Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 58
August 1, 2014
To Walk the Halls by Rebecca Besser – A Hospital Zombie Story
**This story originally appeared in Code Z: An Undead Hospital Anthology. **
TO WALK THE HALLS
By Rebecca Besser
Cameron Gather lay on a narrow bed in a little room off the main emergency room ward at Saint Helen’s Hospital, absently rubbing her bulging stomach, waiting for the doctor to examine her. She stared up at the ceiling, breathing slowly like they’d taught her to in her birthing classes; focusing on the florescent bulb – which was blinking slightly – kept her mind off of the fact that she was in labor a month early. Fear raged in her mind every time she heard a sound outside the closed door and her concentration slipped. It had already been a long night and she was tired, and she knew there was more stress to come.
The door clicked open and Cameron jumped and turned to see her husband, Joe, entering the room holding papers and tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans; he looked at her and smiled.
“All set,” he said, pulling the utilitarian plastic chair from the corner closer to the bed and his wife’s side. “Has the doctor been in yet?”
She shook her head no and tears sprang to her eyes. Turning her head, she again focused on the ceiling and the light.
He laid the papers on the floor between his feet, took her free hand in one of his, and placed his other hand on her stomach, rubbing gently.
“Everything’s going to be okay, honey,” Joe said, trying to be reassuring, but he was scared too. His heart was racing, his thoughts were jumbled, and he felt helpless. The fear of losing the woman he loved and/or their child made him want to fall on his knees and cry, while simultaneously he wanted to punch both his fists through the wall and scream at the top of his lungs.
They stayed this way for many long minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, afraid to voice them and jinx the situation. Hollering, ranting, and swearing could be heard through the closed door. The ER was flooded with people seeking various types of medical attention, but they’d been placed in a secluded room to try and keep Cameron calm while they waited for a doctor to decide what was going on with her pregnancy and their unborn child.
The door clicked open and Cameron and Joe jumped, their attention immediately going to the door; the raised volume of the commotion beyond the opening shocked them. A man in a white lab coat and blue-green scrubs walked through the door holding a chart. He was middle aged, slightly overweight, and starting to go bald. He glanced up at the couple and let the door go shut on its own behind him; none of them noticed that it hadn’t latched.
“I’m Dr. Limon, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. You’re doctor, Dr….er…Fontana, is on vacation for a couple of days and I’m covering his patients while he’s away. Luckily, I was upstairs checking on a woman in active labor, so here I am. It says here you’ve been having contraction. Is that right, Mrs. Gather?” he asked, stepping up beside her and smiling down into her troubled face.
She nodded and bite her lip, still caressing her stomach.
“Have you been timing them?” Dr. Limon asked, looking back at the chart he held.
“They were ten minutes apart,” Joe said after clearing his throat. “But she said they were bad, and it’s too soon, so we thought it best to come and get everything checked out.”
“You did the right thing,” the doctor said, and smiled at the couple. “We’ll make sure everything’s okay. You’re far enough along that the baby has a good chance even if you’re in pre-term labor, so I don’t want you two to worry, all right?”
The couple smiled, nodded, and took a deep breath in unison; everything was going to be fine after all.
After a brief examination the doctor decided they would keep Cameron overnight for observation as she was still having severe, but erratic cramps. He was standing at the counter writing his instructions on her chart when the door to the small room flew open and a man came stumbling in. Blood covered the man from head to toe and he slipped a little on the smooth tile floor when some dripped off of his face and clothing to land beneath his feet as he advanced forward. Everyone in the room looked up when he entered, but they were rendered speechless and immobile for a moment with shock.
The man made it to the foot of the bed Cameron lay upon and swiftly bent down and bit into her ankle.
She screamed.
“Get off my wife, you fucker!” Joe screamed, and jumped up – almost slipping and falling on the papers at his feet. He punched the man in the head, sending him reeling backwards into the doctor when he released Cameron’s ankle.
Dr. Limon lost his footing on the blood slick floor, fell back against the counter, and managed to stay standing by grabbing onto the slightly open door’s handle. With difficulty, he remained standing, but barely.
The man moaned, turned, and bit at the doctor, catching his hand between his teeth as the medical professional tried to defend himself.
An ambulance team came rushing in and tackled the strange, biting man, slamming him into the far wall.
“What the hell is going on?” Dr. Limon yelled over the din. “That man just bit a pregnant woman and me!”
“Sorry,” one of the ambulance workers huffed out. “We just picked this guy up and don’t know what’s going on with him yet. Someone saw him stumbling down the street and called 9-1-1. We picked him up and he was fine. On the way here he flat lined and then came back – all on his own. He became more aggressive after that and we’ve been having trouble subduing him.”
“Well, get him out of here!” Dr. Limon yelled, holding his hand and applying pressure to the wound. “Now I have to do a blood work up on this poor woman because of your incompetence! If I find anything, I’ll have you both under review! Is that understood?”
The team nodded and they dragged the deranged man out the door and back into the hall where his moans and groans blended in with all the others.
Joe was leaning over Cameron, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, scared that the man had infected her somehow, especially being covered in blood.
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” Dr. Limon said, rushing forward. “Don’t you fret about anything. I’ll have someone look at the ankle and do a full blood panel, and make sure you’re all right.” He held up his hand and half-grinned, trying to make light of the situation and calm the couple down. “Heck, I’ll be doing one on myself too. We’re in the same boat here.”
Joe just looked at the doctor, but Cameron giggled a little through her tears, grasping at anything that would take her mind off her fears.
“I’ll get a nurse in here stat to bandage you,” he said, heading for the door. “I can’t do it because of my damn hand.”
Minutes later a nurse rushed in looking frazzled and worn down.
“I’m here to take care of your ankle,” she said with a friendly smile. “Then we’ll take you up to maternity and away from this madhouse.”
Without much chitchat, since no one was in the mood, she bandaged the ankle and prepared the bed and Cameron for her move upstairs.
Joe was hoping they would see the asshole that bit his wife in the hall, because he planned on punching him again, but had no such luck. The nurse took them down a hall away from the ER and the other patients.
The elevator ride was uneventful. The only sound was the hum of the machinery and the nurse talking quietly to Cameron, talking about her experiences with pregnancy and asking about baby names. The focus on the positive seemed to help and soon Cameron’s tears dried up and she was smiling a little, which pleased him and made him forget about the crazy man downstairs.
The maternity ward was quiet and continued to bring calm to the couple as Cameron was helped into a hospital gown and hooked up to a device to monitor the baby and her contractions.
“Try to get some sleep after your blood is drawn,” the nurse said to Cameron with a smile. “You’ll need all your strength to have that baby, if he does decide he wants to be born early.”
Cameron laughed, and Joe smiled genuinely for the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital upon hearing the happy sound.
“I will,” Cameron said, and laid her head back and closed her eyes as the nurse left the room.
Joe stepped over and took his wife’s hand.
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, squeezing reassuringly before closing her eyes again.
A short time later, a young woman with a tray of empty glass vials came in and drew blood from Cameron’s arm. She’d been half-asleep and it didn’t take her long to fall completely into slumber when the woman was done.
Noticing that Cameron was resting peacefully, Joe sat in the semi-comfortable chair provided for fathers, beside the bed, and soon fell asleep as well; stress and the events of the evening had drained his energy.
* * *
An hour later. . .
“Dr. Limon?” Nurse Dalton asked as he came out of the delivery room one, where a woman was almost ready to deliver her baby. “Are you okay? You look like you don’t feel well. . .”
He shook his head and strained to focus on the woman. “I’m a little dizzy. I’m going to go lay down in the doctor’s lounge. Let me know when Mrs. Straight is ready to have the baby. From the looks of things, it might be a half hour or so.”
“Okay,” she said, frowning as he flexed his injured hand that was encased in a bandage and a latex glove. “Is your hand bothering you? Do you want me to get you something for the pain?”
“No,” he said, smiling gently at her concern. “I’m all right. I think I just need rest.”
Nurse Dalton nodded. “Get some sleep. I’ll page you if anything changes.”
He nodded and trudged off down the hall. Once he knew no one was watching, he shuffled close to the wall and held on to the railing attached halfway up for patients who had trouble walking and let it guide him. Truth be told, he felt like crap. He was seeing double and was having a hard time staying on his feet. Upon entering the doctor’s lounge, he stumbled and fell face down on the floor. His breathing slowed and his heart stuttered to a stop.
* * *
Joe awoke to the sound of deep moans coming from his wife. She was thrashing around on the bed, tottering like she was trying to get up but couldn’t; the front of her gown was soaked in blood.
“Honey!” he exclaimed, jumping up out of the chair. “Calm down! You’re gonna fall and hurt yourself or the baby!”
He reached toward the bed to hit the button that would call the nurse. Not wanting to excite or scare Cameron, he didn’t mention the blood that seemed to be running freely from her body. His hand shook and he fumbled to find the button he needed to press for assistance.
She froze at the sound of his voice and her head whipped around to look at him. Cameron hissed and snapped her teeth close to his hand, trying to bite it; he snatched it back just in time, but before he was able to find and press the nurse button.
In the dim light of the room he could see the menacing snarl on her face and the vacant look in her eyes. But that wasn’t what made his blood run cold or caused the lump of fear to rise and block his throat. The front of her hospital gown tore open while he watched and a small hand with sharp claws pried at the opening, making it larger.
“What the fuck?!” he screamed and backed away slowly, shaking his head, hoping he was having a nightmare and none of this was real.
Cameron hissed again and tried with renewed effort to get out of the bed, finally toppling to the floor on the far side of the room. Moments after she fell, Joe heard a wet plop as their child or whatever the hell the thing was now, wiggled its way free of its host’s body. The stench of the amniotic fluid permeated the air as it spilled across the linoleum with a gush.
Joe covered his nose and gagged, flinching away as his wife stood and came stumbling around the bed with her arms outstretched and her jaw falling open and snapping shut with eager anticipation of her upcoming meal. Her fingers were curled into sharp-tipped claws, ready to sink into his flesh and tear him apart. Stepping back out of her reach, his foot bumped the leg of the chair he’d been sleeping in only moments ago, and fell, sprawling onto the hard floor.
She groaned and licked her parched lips, but just as she was about to reach him, the umbilical cord, still attached to the child, got caught on the corner of the bed and she slipped on the wet flooring, going down on her face with a loud smack; she screeched angrily because she couldn’t reach her prize. Desperately, she clawed in front of herself and kicked her feet, looking like a swimmer stuck on dry land, going nowhere. Every time she tried to get up onto her knees, and then to stand, she slipped in the thick fluid covering the floor and fell again, angering herself even more.
Joe watched her in shock. His brain struggled to understand what had happened to the woman he’d been married to for years. He was still trying to wrap his mind around what she’d become when a movement under the bed caught his attention. Little eyes peered out at him as a mutant looking baby struggled to crawl toward him. It hissed and whined when it too became stuck on the umbilical cord attached to its stomach. With a growl of frustration, it flipped onto its back, kicked its legs and grabbed a hold of the cord, pulled it up to its mouth, and chewed violently at it. Blood shot into the air, bathing the bottom of the bed in dark, red fluid.
“Oh, God. . . Oh, God. . . Oh, God. . .” Joe whimpered repeatedly as he began to crying, finally realizing he wasn’t sleeping and everything was real; his wife and child had turned into blood thirsty monsters.
The baby, finally lose from the cord, half-crawled, half-flopped across the floor toward him. Its eyes seemed to glow in the dark; they were trained on Joe like a predator on its unsuspecting prey. Blood dripped from its mouth and teeth – teeth that looked like they’d be at home in the mouth of a large canine – to cover its hands and leave little prints in its wake on the floor, leaving a trail.
Joe shook his head, sobbing uncontrollably as his newborn son and his wife, who’d finally managed to scoot a couple of feet forward, reached him simultaneously, biting into his flesh, tearing at it with their teeth until he went silent, died, and awoke as one of them.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the doctor’s lounge. . .
Nurse Dalton stepped inside the lounge to find Dr. Limon passed out on the floor; she shook him and he responded with a groan. Content that he was awake, she said, “It’s time!” and dashed out into the hall and back to delivery room one, where Mrs. Straight was having her baby.
Sniffing loudly, he rose to his knees and used a nearby chair to lever himself to his feet. Moaning, he followed the warm blooded woman who’d just been in the room. He slapped at the door handle repeatedly until he managed to open the portal. He went out into the hall beyond and purred as her scent grew stronger. Shuffling down the hallway, he soon found his way to the delivery room.
“Good, you’re here,” Nurse Dalton said, barely looking up from the pregnant woman who was panting, laying on the bed the nurse was converting into a delivery table.
Not paying attention, he stumbled and almost fell – his butt accidently landing on the rolling stool he normally sat on to deliver babies. It skidded across the floor until he was sitting between the pregnant woman’s legs. He groaned and leaned forward, breathing deeply of the fresh blood right in front of him.
“The doctor’s here,” Nurse Dalton said, “you can push now.”
A contraction hit and the woman pushed. The child slid out of her birth canal and into the waiting arms of the undead doctor. Pleased with his present, he took a bite. The baby screamed in pain, but the wail didn’t last long as Dr. Limon consumed its tender flesh.
The woman screamed, as did the nurse who fled the room to the nurse’s station, calling for security in the ER. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer.
Panicking, Nurse Dalton didn’t know what to do. She slammed down the phone and spun in a circle. Through the open doorway she could see that Dr. Limon had finished consuming the baby and was now going to work in the woman lying in the bed; her screams echoed down the quiet halls before coming to an abrupt end.
Down the corridor, Nurse Dalton eyes caught movement. Looking more closely, she witnessed a family come stumbling out of the other occupied labor room, the one where the woman was under observation for the night. Blood covered both of the adults – one of which was carrying a small, wiggling bundle.
She watched as they stumbled down the hall toward her. Unsure of what to do, she glanced back at the doorway leading to where Dr. Limon had unleashed his hunger in an array of carnage. He stood in the doorway panting; the woman stood right behind him, having risen to walk the halls in search of new victims as well.
Thinking fast, Nurse Dalton thought about the quickest escape routes she could take. Spinning on her heel, she darted around the nurse’s station desk and headed down the far hallway. She knew it was the long way to the elevator, but it was the only way she could go without handing herself over to the walking dead. Moans and the slow slap of wet footfalls on the linoleum tiles alerted her to the fact that she was being pursued.
Increasing her pace, she ran along the corridor and slid sideways, and almost tumbled, when she tried to stop in front of the elevators. Pressing the little round button with a “down” arrow, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, swaying uneasily while she waited. Nervously she glanced around her, hearing the monsters advancing closer. Fleetingly she thought about taking the stairs, thinking it would be faster than waiting for the elevator to arrive, but Dr. Limon and Mrs. Straight stumbled around the corner and blocked the hallway that would give her the quickest access to the stairwell. A thump sounded from close behind her and Nurse Dalton spun around and found the husband and wife from the observation room standing less than ten feet away. The noise, which had alerted her to the presence, had been the sound of the small, wiggling bundle being dropped to the floor; her eyes were drawn to it and her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp when she saw the baby who’d been loosely wrapped in a pillowcase.
The baby monster grinned up at her and Nurse Dalton whimpered and shuddered at the sight. The infant had dangerously pointed teeth, which were still stained with blood; it slowly half-crawled, half-flopped toward her.
She backed up, forgetting the duo to her right, who were still advancing toward her; the cool metal elevator door brought her to an abrupt stop. Shaking like a leaf, she shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the sob that rose into her throat. Never in her life had she seen such a horror, such an abomination, as the mutant baby. She could tell it wasn’t like the adults; its skin was pristine and hadn’t been marred by bites or any other injury she could see.
All of the creatures were closing in on her, but she was still in a state of shock and was fixated on the strange, ferocious child. Innocence lurked in its eyes, but somewhere deep down she knew the innocence was being used as a ruse, a ploy, to trick her into thinking it wasn’t dangerous, that it wasn’t going to end her life.
Suddenly the elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Nurse Dalton fell backwards into the small, transportation box.
“What the. . .?” a man said as she practically fell into his arms as he tried to dart out; her falling body halted him.
She screamed as his hands gripped her, trying to keep they both on their feet. Spinning, she came face to face with a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. Instantly she realized he wasn’t one of them.
Moaning and hissing in frustration over their main course suddenly escaping their grasp just as they’d reached her, the undead and abomination baby struggled to close the new gap of a couple extra feet to regain their advantage.
“Excuse me,” the man said, moving to step out of the elevator and into the corridor, “I need to find. . .” He froze at the site of the bloody, walking, growling crowd around the door. “. . .my wife.” The man finished speaking in an almost whisper, his eyes falling on Mrs. Straight, his wife. “Shit.”
Nurse Dalton grabbed the man who seemed to be paralyzed in the doorway and yanked him back just as his wife was about to sink her claws into him. She pressed the “close doors” button and stepped back, beyond the reach of the arms that came darting through the gap of the closing elevator doors.
The man, seeming to suddenly snap out of the shock of finding his wife a blood thirsty mess, punched and kicked at the limbs reaching for them, clearing the gap so that the doors would shut and ensure them a measure of safety. Once they were closed he leaned against the back wall, crossed his arms, but lifted one of his hands up to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Expelling his breath in a long, low whoosh, he stayed that way for many tense moments, only moving when Nurse Dalton reached forward to press the button to go down to the ER. His arm shot out and his large, strong hand closed almost painfully around her wrist.
“No,” he growled.
“Look, we have to get down to the security desk, in the ER,” she snapped, tugging her arms away roughly. She didn’t think he would let go at first, but finally he released her.
“No,” he said again, watching her with a dazed expression on his face.
“Why not?” she asked, reaching forward, again, to press the button.
“I said no, damn it!” he roared, and grabbed her wrist again, but not as tightly as before.
“Why the hell not?” she screamed back with tears running down her face – the fear, adrenaline, and confusion in her system finally overcoming her composure.
“Because I just came from down there and it was far worse than what you just escaped up here!” he hollered, clenching his fists at his sides.
“Oh,” Nurse Dalton whispered. “We can’t go down then. . .” She frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned back into the corner of the elevator, swiping at the tears running down her face with the back of her shaking hand.
“I guess we go up and hope for the best,” he said flatly, reaching forward and pressing the button for the top floor; the elevator jerked as it started in the direction it had been commanded to go.
She nodded and closed her eyes, fighting a battle within herself for control. All she really wanted to do was sit down and cry. The senseless agony being caused for no reason tore at her soul. She’d seen years of suffering, being a nurse, and the only disease she could compare the events to was cancer. A ravenous disease that wanted to eat the good and turn it into the bad until the cells grew and killed the host. It caused suffering to people of all ages and wasted them away. What she was dealing with – what was around her – was the cancer of an outside nature, external to the body of life itself. It was death that sought the living, darkness more than willing to snuff out light. She groaned and sobbed, knowing that everything they could do would be futile. The disease, the death, was out of control. The face of the mutant baby swam before her tear filled eyes – a torturous memory forever imprinted on her brain – giving a gruesome face to everything about this evil, this plague.
In her distressed, thought filled state, she didn’t hear the man speaking to her, until he gently gripped her shoulder. She jumped and swung her arms up to protect herself.
“Calm down,” he said soothingly, “I’m not going to hurt you.” He stopped and swallowed a couple of times. “I just need to know. . .” He paused, looked up at the ceiling, swallowed hard again, and looked back at Nurse Dalton with determination. “I need to know what happened to my wife.” His voice cracked with grief on the word “wife” as tears fell from his eyes and his jaw clenched. “What happened to our baby?”
Nurse Dalton took deep breaths and tried to focus on the man in front of her. Images of the baby sliding out of Mrs. Straight and into the arms of the undead Dr. Limon, flashed through her brain: the baby’s scream of pain and the abrupt halt to the sound of new life; the scream of the mother as she watched her child die; and the blood chilling sounds of the woman’s death as she too was eaten alive.
“Tell me,” Mr. Straight growled through clenched teeth, gripping both of her shoulders and shaking her. “I need to know!”
She whimpered and twisted, trying to break free of his grasp. “I can’t. . .”
“Yes, you can!” he screamed in her face, spraying her with saliva and tears.
Closing her eyes, she rushed through the facts as fast as she could, only opening them again when she felt Mr. Straight’s hands leave her body.
He slumped down against the far wall, covering his face with both hands; he wept. His body shook and he breathed in great, sobbing gasps as his grief for his lost wife and child overtook him.
The elevator emanated a resounding ding and the doors suddenly slid open to expose them to the top floor of the medical facility; all was quiet beyond the open door.
Nurse Dalton stepped forward, holding her hand against the door to keep it open. Slowly, she stepped out into the hall, careful not to move her hand in case someone or something tried to attack. She didn’t want to be sealed off alone.
“It looks clear,” she said, turning back to the man who had quieted somewhat, taking her eyes off the hallway.
A woman with no face growled and slammed into Nurse Dalton, knocking them both into the elevator.
Mr. Straight jumped up and tried to wrestle the undead woman off of Nurse Dalton; they slammed into the control panel as he did so, and their bodies pressed a couple of buttons for the lower floors.
Screaming, crying, and flailing, Nurse Dalton fought against her attacker as well. The blood thirsty beast roared, clawed, bit, and scratched as they tried to subdue her.
During the struggle they descended many floors where the elevator paused and the doors slid open. Luckily, no one else decided to join the elevator battle, until they reached the ground floor.
The doors opened with yet another ding, alerting all of the creatures milling around in the Emergency Room to turn and watch the struggle within the elevator. With moans, groans, and harsh squeals of glee, the undead descended upon the battling living.
Nurse Dalton saw them coming and wiggled her way over to the control panel. She pressed the “close doors” button, but there were too many bodies pressed between the doors and they were struggling too hard with the faceless woman to defend their small “safe zone.”
Soon they were overwhelmed and the hungry creatures tore the flesh from their bodies, feasting on parts of them while they screamed. Soon, they too, joined the undead to walk the halls. . .
To read another short story (free) by Rebecca Besser, entitled, “Memories,” follow this link: http://fictionterrifica.com/Rbesser.html
** Note: “Memories” first appeared in “Tales of Terror and Mayhem: From Deep Within the Box,” and is also one of the bonus stories in “Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death” (print edition). **
If you like Rebecca Besser’s short fiction, check out her short story collection, “Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death,” on Amazon:
Paperback (with four bonus stories): http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Pathways-Murder-Rebecca-Besser/dp/0615858163/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1402365402&sr=8-2&keywords=twisted+pathways+rebecca+besser
Learn more about Fiction Terrifica from the interview I did with Dana Schaff yesterday: http://rebeccabesser.wordpress.com/2014/07/31/interview-with-fictionterrifica-coms-dana-schaff/
©Rebecca Besser, 2011. All rights reserved.
The Invisible Dream
You might be wondering what The Invisible Dream is… It has to do with that skill you have or use that no one can, or likes, to see. Why? Mostly because it doesn’t have any real value in everyday life or fit into life neatly. The Invisible Dream is your desire to cultivate, grow, and build that skill to actually mean and do something for your life. Other people won’t acknowledge it until they can see it with their eyes and touch it with their hands – something that makes your gift “real” to them.
For musicians, it may be their first record deal or gig.
For artists, it might be that first gallery showing or the first big commissioned piece.
For writers, it might be their first publication or book deal.
Until that moment when you actually have something tangible to show for all your effort, people don’t see what you do and spend your time on as something real. It’s not because they don’t respect that you have a gift or skill, but because it’s not bearing something of physical value that they can see. Sure, it makes you happy, but they don’t understand how. Often times, they’re jealous you have some kind of skill they could never possess. They will put you down and try to make you feel small so they can feel better about themselves.
While you’re raised to believe anything is possible (or so children’s movies, books, etc., lead you to believe) once you start accumulating years on your life, it’s no longer okay to reach for the stars. You have to have a real job, pay bills, and be responsible.
Those of us who still cling to our Invisible Dreams and try to make them come true, fight a hard battle just to have time to do what we need to do to push those dreams forward. After all, no one else can see them but us. Granted, most of the time (if you’re lucky, like me), your family will support you. But, a lot of you have to deal with family members and friends who don’t understand that you’re trying to make your dreams come true. All they see is hours of wasted time on something that makes no sense to them whatsoever.
If you’re dealing with a lack of support, you have to be careful with your family and friends. It’s very easy for them to convince you that what you’re seeking will never happen and isn’t real. The only way that is true is if you accept it as your truth. Countless people will try to break your dreams because they don’t have the courage to build theirs.
That leaves you alone in a world only you can see to fight for what you want. Luckily, now that there are social media networks, you can find like-minded, supportive individuals with their own Invisible Dream. It’s nice to have people who understand. Those people can give you strength and companionship through the trials and hard work necessary to move forward toward your dream.
It’s completely up to you to make your dreams come true. No one will do it for you. You’ll have to decide deep within yourself that you’re going to do it, and then make the plans to make things happen.
Silence all those negative people with something tangible. Don’t give up on your Invisible Dream. Keep pushing until you have something tangible to show the world that your dream is real.
Most of all, keep the people who are supportive close. Family… Friends… Whoever helps you see your dream as possible and real, and will be there for the journey to reality.
Your Invisible Dream is real. Show the world!
©Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
July 31, 2014
Interview with FictionTerrifica.com’s Dana Schaff
Bec: Tell us a little about yourself:
Dana: I’m just a working stiff who has always dreamed of being a great writer. I grew up in a family of readers and as far back as I can remember I have always loved the written word and the escapism that books provide. I grew up in small town with not a lot to do so a lot time was spent on the weekends watching Creature Feature movies and exploring my father’s extensive collection of books. The old black and white horror movies had a big influence on me and when I discovered a copy of Dracula stashed away on one of the upper shelves of a book case I was overjoyed. I plunged right in. This was my first horror novel. It was an education indeed. I quickly learned that what Hollywood had created was nothing like what was between the covers of Mr. Stoker’s book. It was rich and layered and complex. That was it. I had found a genre that I could—pardon the pun—sink my teeth into. Over the years I began to write, mostly for myself and then for my daughter, but it was just a hobby. Then I decided to step it up. Somewhere I had read that one is not truly a writer until one has received a rejection letter. Very true. So I began writing short stories and submitting them and sure enough—my grammar had much to be desired—I experienced my first rejection. Hooray! This led to a short-lived career as a small press writer of short stories. I still write but not as much as I’d like. I never experienced much commercial success but I keep trying. Since writing my only novel Skull Feeder with my good friend Pam Chillemi-Yeager I have mostly concentrated on other aspects of the publishing life.
Bec: Why did you start FictionTerrifica.com?
Dana: My one and only novel published by Terradan Press was never a commercial success and we never made any money so to speak and I was saddened by this. We had put a lot of time and effort into writing that book and only, in the end, for the satisfaction of writing a book. I was disappointed in the lack of sales. It occurred to me that lots of writers must experience this same feeling. Toiling for weeks, months, years only to make little or nothing from their effort. One of the problems is that the world is now flooded with books of every genre and it’s difficult to reach a wide readership without the help of say a big publishing house. So my idea was to create a site that might in some modest way help writers reach a bigger audience and consequently sell more books thus Fiction Terrifica was born.
Bec: How has Fiction Terrifica been received so far?
Dana: So far so good. We have experienced peaks and valleys in traffic but our Twitter followers have grown as has the number of likes we receive on Facebook. All the authors we have hosted so far seem to be happy about the venture. So we must be doing something right but I know we can do better and we work every day to come up with new strategies to reach more people.
Bec: Are you currently looking for contributors or interview victims?
Dana: We are always looking for authors who would like to submit their stories and gain a little exposure. As I am new to interviewing folks I have stepped timidly into those waters and am learning to be a better interviewer but yes, I am always looking for some new victims.
Bec: Is there anything special want-to-be contributors need to know before they contact you?
Dana: We cater to the horror writers so as long as the writing falls within that genre we will be happy to have a read. That being said, writers of other genres might do well to keep an eye on what we are doing. We plan on running more sites that will cater to other genres. Horror writers are not the only writers out there struggling to make a buck and we know that.
Bec: What’s your favorite genre?
Dana: Horror by far but I don’t limit myself. I love good literature and nothing is more satisfying than reading a well-crafted sentence. I might read Stephen King one day and Hemmingway the next. I contain multitudes. There is no doubt that if faced with a choice: A mainstream novel in one hand and a horror novel in the other, I would set aside the mainstream until I devoured the horror novel. There is just something about horror that gets my blood flowing and my adrenaline pumping.
Bec: What is your favorite part of the publishing industry?
Dana: For me it is the reading of the submissions. I love to read what writers come up with and then also I like when the moment arrives that the work has made it into print or online and available for the world to see. That is exciting.
Bec: What is your least favorite part of the publishing industry?
Dana: That’s a very good question and not one I have given much thought to but, if again I have to choose, I would say it is the submission process with all its guidelines and having to have an agent and it’s all too much like rules and quite frankly I am rule breaker more than a rule follower.
Bec: What do you think would improve an author’s exposure in marketing?
Dana: This is what we are learning at Fiction Terrifica. Promotion is a fulltime job and requires a lot of work. It’s not enough for the indie writer just to get published because there are so many writers out there and with all the small presses and self-publishing it’s easier than ever to get “published.” The writer who wants to have success has to first have something other people want to read. Content is KING. If they have something others want to read the writer would do well to start with the social media outlets such as Facebook and Twitter. Next, every author needs a web page or blog to connect with people. A viable web presence is very important in reaching new readers. Blog tours have become a very good tool for promotion and an important part of any marketing strategy. I am not a fan of banners but creating a banner for one’s book and approaching related websites to place those banners is also a very good idea. Banners are sort of like roadside advertising. Not everyone likes them but they are there for a reason and that’s because they work. Our approach at Fiction Terrifica is to work within a very constrained budget and I think most indie and small press writers are very budget conscious. Hopefully our budget will grow and we can start to purchase ad space on Facebook, Google, and Bing. It’s not expensive but it does require a budget. The bottom line is the author that wants exposure has to do some leg work
Bec: Is there anything you would like to share/talk about that I haven’t asked you about?
Dana: Well, I have to give credit to my partner, Jeremy Horst, who is also our webmaster and without him Fiction Terrifica would not exist. Together we have big plans and our next step is to offer professional website creation at prices that a budget-minded author will find very appealing. We believe that a professionally created website will make a big difference for aspiring writers. Fiction Terrifica is just the first step in what we hope will be a successful venture aimed at helping struggling writers make the most from their hard work.
Bec: Thanks for stopping by and sharing with us, Dana!
Want to know more about Fiction Terrifica? Stop by their website and check them out. My story, “Memories,” is in The Crpyt, in case you’re interested. I’ll also be a reviewer on the site soon!
http://www.fictionterrifica.com
©Rebecca Besser & Dana Schaff, 2014. All rights reserved.
Horror Writing – Housing Demons
We all have darkness inside us. We all have demons spawned from scars on our souls. While most people run from the evidence of brokenness, damage, and pain, horror writers face it. We’ll sit and talk to our demons, daring our minds to push against that barrier inside – that once breached – would lead to our own personal insanity.
But, you have to keep in mind, to have darkness you also have to have light. There are no shadows to hide in if there is not first that light to cast them in their grotesque glory.
Follow my mind and thoughts for a moment… Light casts shadows using objects. The shadows sometimes show the shape of the innocent object, but other times, the shadows are twisted and warped to the point of not being recognizable. That’s where our demons – the ones inside we talk to – want to live. We have to make them a home so we can stay sane for a while longer.
A horror writer is the light, searching for just the right angle to produce the warped and twisted shadows to make you think and wonder. The objects can be anything from people we encounter on a day to day basis or just random thoughts or things we run across.
A horror writer’s job is to face the demons inside and look for the shadows they want to live in. We give them a life outside ourselves in stories – the shadows we create. We give them somewhere to live and breathe so they’ll leave us alone for a time.
That’s what we do…we create the horror and unleash the demons.
©Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
July 20, 2014
Feast or Famine Zombie Prepping Contest
Enter to win a 1 person/24 hour Bug Out Bag [BOB], and many other great Zombie Survival prizes!
Entry Rules:
1. Buy, borrow, or steal the paperback or Kindle version of the recently released Feast or Famine: A Banquet of Tales for the Zombie Prepper
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Feast-Famine-banquet-zombie-prepper/dp/1499524560
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Feast-Famine-Banquet-Zombie-Prepper-ebook/dp/B00KXCRH2E/
2. Post a review either at Amazon or Goodreads
3. Join ZombieFiend.com
4. Like ZombieFiend on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OriginalZombieFiendIt’s that simple.
Do all the above and your name will be placed in the drawing for a chance to win one of many Zombie Survival prizes!
Entries will be accepted until August 1st and names will be drawn on August 2nd.
Grand Prize: 1 person/24 hour custom Bug Out Bag [1 possible winner]
Second Place: Autographed copy of One Last Sunset DVD and screenplay [1 possible winner]
Third Place: Custom fitted survival bracelet [3 possible winners]
July 17, 2014
Interview with Author Armand Rosamilia
Author Armand Rosamilia
Bec: Armand, welcome to my blog once again! It’s been awhile since I’ve last shared you with the world. For those that don’t know you, please tell us a little bit about yourself –
Armand: No. I am a very private person. Actually, I’m a New Jersey boy currently living in Florida. I write full-time and feel blessed I can pay the bills doing what I love doing. I just got engaged to the perfect woman and can’t wait to be married to her. She supports me and allows me to write and not worry too much about the business side of my career. I like M&M’s, no walks on the beach and air conditioning.
Bec: Tell us about your book/s –
Armand: The latest is Dying Days 4, the next part in my extreme zombie series. The zombies have begun to evolve and now they’re starting to think and outmaneuver the survivors. I think it is one of my best stories, and I’ve written a few so far.
Bec: Not too long ago we were both involved in a charity book (The Carnival 13), how did you come up with your twisted contribution to that book?
Armand: It was easy once I read the nine chapters that came before me. The story flowed, but I had to add a few of my own twists in there to make the chapter ‘mine’ like having a midget involved. It just seemed like it fit.
Bec: Why zombies? Why not space-alien-cyber-sluts or underground-slime-worms or even dirty-shaved-werewolves?
Armand: Those are all for the next book. Zombies are fascinating to me, but I wanted to write all facets of horror. When the Dying Days series took off I felt I had to keep telling the story, but I am trying to expand into other areas of horror.
Bec: What is one thing about your books that fairly screams they were written by you? What’s your signature trait?
Armand: People point out my usage of women in thongs in the Dying Days series. I can’t help it. I have female characters who still need to wear clothing. And undies.
Bec: If you could have a pet zombie, what would it look like (yes, we want details)? What would its name be?
Armand: I hate pets. I am not an animal person at all. But if I had to have one it would be Mark Tufo. Scraggly beard and Red Sox hat and all the rest. It would grunt with a Bahston accent, too.
Bec: If all horrors came to life and you were in one hell of a situation, what would you rather accidentally ingest? Feces or bloody-puss-snot?
Armand: Both options seem so tasty. Can I mix the two and get the best of both worlds?
Bec: Did you gag on the last question, thinking about either of those things flying into your mouth and sliding down your throat?
Armand: I had coffee in my mouth. So I owe you a smack on your ass when we meet.
Bec: What should we be watching for from you in the future? Don’t you have a movie made (or being made) based on one of your books/stories?
Armand: I have a movie made based on a treatment I wrote. It is filmed and being put together, and I’ll go back and write the adaptation for it this summer. I’m working with a Hollywood company and writing stories to be made into movies in the future, but you never know what will happen. I also had an option taken on my Keyport Cthulhu book, so I’m hopeful it will be made at some point.
Bec: Using six words, and only six words, what would your advice be to new writers (yes, you must use a total of exactly six words)?
Armand: I make millions writing because I
Bec: What pisses you off the most about the writing community?
Armand: The sense we are all in competition with one another. As if a reader only reads one book a year. The recently finished Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2014 proved it wrong. 32 zombie authors selling their books and finding new readers.
Bec: What do you like best about the writing community?
Armand: When you meet the cool people like Joe McKinney, Mark Tufo, Robert Chazz Chute, you… the people who will help and give advice to other authors. Promote them with something as simple as a retweet or doing interviews like this. We’re all in this together, not as enemies.
Bec: What was the worst response you’ve gotten from someone when you’ve told them you’re a horror writer?
Armand: I once told a woman at a party I was an author. She was very interested until I said they were horror and zombie books. She turned to her husband and mumbled ‘disgusting’ and walked away. He stayed and got a bookmark from me, though.
Bec: What was the best response you’ve gotten from someone when you’ve told them you’re a horror writer?
Armand: They went right out and bought a couple of my books and then sent me an e-mail telling me they loved them. And to this day continue to buy my books and love them.
Bec: Tell us about your Authors Supporting Our Troops project, and how someone can get a hold of you if they want to contribute –
Armand: I’m collecting author-signed books (not used books or books from another author and not ebooks, videogames, audiobooks, toothpaste, etc.) that I send overseas to remote areas like Kuwait and Afghanistan. Directly to a soldier, who takes the 100+ books and passes them out to his unit. In the first 4 months of 2014 I collected 2,500 books, and more trickle in each week. I haven’t officially stopped taking books. It will take off again starting January 1st 2015 and I hope to make this a yearly event.
Bec: Tell us about the Summer (& Winter) Zombie Tours you pretty much run?
Armand: Summer of Zombie started 3 years ago when I realized June was the worst month for sales. I originally wanted to do a simple blog tour on my own, but after talking to Mark Tufo, I saw the potential for teaming up. It has grown each year and I’ve gotten some familiar faces as well as new faces (to me) involved. The Winter of Zombie will be in November again but only be six authors. Next June I’ll probably go nuts and have 40+ authors involved. It is a lot of work for me but I hope authors and readers appreciate it, and connect.
Bec: Is there anything I haven’t asked you about that you would like to share with us?
Armand: The obvious question everyone should ask me… why am I so damn sexy?
Bec: Thanks for stopping by and sharing your brand of sickness with us! Best wishes with your books and future projects.
Armand’s Bio: Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he’s not watching the Boston Red Sox and listening to Heavy Metal music… and because of him they won the 2013 World Series, so he’s pretty good at watching!
He’s written over 100 stories that are currently available, including a few different series:
“Dying Days” extreme zombie series
“Keyport Cthulhu” horror series
“Flagler Beach Fiction Series” contemporary fiction
“Metal Queens” non-fiction music series
He also loves to talk in third person… because he’s really that cool. He’s a proud Active member of HWA as well.
You can find him at http://armandrosamilia.com for not only his latest releases but interviews and guest posts with other authors he likes!
And e-mail him to talk about zombies, baseball and Metal:
armandrosamilia@gmail.com
Armand’s Blog: http://armandrosamilia.com
Armand’s Books: Dying Days 4: http://www.amazon.com/Dying-Days-4-Armand-Rosamilia-ebook/dp/B00L5LCBMI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1403659082&sr=1-1&keywords=dying+days+4#
All of my books on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004S48J6G
@Rebecca Besser & Armand Rosamilia, 2014. All rights reserved.
July 14, 2014
New Release – Torched from Nocturnal Press Publications – Edited by Eden Royce
Available July 26th, 2014!
Torched Edited by Eden Royce
Our relationship with fire is an intimate one.
From the intrigue of the warmth to the draw of the light,
it spans history—yet who tamed the beast was never recorded.
From the Norse funeral to the Pagan celebrations,
fire has burned its way through our lives,
a passing mark on some, an indelible scar on others.
Within this tome lay 18 authors from across the globe,
each with their own burning tale to tell…
…… Doubt thou the stars are fire?
Table of Contents
The Foreigner -Tim Jeffreys
Home Fires – Ed Ahern
Ride to Hell – Rebecca Besser
City of Fire – James Dorr
Kleevar: The Prophets of Profanity – Dan Weatherer
The Light of the Divine – Tom Olbert
Stir the Ashes – Joshua Calkins-Terworgy
Things Seem Different by Firelight – James McAllister
Flaming River – Timothy Kroecker
He Ain’t Heavy – J.M. Lawrence
Without Sin – Mark Taylor
The Burning Times – Brandon Ketchum
Premonition of a Fire Man – Alexis Allinson
The Flame in the Ice – D.J. Tyrer
Internal Combustion – B. David Spicer
Heat Stress – Claire Ibarra
The Little Matchbox Girl – Lara Ek
Captain’s Last Job – D. Jonathan Matthews
An excerpt from my story, “Ride to Hell”:
““What’s up next, tour-guide-of-horror?” he asked.
She laughed and tapped her lips thoughtfully with her finger. “Hmm…how about Serpent Slither?”
“Okay,” he said, amiably agreeing.
They mounted the short flight of stairs, leading up to the platform to the ride. The carnival wasn’t very busy so they only had to wait for one other couple to be strapped in before them.
When it was their turn, they stepped forward and took their seats beside each other. Instead of facing forward, they faced off to the left side of the ride – Steve was beside the woman from the previous couple and Renea was positioned by a member of the following couple.
The ride started after everyone who was in line was aboard. Once the ride operator stepped back and flipped a lever, the “serpent” took off with a jolt, speeding up and jerking back and forth like a roller coaster on its side, suspended in the air; Steve thought numerous times they would be thrown through the air. This fear was further encouraged by the squeaking and grinding of the seats and the frame of the ride.
Finally the ride was over and they climbed off.
“That was fun,” Renea exclaimed. “Do you want to go on Soul Stealer or Be Damned next?”
“Why not Bowels of Hell?” Steve asked, gratefully becoming acquainted with solid, none jerking ground again; he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for another ride just yet.
“We’ll save that one for last,” she said, “its my favorite.”
As they stood talking, Steve looked around and noticed the ride operator leering an evil grin at him. Something about the look in the eerily skinny man’s eyes gave Steve the chills; he shrugged the feeling off and focused on Renea.
That’s where I’ll propose, he thought, figuring he could make a dramatic display before they traversed the “Bowels of Hell” together.
“Let’s try out Soul Stealer,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t be as dramatic as Serpent Slither, but knowing it probably was. He was determined not to show how unnerved he was, or how bad his stomach was churning at the thought of going on another ride.
“Okay,” she said, and grinned wickedly. “I have to warn you – it’s intense!”
He laughed, while inwardly groaning. “I can handle it with you by my side.”
As they approached the ride, Steve began to wonder if he could handle it, even with her. Naked seats with simple straps waited for their bodies. Renea climbed right in, smiling at a small woman with black teeth and drool running down her chin, who was helping her buckle in.
“Come on, scaredy-cat!” Renea called out, and slapped her hand on the cracked leather seat beside her.
Reluctantly he climbed aboard; the same woman helped strap him in as well – she chuckled under her breath as she stepped away from him. His unease grew.
The woman flipped the switch and the seats started to climb up a mechanical tower behind them, until they were well over twenty feet high. The seats stopped and Steve looked down to see shiny silver spikes had risen below them, from the platform.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, wiggling and trying to get a better look. The straps were too tight to allow him a good assessment of the danger below them and that increased his unease – he felt trapped.“
©Rebecca Besser & Nocturnal Press Publications, 2014. All rights reserved.
July 4, 2014
A Bit Political – Interview with Author Harold Thomas
Author Harold Thomas
Bec: Thanks for stopping by my blog and sharing with us today! And Happy Independence Day! Harold, please start by telling us all a little bit about yourself:
Harold: I have had a lifelong passion for politics. I still remember sitting in front of the television Election Night – at the age of six — to see whether President Eisenhower was going to be re-elected. I’m not sure why I was for either candidate at such a tender age. My mother has always loved history and told me lots of stories about the Founding Fathers and other historical figures when I was a child. As I grew older, my interest in politics mystified my family – no one before me was ever politically involved, except to vote. I see politics as a practical way to apply historical knowledge.
I graduated from Ohio Northern University with a major in political science, and actually had a few jobs in my major, including four years working for a county political party and helping to run a statewide judicial campaign. I also volunteered to help candidates and ran twice for local offices. However, I also learned programming for personal computers and landed a job with the State of Ohio, which started 22 years away from politics. Those 22 years gave me a perspective that people cannot get when they are in the trenches every day. I retired from the state last August.
Bec: Tell us about your website and your coaching program:
Harold: Andrew Jackson said, “Eternal vigilance by the people is the price of liberty.” The Founders made it clear that our system could not work without active participation by ordinary people. When we leave everything to professional politicians, we lose control of our government. Every citizen should be involved in at least one issue at the local, school district, state, or national level.
Bec: What do you think would happen if EVERY U.S. citizen did something small, say, once a month toward their political goals and beliefs?
Harold: We would discover that our elected officials become more accountable to us, and less to their campaign donors. We would see our politicians work to solve real problems, in place of crises manufactured for partisan gain.
Bec: If you could change one thing in the political climate in the U.S., what would it be and why?
Harold: I would like to see us develop into a multiparty system, so that voters could more closely identify with a party’s philosophy and more enthusiastically support its candidates. This would not have to be chaotic – even 4-6 parties would be an improvement – just enough to deny one party a majority of the state legislature or Congress for any length of time. Nonpartisan elections sound like a good idea in theory, but I think it is human nature to back a faction.
Bec: How will you be spending the Independence Day holiday?
Harold: My wife and I will probably spend it quietly at home. Maybe watch a little more television than usual, or read a novel (I’m currently reading Dan Brown’s Digital Fortress).
Bec: Is there anything I haven’t asked you about that you would like to share?
Harold: You do not need a lot of time, money, or political influence to have an effect on the political system. You just need an issue you care about and the desire to use your talents to support a cause. My website abitpolitical.com provides a simple three-step process that will help you identify your issue and decide how the things you like to do can be put to work for your cause.
Get A Bit Political and make a difference!
Bec: Thank you again for taking time to share with us!
Please enjoy the article below that Harold has written and graciously shared with us:
The Founding Fathers Were Real People
By Harold Thomas
In 1865, Constantino Brumidi painted “The Apotheosis of Washington” in the U.S. Capitol dome. The painting depicts George Washington rising to the heavens in glory, flanked by female figures representing Liberty and Victory. Surrounding them were thirteen maidens representing the original states. The word apotheosis literally means “raising a person to the rank of a god.”
Apotheosis of Washington
This painting would have enraged George Washington. For him, leadership was a duty, not something to covet. In 1782, one of Washington’s officers, Col. Lewis Nicola, wrote him that the ineffectiveness of Congress during the war had demonstrated the ineffectiveness of republican government. In the colonel’s opinion, he should consider becoming a king.
Washington’s response was immediate. He read Col. Nicola’s letter, “with a mixture of great surprise and astonishment.” He continued, “[N]o occurrence in the course of the War, has given me more painful sensations than your information of there being such ideas existing in the Army as you have expressed, and I must view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity… You could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable.”
Revolutionary War generals privately criticized Washington as a poor strategist. He came close to losing the war in his siege on British-held New York. His strength was in his ability to select and motivate talented officers by his personal example of integrity. That ability manifested itself again when, as President, he selected a cabinet consisting of the most talented men in the country, two of whom (Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson and Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton) held opposite political views.
Following the British surrender at Yorktown, Washington immediately surrendered his commission to the Continental Congress. Britain’s King George III asked the American painter Benjamin West what Washington would do after winning independence. West replied, “They say he will return to his farm.” “If he does that,” the incredulous monarch said, “he will be the greatest man in the world.”
James Madison records in his notes that Washington, who was president of the Constitutional Convention, made only one speech. Just before its signing, he rose to agree with a proposal that one Representative should represent 30,000 people, instead of 40,000.
When he completed his second term as President, he rejected entreaties to serve a third. There is an old legend, that when one man suggested he should become a king, he swore at the listener and declared that he “would rather be on his farm than emperor of the world!”
Washington had virtually no formal education. Unlike many of the Founders who were lawyers, merchants, or diplomats, his experience was with the relatively humble pursuits of farming, surveying, and serving in the military.
Several Founders owned slaves, but could not figure out how to free them. Patrick Henry had a short temper. Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson were notorious ladies’ men; and following his service as Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton so mismanaged his law practice that he died a poor man. In short, the Founders were regular people, just like us.
Why, then, do we hold them in such high esteem? They totally committed themselves to a greater cause. They showed unusual courage in the face of British military power. They were not afraid to buck the crowd. At the beginning of the Revolution, only about three percent of Americans strongly favored independence. This speaks volumes about the Founders’ ability to persuade and lead others. Unlike most Americans today, they were self-employed. The advantage of self-employment was that they were free to take the time needed to achieve their objectives. However, carrying them out was an economic sacrifice.
On the other hand, modern Americans have one advantage they would have envied – instantaneous communication. All we really need to be more like the Founders is the courage to get “a bit political,” and work with others for a better society.
Have you enjoyed the interview and article?
Find out more about “A Bit Political” and Harold Thomas here:
Website (A Bit Political): www.abitpolitical.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/abitpolitical
Facebook: www.facebook.com/abitpolitical
Also see my review for Harold’s Book, “Governing Ourselves”: http://varietyreviews.wordpress.com/2014/03/29/governing-ourselves-by-harold-d-thomas/
©Harold Thomas, 2014. All rights reserved.
July 1, 2014
4th of July Weekend Giveaway
Two of my Kindle ebooks will be free from July 2-6, 2014 as a 4th of July Weekend Giveaway!
Here are the direct links:
Please share this post with your friends!
©Rebecca Besser, 2013-2014. All rights reserved.
Professional Behavior – Part 4 of 4
[Note: This article previously appeared in my newsletter. If you would like to sign up for my newsletter, send an email to projects-@-rebeccabesser.com (without the - around the @), with the email address you would like the bio-monthly PDF sent to in the body.]
By now, if you’ve read all three previous parts of my Professionalism Series, you’re probably thinking a fourth part on Professional Behavior is overkill. But it’s not. There’s no way that I’ve covered everything in just those three articles. Yes, I’ve explained what a Professional is. I’ve explained how one should communicate in Professional Practices. And I’ve even presented the importance of Professional Presentation in the world. So, why would I need a part on Professional Behavior when I’ve already explained all of that?
Because there’s a lot of personal, emotional conflict that a writer deals with all the time that can set one off and cause them to behave in ways they shouldn’t and do things they’ll later regret. That’s just how being human and dealing with life is, especially for a writer. You, as a writer, need to learn to get those feelings under control and keep yourself from doing the wrong things for your professional career.
That being said, I will be touching on some of the topics I’ve explored previously, but with more depth.
Let’s start with rejection. Writers spend a lot of time and energy on any piece of their work. There are countless hours of plotting, executing, and reworking. This makes it incredibly emotion for a writer to submit their piece/manuscript to anyone, for fear of rejection. And, the rejection comes to us all. It’s hard not to feel like its personal, because, yes, it’s personal to you.
But rejections aren’t personal to editors, agents, or presses. They’re just business. To some that might seem cold, but it’s the way things are. Like it or not, that’s the industry as it is.
So, when you do get rejections, do not lash out with hateful emails of go running your internet mouth on social media, screaming that the editor/agent/press is delusional or doesn’t know good writing when they see it; that just makes you look bad and hurts you professionally. Chances are, if your writing is as good as you think it is, they didn’t want to pass on what you sent, but had to for other reasons.
You don’t know what’s going on beyond other computer screens. You don’t see the piles of manuscripts waiting for responses or the email accounts flooded with other submissions. You aren’t the one that has to make the choices of what’s going to sell best or will represent the publication in the most effective way. Those decisions are hard to make.
If you’re displeased with the response you’ve gotten about a submission in any way, it is not okay to go over the head of someone you’re dealing with, just because you’ve gotten a rejection. It just makes you look stupid, and makes people not want to work with you. No one likes people who try to start drama or cause them personal trouble.
[Note: Agent queries are different, as far as one passing on the project and querying another at the same agency. This is completely acceptable.]
Here’s a short example from my editing past:
I was editing an anthology and someone sent me a story. I read it and rejected it. Why? The story was okay, but there were a bunch of plot holes and there were things that didn’t support the stories concept overall—just inconsistencies that made the story not make sense. The author contacted the owner of the press I was working with and told them I was delusional. The owner contacted me and asked me about the story. I told him everything that was wrong with it. We did not use the story. The author’s attempt to go above my head failed, because there were reasons I rejected it.
The funny thing is, the author who believed me to be delusional, sent me a friend request on social media about a year or so later. Me, finding it all pretty amusing, accepted. We’ve not interacted much, and I’ll never knowingly work with said author. That means, even if I know about an invite only project or a special open call, I won’t take the time to ever tell that author about it. Why? Because I won’t back them with my name as even an indirect reference. I don’t care what the author thought of me, but I thought it was completely unprofessional of them to try and get me in the middle of something that wasn’t my fault and I knew I was right about.
You’re probably wondering why I did let the author into my social media circle… Well, I hope maybe they’d learn something. Heck, I hope they read this series and learn how to be more professional in the future. We all make mistakes and we can all learn to do better. That is my hope with this series, that I can steer authors in the right direction to be more successful by being more professional.
Moving on…
Reviews are another area where authors have emotional turmoil and tend to backtalk or backlash.
Face it, not everyone is going to like your writing. Not everyone is going to love your book/story. Yes, people will point out your flaws publically. No, they don’t hate you. Yes, they feel cheated because they spent money to buy your book/story and wasted time reading something that wasn’t that great. The reasons for bad reviews are usually either there were actually issues with the book/story or because it just wasn’t for them. Usually, the “just wasn’t for them” people don’t get as mean.
You will get bad reviews, because it’s not possible to get all good ones.
No one is out to make you cry. Readers and reviewers are not your enemies. When and if they tell you there are issues with your book/story, listen! Don’t get all huffy and pissed off. Whatever you do, don’t insult them or be rude to them. If a review bothers you so much that you are overwhelmed with emotion, whatever you do, do not respond by commenting on it, or telling the person off! That’s very unprofessional.
If anything, you should take the time to thank them for reading your work. That is professional! After all, they took the time to read your book/story, and they took the time to write and post a review. More than eighty percent of your readers won’t do that for you, ever!
Here’s how you should think of it…
Did they read your book? Yes! Plus for you, you have a reader.
Did they review your book? Yes! You have a reviewer!
Did they tell you exactly what they didn’t like about your book? Yes! You have feedback! And honest feedback from readers/reviewers is one of the hardest things for writers to get. Value it, even if it doesn’t stroke your little pansy ego.
And beyond the pluses of it all, there are just mean-hearted people in the world who want to drag you down and make you miserable.
Why? Who knows! It could be because they are one of those constantly miserable people who need company in the pits of Asshole-ville. Don’t move to Asshole-ville to be their neighbor. Ignore these people because they aren’t worth your time and attention.
Before you start whining about bad reviews ruining your book sale, you should know that a couple bad reviews are actually good for book sales! If people even consider the reviews before buying your book, the fact that you have one or two people who don’t rave about your book/story like lustful, worshipping groupies will make your reviews seem more “real.” Often, people think the best reviews are left by your family and friends. So, a couple haters can do you good.
Besides, if you’re considering purchasing something, don’t you want to know the good aspects and the bad ones so you can make an informed decision? Think of it that way. There’s an opinion at both ends of the spectrum, which means the product most likely lands in the middle.
If you’re getting all bad reviews, it’s time to take a look at your work and see what you can do to improve it. It’s disheartening, but sometimes writers need to rework their book/story to make it better for the readers. Especially now that it’s so easy to self-publish—there are a lot of books/stories in easy reach of the public that have never been through a thorough, professional edit. That can really hurt book sales.
At no time ever should you go on Amazon or anywhere else and leave comments to reviews of your books/stories. If you want to thank someone, do it in private. People’s reviews are their opinions. You should not try to explain your book/story to them or convince them they are wrong because they didn’t like or understand your story.
What you should take away from reviews overall is how your book/story was perceived by a variety of people. Everyone sees and processes things differently, especially writing. Chances are though, if you get a lot of people making the same comments, there’s an issue there that you need to work on as you move forward with your future works.
Use reviews for insight and stop seeing them as personal attacks.
Do not respond like they are personal attacks.
Speaking of personal attacks, you control how you respond and how other people treat you. You don’t want to lead them into attacking you by letting your emotions drive how you deal with the public, i.e. attacking them.
Something very important for Professional Behavior is that you set the tone for the people around you. You set the tone for what you’ll allow, accept, and deal with. Be it on social media, your blog, or anywhere else you deal with the public in general.
What do I mean by this?
I mean that if you allow people to attack you and/or you argue with them, you’re showing people that you allow that behavior around you, that you embrace it. You should never get into a public argument with anyone, about anything. This messes up your Professional Presentation and has no place in your Professional Behavior. Think cause and effect. Most of the time, when people lash out, they feel like they’re defending themselves. Don’t give them reason to feel like they’re defending themselves from you.
So, how should you handle those situations of conflict? Cut them out.
First, be polite and try to defuse the situation by saying everyone has a right to their opinion. But, if the person continues to do the same things (causing conflict), block them, unfollow them, and/or ban them from your web-space. I don’t care if you like the person most of the time. As a professional, you don’t have time to deal with people’s troll-like behavior. And, if they wanted you to be considerate of them, they should have been considerate of you. Allowing them to continue with their ill-mannered behavior causes other who sees it to lose respect for you. By allowing them to continue to do so, you are telling other people that they don’t’ have to respect you either.
Be strong and set the behavioral tone around you to match your desired professionalism.
You control your Professional Behavior by how you act in every situation—especially those emotional situations that are difficult. You also control how others act around and toward you by what you allow. Let the way you act be an example to all of a true Professional.
©Rebecca Besser, 2014. All rights reserved.
