Fridays Frigths: Lockport Tunnels

Just a thirty minute ride East from Niagara Falls, along the Erie Canal, lay the Lockport Tunnels. Built in the mid eighteen hundreds to supply water power to nearby manufacturers the tunnels were cut from solid stone. At the time safety measures were lacking, and anytime you mix dynamite with the need to finish a project quickly you're bound to make a few mistakes. Of course with dynamite small mistakes have a tendency to quickly develop into larger one. Normally resulting in the death of those involved with the construction.

Lockport Pulp Company, courtesy

Their usefulness replaced by technology the tunnels are now open as a tourist attraction. There have been reports from visitors of faces floating just beneath the surface of the water. The sound of footsteps in vacant sections, and voices coming from places where there was no one present upon investigation.

image courtesy

Ghost Hunters did a segment on the tunnels for SyFy during which they filmed a white mist rising from the ground, an event they were unable to duplicate later. They also captured two voices. One a child's voice that said. Can you show me the way out? Another voice said. I'm not quick enough to make it. The latter would lead one to believe they had just heard the voice of a worker killed in an accident, while the first could be of a child who had become lost.

The Lockport tunnels have their own website  as well as a facebook page. The tour lasts approximately 70 minutes and with the amount of walking involved it's not recommended for those with mobility issues.'


Writing Process Blog tour.

Thomas Kleaton, a talented new writer who is showing a great deal of promise, recently asked me to participate in a writer’s blog tour. The requirement was simple enough, answer four questions, and tag several other writers that you know to answer the same four questions on their blog.

Thomas maintains a blog here:

I don’t like to tag anyone for one of these unless I’ve spoken with them before hand and the three I intended to tag have not as yet gotten back to me. So I’m going to change things up here a bit and give a shout out to those tireless souls who help us writers get the word out about our new releases.

They are the readers who have taken their obsession one step further and publicly post reviews on their own personal blogs. So stop by their site after you’re done here, check out their reviews, interviews, new release announcement, you never know you might just find a new writer or two to follow.

What am I working on?
Shadows of the Past Part II Parasite. The creature Sam Hardin though he had killed in Shadows of the Past Part I has returned. But the problem is no longer isolated in the hills of Western Maryland. In Washington State a young man discovers an alien craft beneath his basement floor, inside is a parasite that is tied to what Sam killed and threatens the future of all mankind.

How does my work differ from others in the genre?
Very little blood and guts. I believe real tension is created by the perception in the readers mind of what is about to happen versus a blow-by-blow description of what does happen.
Why do I write what I do? 
That’s like asking someone why they breath. All my life I’ve been drawn to the macabre.
How does my writing process work?
I allow the idea to incubate, to explore its myriad possibilities, then I start running the gauntlet of questions. Who, What, When, Where, Why, and of course how. Once I have these firmly in mind it is only then that I put pen to paper.

Jim McLeod at Ginger Nuts of Horror: For any and all of your horror fiction needs, Ginger Nuts of Horror is your number one source! Through the many pages that this site has to offer, you will be given the chance to view the absolutely best in horror fiction news, horror fiction reviews, and exclusive interviews with both up and coming stars as well as established horror actors. In fact, Google has recently ranked Ginger Nuts of Horror as the number one website for horror news and horror author interviews, as well as ranking us in the top ten horror fiction review websites. Currently, the site  averages about 90,000 views every month with  over 18,000 unique visitors! Now, it’s time to get into the meat of our website: exactly what makes Ginger Nuts of Horror your number one horror website.

Anthony Seravante at Servante of Darkness: I critique, review, and discuss current trends in literature, especially works of Horror, SF, Fantasy, Crime Noir, and related subjects. I also review film, music, and TV programs. I compile monthly poetry columns and continue ongoing discussions on the Zombie Apocalypse, Cybernocturnalism (ebook publishing, good and bad), and Off Kilter TV: Where Horror Rears its Ugly Head on Family Television. And I publish a Horror Short Story of the Month every first of the month.

Shana Festa at Bookie Monster: Shay Festa A.K.A. The Bookie Monster reviews horror and paranormal books, with an emphasis (but not limited to) zombie fiction. With a background in Psych Nursing, Shay brings her unique perspective to the online reading community. Her highly anticipated zombie novel, Time of Death: Induction, is now available!

Fridays Frights: Summer of Zombie Blog Tour w/ Rebecca Besser

Zombie culture has taken the world by storm. We have everything from cell phone commercials to The Walking Dead (the main cultural phenomenon that has everyone at the edge of their seats asking for more – if they’re a fan, that is).

But, with this surge of interest in zombies comes a problem. What is it? Well, I’m going to tell you.

The problem is that the reader/watcher gets the same scenario over and over again in almost every zombie story.

The people in zombie stories seem to always be trying to fight the horde of the undead while they are scraping by day to day just to survive. The survival is what keeps people captivated (and the gore!). If you’re anything like me, you put yourself in the character’s shoes and see if you could do better. You’re in awe of some of the character’s survival knowledge, which actually comes from the author; these are the things that make each author and story just a little bit different. It’s all in the perspective.

The problem with the plot repetition though, as far as commonality, is that it’s easy to get bored with the same regurgitate plot over and over again. Especially when there’s no new survival info introduced. This gives zombie writers, like myself, a real challenge. Those of us who have been writing about zombies and want to hold our own in the genre need to think outside the normal zombie box, so to speak, and come up with something new to “Wow!” our audience. We need to give the readers new stories.

And that’s what I strive to do in my books.

In my book, Undead Drive-Thru (re-releasing from Nocturnal Press Publications in 2015), there is one zombie. Yes, you heard me, one zombie. The story is about a man who comes home to his wife as a zombie, and she loves him too much to kill him, or let anyone else kill him. What does she do? She keeps him like a pet until things get out of hand and others get involved.

Click on the cover to get your copy

The book is more about the story of a human heart dealing with the change of a loved one and the dangers that could bring, than the classic “survival” zombie tale. Another of my books, Cursed Bounty (a novella available for Kindle), is about one zombie as well... Or it is to start out. There are more by the end. But, in this case, I give you a voodoo zombie who is being used by a politician for personal gain, set in the Old Wild West.

So...if you’re interested in some zombie tales that are out of the box, you should check out my books.

Now, when it comes to short stories... I stay old school and go with the hordes of zombies and people trying to survive. There’s still fun to be had there, it’s just harder to be original. In my story, To Walk the Halls, in the Code Z anthology (available on Amazon), I take the hospital outbreak scenario on a whole new journey of horrific and wrong. It’s sure your stomach (pun from the story).

But, even if the stories are something from outside the zombie box, or old school survival, keep reading zombie fiction! Zombies are always fun, right?

© Rebecca Besser, 2014.

* * * *

The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 33 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June. 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!


Dreams & Nightmares: Feeding the Muse.

Had a bad dream last night. Most of my dreams are pretty bad anyway which scares me a bit and leaves me wondering about the health of my psyche. I believe all writers of dark fiction at one time or another have voiced concerns about their mental health. The dreams do tend to feed my muse, or maybe it's the other way around and the muse is using my dreams as a way to communicate with me on a deeper, more emotional  level.

What do you think?

Anyway last night's dream was pretty intense. Woke me up and I had to lay there with the light on for a bit while I got my emotions under control. I still remember the dream rather vividly, even as I sit here writing this post, which is unusual in itself as I normally forget them soon after waking up if I don't use the little voice recorder my wife got me to capture their essence. Neat little gadget there, don't have to worry about trying to decipher my midnight scribbles. I've lost many a decent idea because I couldn't read what I'd written after waking up from a nightmare.  

But coming back to this dream, I know, all roads circle back to their beginnings, right?

 My biggest concern really is how bad of a person am I that my imagination would come up with something so chilling, so despicable, that even six hours after waking up I'm still feeling its effects. I don't believe I'm a bad person. I get along well with others. I tolerate some people without being an ass about it.

But what kind of a person am I to imagine this?

Will this make it into one of my works? Absolutely.

Which explains why I won't share the dream here. I want to embrace the emotions I felt during the dream so as to transfer them to the page for the reader and recounting what happened here would only diminish its power. I will only say this.

It has to do with a door that's been nailed shut.

Do you keep track of your dreams?

Happy Father's Day

On the bulletin board to my right of my desk, pined along the top are 5 photographs, the kind you'd get from those cheap Instamatic cameras. In each photo, captured for eternity, are two very young boys, with excited smiles on their faces as they tear into the wrapped presents around them. One shows the youngest standing on his chair,  a dollar bill held up in front of his face, his wide smile peeking through at the bottom of the bill. Another shows the oldest holding up a box that nearly dwarfs him. A happier time captured for eternity.

They are my sons. Richard Corey Schiver now 31 and with a small family of his own. Joshua Todd Schiver 30, living at home where he takes care of his mom. The oldest will speak to me but he doesn't go out of his way to do so. The youngest has asked me to stay out of his life.

Their mother and I divorced when they were young. It doesn't matter any longer whose fault it was that we went our separate ways, only that we did and in the process we damaged two young men. To be honest I wasn't ready to be a father. I hadn't grown enough to take on the responsibility of raising two young boys.

I had just gotten out of the service when I met their mother, one thing led to another and within a year she was pregnant. I wanted to do the right thing even though at the time it was obvious we were not really meant for one another. I was still struggling with adapting to becoming a civilian, jobs were tough to find, and my drinking was getting out of hand. A combination guaranteed to keep even the most desperate employer from offering me anything.

After seven years and the birth of two boys we divorced. We both eventually remarried and moved on with our separate lives. I tried to remain a part of their lives, but I could have tried harder. I paid child support when I had it, provided health care when I had it, and visited when I could.

But I made a lot of mistakes over that period of time. Stupid mistakes driven more out of stubbornness than anything else. Mistakes that an older, wiser version of myself wishes I could go back and change.But there is one very important lesson I've taken from this.

Father's are a very important part of a child's life. Yes mother's give birth and nurture the child, and the son or daughter will never forget their mother. But the Father plays an important role as well. They are the child's hero, the knight in shining armor who stands ready to protect them at all costs. To guide them, to love them, to protect them.

That is where I failed as a father.

It's here, it's here, it's finally here.

White walker is now available for purchase.

Follow the links below to get your copy today.


When she was ten she made a promise to that which inhabits the winter storm. Now she’s twenty-six and pregnant, and the White Walker has returned to collect his due.

For Teddy his first day as shift supervisor could not have come at a worst time. A severe blizzard has shut down the region as old man winter refuses to relinquish his grip. Only ten percent of his team has shown up for work, and he learns upon arriving that one of his first duties that day will be to fire his girlfriend.

He believes it can’t get any worse than it already is. That is until one of his people dies at the hands of a legendary creature that inhabits the blizzard. A prehistoric deity once worshiped by ancient man on the vast Siberian plains. Brought to these shores by Russian immigrants seeking a better life in the deep coalmines that once dotted the hills around the Appalachian Mountain town of Frostburg.

Cut off from the outside world, stalked by a creature from the past, the survivors are forced to abandon the safety of a building that has been stressed to the breaking point.

But how does one escape a winter storm?

White Walker: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Teddy followed Judy into the hallway. He had been totally unprepared for her reaction, and he stopped when she entered the ladies’ room. Reason overpowered emotion as he decided to let her have the time and space she needed. He was turning towards the main room when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the rear door leading to the smoking area. A small wire mesh window set at eye level revealed a white world of swirling snow. The falling snow, driven this way and that by a restless wind, parted to reveal a person standing on the bank opposite the dock. He was dressed in a heavy leather coat whose hem stopped between the knee and ankle.  A filthy red scarf was wrapped around his neck, covering the lower half of his face, and a battered leather hat rode low over his forehead. His eyes were hidden in the deep shadows of the brim.

The stranger’s presence sent a shiver down Teddy’s spine before his natural desire to protect others kicked in and he pushed his way through the door. The wind tore at his shirt, causing his tie to whip around his throat as he crossed to the edge of the dock to search for that lonely figure.

“Anybody out here?” he shouted, the words ripped away by the restless wind. But the person he’d seen, or thought he’d seen, was gone.

He was about to go back inside when he was overcome with the sensation of being watched. The shifting sheets of falling snow parted, likes the curtains on a stage, to reveal the stranger standing on the hill across  from the dock.

Byelii, the name whispered through his mind, rising from the dark recesses of his childhood memories. As a child he had been cared for one summer by an ancient Slavic woman who was as wide as she was tall. Teddy never learned what her real age was, but it was a fair bet that she was on the other side of seventy, yet even with her massive girth she was light on her feet and entertained him, if it could be called that, with antique tales of the old country.

She had grown up during the German invasion, in a little village that escaped most of the atrocities that had occurred along the eastern front. Of little military significance, her village had been bypassed by the advancing armies of the Third Reich. It helped that they had hung a warning at the edge of their little village, a simple sign that to the advancing German armies meant the plague was present. If there were anything the Germans feared more than a Russian bullet, it was disease, especially a disease as devastating as the plague.

Other villages had tried the same thing with varying degrees of success. Depending on their location, the warning resulted in either the village being burned to the ground while the inhabitants were trapped in their homes, or being bypassed entirely and left to die at its own leisurely pace.

One day, his Nanny told him, the Germans had camped outside the village. That night her grandmother had prayed in some forgotten language to an ancient entity she could only translate as meaning White One. That same night a fierce winter storm accosted the village, which was strange as spring had already established a foothold. A steady wind screamed down from the north, carrying with it the cold artic air of the vast northern plains.

The following morning the Germans were gone. Their tents, bedding, weapons, and even half-eaten food still in metal mess kits, was all that remained. It was as if they had simply laid down their possessions and walked off. No one in the village knew what had happened; there was wild speculation,  but no reason for their disappearance was ever uncovered. Her grandmother had remained silent throughout the day, a knowing smile on her face, and when she asked her later that evening what happened to the German soldiers, her grandmother had simply said the White One had led them away.

The memory faded and Teddy was once more on the dock as he gazed into the swirling snow, trying to catch sight of whoever was out there. It never once crossed his mind to take care of himself first. Ever since he had been a child he’d had this natural desire to protect those around him, strangers included. He had tried out several times to join the local fire department but he just didn’t have the physical ability to do the job, forcing him to settle for being an EMT. He’d been blessed with a very skinny frame. Wiry is what his aunt once called it.

Then he saw him, standing on the bank directly across from him. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next he appeared as if he had stepped out from between the sheets of shifting snow. They watched one another across the intervening space and Teddy realized that the stranger was smiling at him, nodding in recognition of the memory his presence had stirred.

Was he the White One his nanny had spoken of?

As if in answer he felt the presence of that creature all around him. It was of the storm that was even now battering at the walls of the building. Its voice the shriek of that wintry wind that swirled around him like the waters of a whirlpool, threatening to drag him down into the black depths of an eternally frozen world. Its touch the caress of frozen snowflakes that clung to the warm flesh of his cheeks, melting into tiny pools of water that froze on contact with the wintry air.

Suddenly he was a part of the storm, swirling across the frozen landscape like a wild thing uncaged as a strange exhilaration gripped him. He was impervious and nothing could stand in his way. He was an irresistible force of nature unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.

Everything stopped. The wind ceased it restless casting about. The snow, still falling in sheets, dropped straight to the ground in a vertical path.

May I come in? a sinister voice whispered in his mind and Teddy realized how alone he truly was. Nipping at the heels of that realization came the fear of what this stranger represented.

The White One led them astray. The voice of his nanny whispered in soft counterpoint to this creature’s simple request.

Would he lead them astray? The question filled him with remorse.

Of course, came the answer unbidden from the black depths that surrounded him.

Time ground to a halt as the two men gazed across the intervening space at one another. One a leader of sorts, the other a taker of souls. Teddy had what the other wanted and with that realization came the terrified cries of a group of children. The cold was driven away by the memory of a raging fire that seared his flesh and served to break the spell the stranger had placed upon him.

Teddy staggered back as the wind howled in his ears and as it did he heard a forlorn voice crying out with rage at his refusal to permit it access.

Click here to return to Chapter 9

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White Walker: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Reaching the hallway her resolve broke, the tears she had been holding back flowed freely, and her vision became blurred as she slipped into the women’s bathroom.  Liz was at the mirror applying makeup when Judy entered. Judy crossed behind her and vanished into the last stall, closing and locking the door behind her. Sitting down on the toilet, she let her emotions take over, allowing the tears to flow freely as she blew her nose on toilet tissue. 

“Are you all right, sweetie?”  Liz asked from outside the stall. “Did you and Teddy have a fight?”

“I’m okay,” Judy said as she struggled to get her emotions back under control. A feat that was becoming more and more difficult as her pregnancy progressed. Thankfully the company provided health insurance and she had used it for her initial doctor visits. Physically she and the baby would be fine. Emotionally, at least for her, was another matter.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Liz said.

“I’m all right. I’ll be out soon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just let me get myself together here.”

“If you need anything, just shout.”

“I will,” she said as she took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts. She had surprised herself when she walked out on Teddy. The idea had come to her when she followed him into the break room. At the time it had really been nothing more than a what if. But when he started talking about their relationship she realized she had to do something to prove, if only to herself, if they really had something or if it was just a passing fancy. A fling that had lasted for a little more than a year. She was confident that what she felt for Teddy was love.

The door opened and she steeled herself for more probing questions from Liz, or heaven forbid, Teddy.

The soft sound of footsteps came from the room beyond the stall door. From somewhere in her past came the remembered sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. She didn’t know where the memory came from, but with it came a chilling fear accompanied by the sound of a dog barking.

The footsteps stopped right in front of the stall she occupied. On the floor, visible beneath the door, lay a shadow that filled her with fear.

He has returned. The thought whispered in her mind and she cringed as the shadow moved closer, accompanied by slow, measured, footsteps crunching through the snow. Cold air filled the stall around her, chilling her flesh, and she hugged herself to stay warm. It was as if someone had opened a window, letting a wintry wind into the warm interior of the bathroom.

The shadow got closer as the chill deepened, bleeding across the floor under the door to the stall, slowly consuming the light as it drew closer to her feet. She lifted her feet from the floor, pulling her knees up under her chin as the shadows spread across the tile like a black stain.

She was only dimly aware of the door opening. Of footsteps moving crisply across the tiled floor.

“Are you all right?” Liz said, breaking the spell she had fallen under. The shadows retreated and the chill flowed away from her. She struggled to catch her breath, not really sure if what had just happened had been real or the product of all the stress she had been under lately.

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice. The footsteps had awakened an old memory from when she was a child. One she had successfully locked away from the cold light of reality. Her dog Charlie had become lost one winter’s morning. He’d been found shortly afterwards, but the details were fuzzy at best, and try as she might, she couldn’t recall anything more about what had happened that day.

Click here to return to Chapter 8

Click here to go to Chapter 10

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White Walker: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Judy followed Teddy into the hall where he stopped and turned to confront her.

“What was all that about back there?” he said.


“You and Cody? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said as she shook her head. “I had to go, he was in one of the stalls sick. I asked him if he was all right.”

“You’re sure? He’s not bothering you or anything, is he?”

“No, of course not. I just asked if he was okay.”

Teddy looked at her for a moment, as if he were deciding whether he should believer her or pursue the issue further. “What did he mean by the only other person who knows is you?”

Judy shrugged as she looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot. “He and Liz are seeing one another,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone as she leaned in close. “They don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s everything. He doesn’t want Liz to get into any trouble because of his own problems.”

“I thought it was something else.”

“What? Did you think it had something to do between him and me?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No, not at all. I mean he’s a fun guy, right? Me, I’m an old stick in the mud.”

“He’s fun only if you like waking up with a hangover every morning.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a smile, even though it pained her to lie to Teddy like she was. She wasn’t ready yet to share her news.

“Come on, let’s sit down and talk,” Teddy said, motioning for her to follow him.

As Judy followed Teddy into the break room she knew all too well what he wanted to talk to her about. She had known for quite some time that it would come to this. Changes were afoot, not only in her life, but in her body, and her emotions were like a roller coaster running at top speed, threatening to derail at the next turn.

I will not cry, she promised herself, at least not in front of him.

They had been together for a little more than a year and over that time she had come to love him. She honestly enjoyed having him in her life. In fact she had been looking forward to spending the rest of her life at his side. Fantasizing about getting married and raising a family with him. A young boy and girl inhabited her dreams, brother and sister, the brother older, of course, to protect his younger sister.

Like Teddy she had been an only child growing up and didn’t want to subject any child of her own to the life of loneliness an only child endured. Unlike Teddy, her parents had been a constant part of her life. They still lived in the house she grew up in and she promised herself she would visit them this weekend. Soon she would have to give them the news and she was worried about how they would react. At least they liked Teddy. Or they had the couple of times they’d had dinner with them.

Teddy had told her about the succession of hired help that took the place of his parents while he was growing up. The lack of emotional attachment between him and his parents. It was something he didn’t want to see happen with his own children, when he got around to having some. Which he figured wouldn’t be for another few years. Right now he wanted to focus on his career, on building a reserve to support them in the future when they decided to have children. It was the main reason she had remained silent about her condition. She didn’t know how Teddy would respond, and most importantly she didn’t want to be the proverbial monkey wrench in his plans.

Yet the fantasy she had built for herself was tinged by a sense of sorrow, of loss, of some sorrowful act or occurrence she was not fully aware of. Something remained hidden from her view, a half forgotten secret that teased with a sensation that was not fully realized. Something was amiss in her ordered little fantasy, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she slipped into the seat at the end of the table across from Teddy, she understood that what happened in the next few moments would have a lasting impact on both of their lives.

Teddy took a deep breath.  “You know the company has a policy on fraternization,” he started, and Judy nodded in agreement, “and we’ve worked hard to keep our relationship under wraps.”

“Do we have a relationship?” Judy said.

“I’d like to think we do.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“But you’re about to tell me I will have to quit.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Because we’re seeing one another.”

“Well yeah, it’s really the only logical course of action I can think of.”

Judy smiled. “How about this,” she said as she stood up, “we quit seeing one another, I go my way, and you go your way.”

“But I thought you wanted to be together.”

“I do, but I also like this job.”

“But I can’t be your boss and your boyfriend.”

“So I guess you’ll have to settle for being my boss,” Judy said then turned and walked from the room.

“Wait, that isn’t what I wanted,” Teddy called after her, but she ignored him as she vanished through the doors leading back to the main floor.

Click here to return to Chapter 7

Click here to go to Chapter 9

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70 Years Ago Today. D-Day

Let us pause for a moment to reflect upon the monumental task that lay before the young men of the allied forces as they approached the beaches of Normandy seventy years ago today. Preceded by 24,000 airborne troops that dropped behind enemy lines the night before. The 156,000 strong allied force began landing at 6;30am on June 6, 1944. During the landings the allies sustained over 12,000 casualties with more than 4,400 confirmed dead.

2014 Summer of Zombie Blog Tour: Stevie Kopas

Camaraderie of The Dead
Stevie Kopas

Beneath the guts and gore of the horrifying and sometimes wildly hilarious zombie world lies a world of purpose and value.  It’s a world not only of blood and decay in horrid post-apocalyptic landscapes, but also of gathering around your cups of coffee on Monday morning and discussing Sunday night’s episode of The Walking Dead with your coworkers.  It’s jumping on Reddit, Facebook, Twitter, etc and screaming “OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE THE GOVERNOR DID BLAH BLAH BLAH” and  joining in on conversations with hundreds of other like-minded people and socializing with people you might have otherwise not involved yourself with.

The zombie community is one that has grown in such a way that it infects the entire globe and reaches across all ethnic, gender, and sexual barriers.  Zombies create intelligent discussions and spark heated debates; they create a fantasy world in which lovers of the genre can live and play in, bringing people from all walks of life together based on one common interest and the end result is impressive and positive.  The end result is camaraderie, and we have the undead to thank for it.

The zombie writing community is a perfect example of the relationships built on a common love for the living dead.  Everyone is doing the same thing in their own perfect way and we all have the same goal:  to entertain others in the way we have been entertained time and time again by something we are all fascinated with.  Taking the leap into the great festering pit that is the zombie community is both exciting and scary because of course you’re going to have the elitists who think they created the genre themselves, but for the most part you’ll be welcomed with open (decaying) arms that nurture your creativity and help you grow not only as a person, but as an artist.  And that is the greatness behind the true camaraderie that exists amidst the lovers of the undead.

This type of relationship, whether personal or professional, occurs not only in the writing community, but on social media, in the workplace, at the bus stop, at the coffee shop.  Wherever you go, there’s a zombie.  They’re on television, in movies, in books, on car commercials.  The dead are taking over the world, slowly but surely, and people are making connections because of it.  The snobby girl with her nose always in a book whom you’ve never spoken to until the day she walked into Starbucks wearing her Return of The Living Dead t-shirt becomes your new best friend and the awkward new guy at work suddenly doesn’t feel so awkward because his coworkers love playing Dead Island on their Xbox just as much as he does; and now he has three new friends to play co-op campaign with.

When it comes to zombies, no one is alone.  Picture sitting around, browsing the internet and seeing an ad for a “Zombie 5K Marathon.”  You ask all your friends but none of them are runners and no one wants to participate.  What do you do?  You sign up anyway and meet 150 other people who are just as excited to meet you as they run for their lives to escape the undead in one hell of a race.  And now you can’t wait until next year when you all meet up to do it again.

Zombies bring people together and force us to interact with others and step out of our comfort zones.  Local “zombie walks” are popping up in cities around the globe.  People are dressing up and heading out for a night on the town with perfect strangers and having a blast.  “Cons” are no longer, and haven’t been for a while, for the comic book folks or the anime lovers.  Zombie and apocalypse conventions are more popular than ever, allowing fans to interact with not only one another, but the actors, actresses, authors and directors that they have come to adore within the genre.  Zombies bring satisfaction to humans on a level of epic proportions.

Whether we’re all agreeing on how much we hate Lori Grimes or arguing about which Dawn of The Dead movie was better, it’s still uniting us.  It’s keeping the zombie “alive”.  For those out there that say the zombie has had its day in the sun, take a look back on the history of zombies in pop culture over the last several decades and then come talk to me.  Take a look at the vast community before you and try to pry the zombie art and fiction from our cold, dead, zombie loving hands.

Zombies, however scary they might be in the ways that we create them, will always be the welcome infection we crave and the lovable creatures that force us to coalesce, creating the biggest horde on the planet.

You can become my internet zombie pal by following me on Twitter @ApacoTaco, liking the official Facebook page of my zombie survival series “The Breadwinner Trilogy” at or checking out my blog at, the official home of The Breadwinner.  Send me an email and we can chat all things dead at
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The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 33 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June.

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! #SummerZombie