new BMW i8, there it’s out there and I’m not embarrassed to say it: I AM A WHORE!
I wrote horror, no one cared. I wrote fantasy, yawn. I wrote drama, double yawn. I wrote political thrillers, but no one was thrilled. I even wrote the “Great American Novel”, my mom has a box of them in her garage so that I could point to having some sales. We both pretend the box doesn’t exist.
Honestly, I wrote eleven full length novels and took myself out to lunch at McDonalds once a week on the profits.
Then one day my son says: “You should write about zombies. They’re really big.” This is the same son who has only read the cliff notes of my books.
I smirked and with a practiced note of condescension, answered: “Please, I am an author.” I might have also struck a pose that spoke of worldly wisdom and undiscovered genius. How could he even suggest that I write such pedestrian poppycock? The smirk turned into a dismissive laugh and I patted the lad on his head and he went to play his Xbox instead of reading my latest work of art.
I held that smirk for the better part of the day until I happened to see my Visa bill for that month—so many numbers. It was like looking at the doomsday clock in reverse. I still get the chills thinking about that moment. And so later, when everyone was asleep I snuck down to my computer and for once, I used that expensive contraption for more than just downloading increasingly shameful pornography.
With the lights low and the door closed, I typed z.o.m.b.i.e.s—“Mark Tofu is number eleven on Amazon’s horror list!” I cried, outraged. “How’s that possible? And what kind of name is Tofu? He sounds too squishy to write about zombies.”
“His name is Mark Tufo,” my soon-to-be-disinherited son said from the doorway. “He’s what some people call successful. You should try reading his stuff sometime.”
“Precisely,” I replied and then looked up Iocane powder, thinking I would add some to his morning bowl of gruel or whatever it is the maid feeds him. Well, it turns out that Iocane powder isn’t even a real poison, thank you Princess Bride for that lie!
With that disappointment weighing me down I researched all I could about this zombie phenomenon and I learned exactly one thing: you people who read zombies books are bat-crap-crazy!
I suppose it’s poor form to put down my readers but it doesn’t matter because like I said: Bat-crap-crazy! You love everything zombie. You love the Walking Dead and that’s really only just a soap opera(they even had I guy with an eye patch for goodness sakes!) You love the book World War Z( here’s a hint how poor that book really was: when Hollywood made the movie they kept the fact that there were indeed zombies in it and the title, WWZ…and nothing else!)
But the most obvious indictment of all you whack-jobs is that you keep buying my books. That says it all, but hey, like I said, I really want the BMW i8. So, when the nurse comes with the little paper cup with the risperdal, or the seroquel, you just stick that little yellow pill in your cheek and smile big. Or when they say: Who’s ready for their shock treatments? You just tell Nurse Ratched to start with the big Indian and when no one’s looking, download The Apocalypse Crusade 2 because you can’t help it, can you.
You got zombie-fever and the only prescription is more cow-bell…I mean more books by yours truly(and maybe that Tofu guy).
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The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.
Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!
Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!