Heath Stallcup's Blog, page 7

DEAD: Snapshot-Liberty, SC

To those of you who are true dead heads, the name TW Brown is synonymous with zombies. One thing Todd’s fans have to get used to is, ‘NOBODY is safe’. Just as the Walking Dead might tease with killing off Glenn or Darryl, they know the fans would riot and most likely boycott. Their advertisers like making money and AMC likes people tuning to their channel. Brown’s vision of the Zombie Apocalypse is nothing like that. It’s gritty. It’s gory. It’s dangerous. And, as stated before, nobody is safe. Not even the main characters. One can almost smell the sweet stench of decay when reading his stories.

The original DEAD series finished with Book 12. Quite a haul for any series, but even more of an accomplishment when you realize, this was a story about those who survived. They faced monsters, humanity in both it’s best and worst guises and of course, their own fears. However, the fans wouldn’t let the series die. I remember speaking to Brown about his series a couple of years ago and he told me of the people who would write and ask him to include their town in the storyline somehow. That struck a chord with the visionary writer and he decided before the series even finished that he would break off with a ‘spotlight’ series based in his DEAD world. He would take up the offers from his readers to focus on their small towns or large cities, include real people in the story and find a way to kill them or help them survive as only he can.

Allow me to introduce you to the third installment in his exciting new series: DEAD: Snapshot-Liberty, SC.

Rather than bore you to tears with my take, I’m turning my blog over to him and letting him tell you in his own words what this newest release is about.

Behind the curtain of the DEAD: Snapshot {your town here} series

“THE DEAD WALK!”

You sort of dream about that headline. Admit it. You watch shows like The Walking Dead and think, That would be SO cool! Would it really? I want you to bring your own arm up to your mouth and bite as hard as you can. Now keep going until you rip the flesh. (In the interest of our “sue happy” culture, I am not really suggesting that you do this, and if you already did then can I ask what in the hell is wrong with you?)

So…how cool is it now? And then there is the idea of finding a loved one who had the misfortune of not heeding the warnings and got bit trying to hurry home to take care of you. They are coming at you with filmed over, dead eyes. So grab a gun or something and shoot or bash them in the head. Oh yeah, that includes your precious little Jimmy or Janie. You know, that apple of your eye…the one thing that you love more than life itself.

Not sounding so great anymore, is it?

The reality of the zombie apocalypse is probably more terrifying than we want to imagine. However, reading about it is a blast. On that, I think many of us can agree. Only, when you read these stories, don’t they always seems so far away and remote? Unless you have a local zombie author who loves to set his novels in his or her (and by extension…YOUR) neck of the woods, you have to imagine places you have never been and hope to sink into the story enough to feel like you are “there.”

Well, wait no more. With my new spin off of my successful and best-selling zombie series DEAD, the apocalypse can be right outside your own front door. How? I will tell you later. You don’t think I am gonna give you ALL the good stuff right off the bat, now do ya?

My new series is titled DEAD: Snapshot—{insert town here}. Okay that last little bit is just the generic filler. To be clear, the first book is titled DEAD: Snapshot—Portland, Oregon. I set it in my town because it is someplace that I know pretty well. However, the most recent book is titled DEAD: Snapshot—Liberty, South Carolina. Never been there, but with the help of Google, I can get down to street level and “walk” about from the comfort of my computer.

Welcome to the third installment of the DEAD: Snapshot—{insert town here} series. This is one of those stories that I am very excited about. Now, no spoilers, but this is another time I got to put a different spin on the normal zombie tale. So often, the destruction is total and complete. But what if a small town banded together to stand against the walking dead? That is part of the idea behind this tale. Also, I get to drop a bit of a morality story on you. I hope it plays out as well on paper as it did in my head.

I will say that, as a fan of the original Dawn of the Dead, I am of the belief that endings in a zombie story can often be a bit open and ambiguous. While there is certainly a lot to be said about a hard or solid conclusion, the zombie genre is not always best served by that approach.

I am a fan of how Fran and Peter are lifting off from that mall in the WGON chopper as the zombies pour out onto the roof. (Forget how they managed to suddenly learn to climb ladders.) I walked out of the theater and spent hours wondering what happened next. Did they find someplace safe? Did Fran crash when they ran out of fuel?

To that end, I want to give my readers a conclusion, but I also like them to be able to ponder the fate of the characters they have come to love or hate in the pages of this book. When reach the last page of this particular tale, I hope the story remains with you for a while. No, this is not the start of another series. This is a stand-alone title; just like all my other Snapshot books. However, I think we all know that “life goes on” so to speak after the story ends. Just like real life. Just something to ponder.

Each of these books will be a stand-alone novel set in the mythology that I built in the DEAD series. Some of them may see “guest appearances” by characters that you know and love or hate from DEAD. You don’t have to be a reader of the series to enjoy or understand the book. It is zombie fiction, not Twin Peaks. For those totally unfamiliar, my zombies are like those found in Romero flicks. Still confused? (I weep for you, but I will clarify.) The Walking Dead. You know, basically slow and not all that coordinated. I do have a few twists in my mythology that differs from the norm. While I won’t state it as a fact, I had not read (in my VERY EXTENSIVE reading) any instances where the bite was not a catalyst for somebody to turn. Also, children of the younger age bracket might behave just a bit differently. I don’t want to spoil anything, so I will leave it at that and let you discover for yourself why my series has allowed me to be a writer full-time and quit my day job.

So, how do you get zombies to come wipe out your town (or maybe the town of an ex, or somebody that you just really don’t like), so to speak? Simple. All you have to do is send me an email at twbrown.maydecpub@gmail.com with “I WANT TO SEE THE DEAD TAKE MY TOWN!” in the subject line. From there, in the actual email, tell me where you are from. Tell me a little bit about your town and what makes it special. Feel free to offer your own name up for use as a character. You are even free to give me a description or photo that I can use to design this character. I even let you specify if you wish to be hero or villain. Sorry, no promises that you will survive in any case, and your character’s depiction may be NOTHING like you in manner and action. It will simply carry your name into the annals of zombie apocalypse history.

So…are you interested? Curious? Or maybe you really dislike those snobs over in Shelbyville? (Simpson’s  reference…sorry.) Well, you now have the power of life, death, and undeath in your hands. What will you do?

Brown went an extra step by including the members of Motorbreath (A Metallica Tribute Band) as a band of bikers in this new story. These are his friends…I’m telling ya, NOBODY is safe with this guy!

Now, I know this has been a rather lengthy post, but if you’d like to get a taste of what the apocalypse is like in Liberty, read on. He’s allowed me to post part of the first chapter here for you to check out.

Welcome to Liberty, South Carolina

Bruce Gibbs started to bring his big rig to a stop. The car just ahead was only partway off the highway and had its hazard lights flashing. Sure, he could have just drifted over to the left lane and shot past, but that simply was no longer in his nature.

Two months ago, Bruce had come to the Lord. After over a decade of drug and alcohol abuse, his sister had staged an intervention. It was then that she revealed she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and needed her big brother’s shoulder to lean on in the trying times that lie ahead. He’d started attending church with her every time he was in town, and was starting to feel better about himself than he had in years.

The big rig shuddered as it came to a complete stop and Bruce engaged the brakes before opening his door. The cool night air made his skin erupt in goose bumps, and he got a funny feeling that sent him to his favorite verse of scripture. It was the first bit he had ever memorized and it always calmed him when Satan tried to unsettle him, to lure him back to the bottle or the women.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures…” he whispered as he approached the beat up old Buick. There was something peculiar about the rear window. As a car zoomed by, coming from behind him on the Calhoun Memorial Highway, better known to passing truckers simply as Highway 123, the rear window looked like it was melting.

“…You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil…” Bruce continued as he reached the rear bumper.

Almost immediately, there was a horrific smell that was foul and gagging. It was like feces mixed with spoiled chicken. This had to be serious. He finished his recital of Psalms Twenty-three and switched over to simply praying for the poor souls in that vehicle. He fished his cell phone from his pocket and hit the emergency button as he reached for the recessed handle of the front, driver’s side door.

“Nine-one-one…police, fire, or medical,” a bored sounding voice answered.

“I think all of them,” Bruce gasped as he gave the door handle a tug. “Oh, my God.”

In the front bench seat, a male was sprawled over and lying on his side. Crouched in the floor well on the passenger’s side was a child. He couldn’t have been older than seven. His face was a dark mask. But Bruce knew that the moment that face came into the light, the black stain would morph to red.

The man’s throat had been torn open and blood had sprayed all over the interior of the car. A good jet of it must have hit the back window; explaining why it had looked like it was melting. Bruce staggered back and dropped his phone. The tinny voice on the other end was now unintelligible.

Losing his footing, Bruce fell backwards—directly into the path of one of his fellow truck drivers. This particular eighteen-wheeler was hauling a full bed of thirty-foot poles and moving at just over sixty-eight miles per hour when it slammed into Bruce, killing him instantly. The impact was so great that there was very little of the poor man other than what dripped from the front grill of the semi.

The newly arriving big rig began to squeal as the brakes were applied much too hastily to be safe. The trailer heaved around and the rear end began to catch up with the cab. It drifted into the median and began to destroy the high-tension cable line that so many people in the area had complained was completely useless and needed to be replaced with an actual concrete divider that separated the east and westbound lanes.

An oncoming SUV with a family returning from a trip to Greenville after checking out the upstate campus of the University of South Carolina was coming east at that unfortunate moment. The oldest daughter was planning on attending USC next year if everything went well.

The family was cruising along at just over seventy when a dark shadow filled the entire lane directly ahead in the blink of an eye. All plans ended abruptly when the rear trailer full of poles smashed into the front of the SUV and sent the engine block all the way through the rear of the car, killing the mother, father, and oldest daughter, as well as seriously injuring the fourteen-year-old sister who was thrown out the rear of the SUV.

Nobody would know that her body lay broken and bleeding in the tall roadside grass. The living were so occupied with the terrible scene of the accident that nobody saw the three figures coming out of the trees as they paused and suddenly changed direction. Almost as one, they dropped to their knees and began clawing, biting, and tearing at the helpless girl who was fortunate to never actually regain consciousness.

Cars from both directions began to stop and people emerged from their vehicles; some to see if they might be able to help, others just to be able to get a better look. One boy ignored his mother’s reprimands and emerged from his parent’s car with his cell phone in hand. He felt his heart race as he neared the carnage. This was the first time he’d even used the new cell phone and he had to fumble a few seconds to get the camera function to start recording.

He approached a body that lay sprawled on the ground. There was a dark pool on the asphalt that he knew had to be blood. Another person was crouched over the body and twelve-year-old Ben Jones zoomed in on his screen so that he could see a little better. He expected to hear crying or maybe the crouched person trying to communicate with the individual lying flat on his back, but what he heard was a strange sound that reminded him of how his cousin Jenny ate spaghetti. There was a loud slurping noise and then what he thought to be open-mouthed chewing.

The long hair that hung down from the head of the crouched person prevented him from really seeing what was going on and so he took a few more steps closer. This is going to blow everybody away at school on Monday, he thought. A smell hit his nose as he took those final steps that put him in arm’s reach of the scene. It was possibly the nastiest thing he had ever smelt in his life. It was worse than going into the bathroom after his dad in the mornings.

“Is he dead?” Ben breathed as he got to within a few steps of the man who stared straight up with eyes that looked sort of strange. Ben noticed that they looked clouded over like the blind man who sat in the front row every Sunday at church; only…different.

The person who was crouched over the body paused whatever it was doing. For a moment, there was no movement, then the head began to crank around in slow, jerky, bird-like fits.

Young Ben Jones did not even realize that his phone slipped from his fingers. He was in shock as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The man’s face was a dark mask around the mouth and something long and stringy dangled from one corner. The man’s long hair was dripping from where it had been dragged through the horrible and bloody open gash in the belly of the man on the ground.

The crouching figure began to move towards Ben, hands reaching and mouth opening in a low moan. That sound was the last straw for Ben’s bladder although he no more registered that fact than he had dropping his phone. He stood frozen in terror as the long-haired man stumble-crawled towards him. A hand grabbed his ankle and he simply watched the bloody face come to his leg. The stained mouth opened and then clamped down on the outside of his right calf. Now his bowels joined his bladder, but Ben registered nothing. He had already gone into shock and continued to stand unmoving as a piece of his leg was torn free.

At last, pain registered in his brain, but Ben did not scream, he simply let out a feeble whimper. His eyes had now fixed on the second man who had been sprawled on the ground; this person was sitting up with his insides spilling out onto the highway; and now he was coming for Ben as well.

Ben’s mother had jerked away from his father and stood outside the passenger’s side door. Much like her son, she could not believe what she was seeing. However, she did not freeze in shock, instead, her motherly instincts took control and she charged the two terrible men who looked to be attacking her son.

“Shondra!” Clarence Jones shouted as he now emerged from the car as well.

He heard a sound behind him and turned to see a child standing just a few feet away. The boy couldn’t be any older than seven or eight, and he was covered in blood and gore. The stink rolling off the child was enough to make Clarence take an involuntary step back. What began as a reaction to the smell changed to fear as a man came stumbling up behind the child with pieces of his face looking like they’d been chewed off.

His first thought was dog attack, but then his eyes returned to the child who had stopped advancing and was cocking its head first to one side then the other. The man behind the child made no attempt to slow and stumbled past the little boy, sending him sort of careening off the side of Clarence Jones’ car.

“You just stop right there,” Clarence warned.

At that same instant, his wife screamed their son’s name. Clarence turned his head to see Shondra lit up by the headlights of his car. She was on her knees trying to pull Ben free from two men. She didn’t even see the woman stumbling up behind her due to the blue-white glare of all the headlights. This creature was limping horribly from what looked like the left foot having been turned completely backwards and dragging along with a scratching sound as exposed bone scraped asphalt.

Clarence’s head whipped around when a strangely cold hand swiped down his face and landed on his shoulder where it grabbed hold with a peculiar firmness. He tried to jerk away but his feet tangled in those of his attacker and the two fell down with Clarence landing flat on his back and the strange, foul smelling man on top. The impact knocked the wind from him. In the end, he was only able to emit a feeble squeak as teeth tore into the flesh of his throat.

Pain slammed into him and he was almost certain that he saw a dark jet that had to be his own blood spray across his vision. He blinked once and opened his eyes to see the darkly stained face of the child leaning down over him. Its tiny mouth was open wide and came down to fasten on the bridge of his nose.

Clarence’s screams were just one of many as the unsuspecting living emerged from their cars and made for easy prey. Not one person in the midst of the carnage could fathom what was taking place. Nobody could force themselves to believe that the dead were getting up and attacking the living.

It was simply too ridiculous, a thing of pop fiction.

 

Now, before I go, let me tell you. He’s offering up 5 audio copies of DEAD: Snapshot–Portland, Oregon and two Kindle copies of DEAD: Snapshot–Liberty, South Carolina as a giveaway. You don’t have to jump through major hoops to get it. Just go by his Facebook Author Page and click ‘Like’. Shoot him a message and let him know. So easy even a zombie can do it…wait…

If you’ve already liked his author page, and still want to get your mits on the freebie, I have it on good authority that he’s open to trading a copy for a fair and honest review…

Share the love…give him a ‘Like’ and enjoy the fruits of his labors. Til next time my little monsters…be safe!

When More is Too Much

Very rarely do I encounter an occasion where ‘more’ of something actually ends up being TOO MUCH. With chocolate, this has happened a small number of times. Too dark, too strong, too sweet, etc. Sometimes, although rarely, I’ve encountered it with coffees. Again, too dark, too strong, too sweet…

How about high definition television?

I never would have thought that I’d yearn for the day of plain old 1080p television. However, recently, our ‘plain Jane’ hi-def TV crapped itself. It would take a while to repair and since it is basketball playoffs, we had to have a replacement PDQ. Superdad steps up and goes TV shopping.

Now, let me say from the get-go, I’m not a bigger-is-better kind of guy. I want a quality picture, not necessarily more of it. When we got our first hi-def TV, my missus kept trying to push me towards the larger screens, but the Sony Bravia stood out from across the store. The clarity, the brilliance, the vibrancy of the picture just called out to me. I got one of the first 46″ Bravias to be released. My wife begged me to go bigger, but no. I knew what I wanted. In fact, for months afterward she would make comments about how there were bigger ones out there…didn’t I regret getting the one I chose? Nope. I loved it. Every moment we spent huddled around its glow was bliss to me.

But eventually, even high quality dies. Our Bravia met its match one pixel at a time as the picture slowly went black. At that point, nearly every new TV had similar pictures. We bumped up to a 50″ Vizio and two years later…it, too, gave up the ghost. When it did, I was left scratching my head. 3D capable? Super Ultra 4K hi-def?

For those of you not familiar with Ultra 4K, here’s a little example:

And if that doesn’t help, try this one:

A sale made up my mind for me. There was a first time mark-down on the Ultra 4K Smart and I took it…but should I have? The first thing I noticed was the picture. At first, I thought it was just me. Every scene looked…well, for the lack of a better word, LIVE. If you ever watched soap operas, you know what I mean. The sets look like sets. The people look like they are in the next room transmitting their actions to your box. That movie feel is missing.

Even old movies that were once loved and treasured now look like they were remade live. Their epic backdrop murals look like…well, murals. You can see the mismatched makeup jobs, the acne, the grey hairs…everything that once blurred into the background now screams to the forefront and begs your attention. Suddenly, CGI looks crappy. The backgrounds are now crystal clear rather than slightly blurred. The actors are so in-your-face that you wish they’d all step back a bit. That magic that once made movies so awesome on the silver screen has been enhanced to the point that you can tell. Does this mean that Hollywood will step up their game and improve their end or will I simply have to adjust to my new reality? I suppose only time will tell. I can say that it does take some getting used to.

I will also say that during the playoff games, I halfway expected to get sprayed with the player’s sweat when he shook his head. That was sort of cool. Too bad the same couldn’t be said of movie watching.

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

I’m feeling nostalgic today. Remembering times when things ‘seemed’ simpler. I’m positive they weren’t but in retrospect, they certainly seemed that way.

A decade or so ago I worked in an office and one of the few souls there who I honestly felt was a friend used to share his life experiences regularly. It seemed that the funnier or stranger a story was, the more we were pulled into it. He used to toss his hands in the air at the end and say, “You can’t make this stuff up.”

We all understood what he meant. No matter how odd life can be at times, truth (it seemed) was stranger than fiction.

I have no doubt the honesty and veracity of his many stories, but I’ll admit that many might seem far fetched to those who didn’t personally know the storyteller.

And that leads me into the real subject of this post…

As I said, I was feeling nostalgic today. I made the mistake of checking my author rank and to get myself out of the depression, I checked some of the reviews…just to see some of the feedback. I ran across a glowing review for Whispers and in it, the reviewer made the comment, “Stallcup did an excellent job of researching thus making the haunting more real.”

That statement made me smile. I was instantly returned to the time we lived in our previous house…a house that was most definitely haunted. There was little ‘research’ put into Whispers…no, it was more like using life experiences and putting a twist on them in order to use those experiences in a story.

Now, to those of you who don’t believe in haunted houses…I really don’t care. I didn’t believe they were real until I experienced it myself. Even then, it took me a while to admit that what was happening, was truly happening.

I remember trying to tell my father in law about the haunt and he stopped me. “I don’t believe in that stuff and you’ll never convince me that it’s happening.” I asked why and he stated that it “Went against his beliefs and what the Bible says.”

Okay. I can respect that. I told him as much. Then I told him what was going on and you could see him visibly pale. He finally admitted that the physical things had no logical explanation, but he refused to believe it was a spirit. A demon perhaps. Well, thanks a lot pops for upping the stress levels to maximum. :-/

To those who are chomping at the bit, wanting to know ‘what kind of things’ actually was going on…I’ll give you a taste. Whatever ‘it’ was, it had seemed to focus on my youngest son. Slamming doors. Stomping across the upstairs floor. Throwing things. Pushing him in the shower. Scratching down the middle of his back (and yes, drawing blood) where he couldn’t possibly reach. Yelling at him (and his friend) to ‘get out’ of his room. Scratches along the inside of the wall (and when we accessed the space to put rat poison, there was ZERO sign of vermin). Shadows crossing the loft. Electronic things going off and on on their own.

But the activity that convinced me…the first thing I observed? A Dora the Explorer floatie.

We had shut down the pool and the kids brought their toys in. The kids were scattered to the winds for the night and our best friends came over for dinner. We stayed up late and were playing a board game in the dining room when the Dora floatie (that I had earlier tossed upstairs into the girls’ room…I saw it bounce off the bed and hit the far wall) floated OVER the railing then slowly lowered itself and settled gently into my wife’s recliner.

Meh, big deal, right?

My best friend is a heat and air guy. In fact, he had just installed a new unit in our house. When the floatie was slowly dropping straight down into my wife’s chair, his wife grabbed my wrist and pointed, “DO YOU SEE THAT BLANKETY-BLANK FLOATIE?!”

Her husband and Jess both had their backs to the living room and didn’t see it, but Holly and I had a front row seat. Her husband picked it up. “It’s cold. The air conditioner must have blown it down.”

“Dude, you installed that unit. Do you really think it blows hard enough to blow it out of the girls room and over the rail?”

“No.”

I carried it to the top of the stairs and dropped it. It swished to the side and slid into the couch. We tried again, dropping it on edge (even though that wasn’t how it came down) and again, it swooshed to the side. I tried twice more and never could get it to fall straight down…but when it fell, it was easily two to three times faster than what Holly and I saw.

Time went by, my son was harassed and I eventually called our states version of Ghost Hunters…who drove out and had all of their brand new equipment fail at exactly the same time. Although their things would be moved around and they saw and heard some strange things, they couldn’t get it on tape, so it was ‘unprovable’. A second group came out to simply observe. I explained to them that whatever it was didn’t always participate, but since they had ‘minimum’ activity, they declared the house clear and removed the residence from their list.

I had made a few comments on an internet forum and got the standard questions about burial grounds, murders in the house, etc…none applied. Eventually, we moved and the activity stopped. The family who moved into the house were friends of ours and although the wife was informed and ‘looked forward’ to coexisting with whatever it was…she soon refused to stay in the house alone. Whatever it was, she felt it was evil. Duh. Pretty sure we told you that.

Anyway, long story short…there wasn’t really a whole lot of research put into Whispers.  But I’m glad it seemed accurate to those who have experience in the field.

For those of you who haven’t ‘experienced’ Whispers yet, let me know. I’ve got a few audio codes left that I’ll trade you in exchange for an honest review. Aaron Shook did a helluva job bringing this story to life!

Artist & Storyteller – Jeffrey Kosh

I know things have been a bit quiet here lately, but I’ve been dealing with this thing called LIFE and sometimes life kicks you in the nards. So, to make up for that, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine who really is the complete package…Jeffrey Kosh is an author, actor and artist all wrapped into one very handsome package. I feel lucky to be able to call him friend.

So, let’s kick this party off! Here is my interview with the incredible Jeffrey Kosh:

Me: Jeff, thanks for doing this buddy. I really appreciate you taking the time. So, starting off, let’s hit some easy questions. Are there any recent works (books) that you admire?

Jeff: Yes, I fell in love with Shaun Jeffrey’s The Kult, one of the most brilliant thrillers I have read (and keep in mind that I’m a fan of Michael Slade and Thomas Harris). Another one that really impressed me was Whipers by Heath Stallcup: I enjoyed the characters, the backstory, and the stunning prologue. There are more, but I don’t want to bore your readers.

Me: Wow, Jeff…thanks. Just having my name tossed into the same paragraph with Slade and Harris, that’s a huge compliment. Now I’m all blushing and…okay! Anyway, w ho is your favorite author(s) (and is there a reason why)?

Jeff: The roster of my favorite authors changes almost yearly. At the moment I’d put Michael Slade at the top. The reason is that his stories are full of details, trivia, and quite twisted. I’d love to write a thriller in that style, but I don’t feel ready yet. Second, Mary Shelley. Her Frankenstein is a really unique creature that can’t be assembled again, only imitated. Third, Michael Crichton. While I’m not a fan of all of his books, his writing style was exceptional.

Me: Man, I’m right there with you, especially Crichton. I LOVE his stories. Are there similarities between you and any of the above mentioned authors?

Jeff: I don’t know. Certainly I like to do a lot of research when writing my books. If a story is set during the Irish Civil War I want to know all the details, the slang of the times, what they ate and what they used to drink. I can be anal for those things. So, this puts me closer to Michael Slade’s obsession for historical details. From Mary Shelley I’d take her dark poetry. Crichton? No, he was a wordsmith; I’m a storyteller.

Me: Wow, I love that. Wordsmith vs Storyteller. I’ve often said something similar but you hit the nail on the head with Crichton again. So, tell me, why do you write?

Jeff: Because I like it, because I feel it, because I need it. Certainly not for money. It’s very hard nowadays to make a living out of your writing.

Me: I totally understand what you’re saying. So what is a typical working day like for you?  

Jeff: Graphics, graphics, and more graphics. It is rare I find time to write. However, when I start a story I try to dedicate an hour or more to it. In the past, before I opened my graphic company, I used to write for most of the day. I wrote shorts and novelettes. However, now I prefer to keep putting out only longer works.

Me: W hat kind of research do you do for your books?

Jeff: As I said before, I’m obsessed with research. I have a digital library (all that is left of my phyisical one, and more) about everything: history, geography, occultism, investigation, fiction and non-fiction, cookbooks, role playing games, graphic novels, everything. Plus, there’s always the Internet.

Me: I’d love to be able to dig through that library…I bet I could spend a LOT of time there. Anyway, so how do you conceive your plot ideas?

Jeff: I don’t. They invade me out of the blue. They obsess me until I put them down. I’m haunted by a minimum of five story ideas every day. Obviously, I can’t write all of them. That’s why I have a special folder in my laptop full of sketched stories.

 Me: Wow, man, it’s like you reached into my head and pulled that answer out. I’m the same way…you have no idea how many times I wished I could just ‘think them up’ and they’d write themselves! So, when naming your characters, do you give any thought to the actual meaning?

Jeff: Yes. Axel J. Hyde, in Feeding the Urge, is a clear example. The name Axel resonates with axe, a tool that is featured quite frequently in his story. Hyde, because of Mr. Hyde; and Axel shares something with that guy. The ‘J’ is just for Jeffrey.

Maggie Blair, the female heroine of The Haunter of the Moor, my last novel, comes from a character in a Scottish song that kept playing in my head when I was thinking about her. Although, she’s totally different from the character in that song.

Me: That’s cool. I often wonder if readers realize how much effort goes into a character name. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who does more than stab their finger into a phone book. So, what are the major themes of your work? How long on average does it take you to write a book?

Jeff: I think, a recurring theme in my stories is revenge. Revenge is one of those things that changes a person so deeply. It’s a strong, passionate emotion. Another one is that the past never stays buried; it will always come back to haunt you.

It can take more than a year for me to finish a novel.

Me:  Vengeance…maybe that’s why Whispers resonated so deeply with you? So, who are your target readers?

Jeff: Everyone who wants to sit around a campfire and listen to a storyteller.

Me: Perfect! Do you listen to music while you write?

Jeff: No. However, I have music in my head.

Me: Guilty of that as well. So, have you ever collaborated on a book? If so, who was the other author? How did you collaborate with that author? What writing process did you use?

Jeff: Not officially. I gave my mentor, Franklin E. Wales, all the details about my fictional town of Prosperity Glades so that he could set a story in my place. It is Sailors’ Cove, a weird story of crime and supernatural.

Me: Sounds awesome. Right up my alley sort of stuff.

If you wrote a book about your life, what would the title be?

Jeff: The Weird and Adventurous Life of a Citizen of Planet Earth

Me: You forgot Exciting…remember, you’ve told me a lot of the stuff you’ve done in your youth.  Okay, so what question have you always wanted to be asked in an interview, but never have?

Jeff: I’d like to be interviewed as a graphic artist. That’s my main job, the one that brings food to the table. It took me time to finally find a job I really care for. Yes, I had to create it myself, but it is a rewarding and pleasant job. I’m finally creating art.

Me. I can see us doing that. I’d love to interview you again as Jeff the Artist. But since you have a new release, tell us, what have you written? And what are you working on at the moment? What’s it about?

Jeff: The Haunter of the Moor is just out, published by Optimus Maximus Publishing. I’m working on the sequel, set in the 1920s. Of course, it will feature new characters, but the settings of Ballymoor and the Glencree Valley – and Talbot House, obviously – will connect it to the previous one.

Me: Awesome. Tell the folks where can we buy or see it?

Jeff: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01BRHYSFM

Me: What advice would you give to your younger self?

Jeff: Nothing. The past is the past. We are the sum of our memories.

 Me: Man, that’s a pragmatic answer. Okay, last question, what do you consider your best accomplishment?

Jeff: Creating movie posters. That’s really something I always dreamed about.

I’ve seen some of your movie posters and I think they’re some of your best work, for sure.

Okay, let’s call that a wrap. Thanks for dropping in and letting folks know what’s new buddy.

And for those of you who aren’t familiar with Jeff’s work, take a look at the covers he’s done for me. He has a website where you can purchase some very nice premade covers, too. Click HERE to see his website. Don’t forget to go by his Facebook pages here and here and give them a like, too.

 

Merry Christmas

I wanted to take a moment and wish each and every one of you a very merry Christmas and pray that your new year is even more prosperous than the last.

Without your inspiration and support I couldn’t do what I do and for that you have my undying gratitude.

Enjoy this holiday season with your family and loved ones and know that each of you have a special place in my heart.

Heath

Specters is LIVE!

Yeah, yeah. James Bond has a movie with the same title.

Well…I was using it first! I had Jeff Kosh make this cover a LONG time ago. We worked together on the title…we needed something that was foreshadowing yet telling. It took a while.

Anywho, Specters is live on Smashwords and Amazon Kindle. Still waiting for approval for the dead tree version.

Hopefully very soon.

I truly hope you enjoy the conclusion of this second saga. And yes…just enough strings left dangling to continue… ;-)

You Still Have Time…Barely!

What happens October 31st?

Yeah, besides the wee beasties who toilet paper your yard, leave candy wrappers everywhere and egg people’s houses…something IMPORTANT?!

Middletown Apocalypse will be released!

Wait…you hadn’t heard? WHAT ROCK HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING UNDER?!?!

Let me tell ya, as one who took part in this little endeavor…it was fun. When I was approached with this project, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but with the other names involved? I knew it would be GOOD. I was in if they’d have me.

Our instructions: Write a zompoc story beginning at Middletown University in Middletown, Indiana and ending at another location. What ever happened between those two points were up to us. We could kill off the whole world or leave survivors in the event we wanted to revisit this small town again.

So, what happens when you give eleven of the best modern-day apocalyptic writers the same idea for a story and allow their twisted imaginations to go wild?

Middletown Apocalypse… that’s what.

Set in America’s heartland, these stories begin with chemistry student Charlie Noble and wind their way through the infected landscape of middletown America.

Abell, Chesser, Evans, McKinney, O’Brien, Rosamilia, Shelman, Stallcup, Tufo, Wallen, Wilburn.

Are you ready this?

Pre-Order your copy NOW!

How did this come to happen? Let the man behind the project tell you in his own words:

So what are you waiting for?!

Gearing Up for Candy Extortion

It’s almost time for the annual Adolescent Candy Extortion Day!

Trick or Treat? To most kids those are simply the magic words to get free candy. They don’t realize what it boils down to. I will play a trick on you and possibly damage your property OR give me a treat and I’ll go away. As a grumpy old fart, I could easily choose to see this holiday as nothing more than a shakedown. And that’s my costume this year, BTW. I’m going to be that old guy who sits on his porch and yells at kids to ‘stay off my lawn’! The only difference between Halloween and any other day is, I’ll be throwing candy at them as they run off!

But…now I have grandkids who are old enough to Tick or Treat. To see their joy as they go house to house, dragging their little plastic pumpkin with them in their loose fitting costume brings a smile to my face and stirs old memories. The joys of being old and having a bad memory allows me to believe that I was a good kid and never got into trouble. It’s those inconvenient times that an old school chum reminds me of things I did that makes me question that belief. (I choose to believe that I was mostly good.)

But Halloween is the time of change. Seasons transition from hot and dry to cool and wet to bone chilling cold. The leaves, the smells, the cooking, the cooling weather…it all brings a smile to my face as we slide into what is easily my favorite season of the year. Seeing how other people celebrate it is almost as fun as candy extortion used to be. From the goofy to the macabre to the questionable, Halloween is celebrated in so many ways that one questions the origins of the day. Whether dressed as a cartoon character or elaborately made up victim to those who barely wear anything at all and still call it a costume, everybody puts their own flair into it. It is, after all, a celebration and people will find a way to put their own personal and unique stamp on it.

Personally, I prefer the scary stuff. Sure, the cute and cuddly is nice for the wee ones, and the younger generations can have the ‘sexy’ stuff, but the realistic and frightening is what it’s all about for me. Give me a haunted house that causes people to wet themselves a little and that’s a house I’d stand in line to go through. Of course, my wife will go in ahead of me to keep me safe. She’s a lot tougher than I am…and I hate wetting myself.

This is HUGE For Me

Pardon me if I make little sense in this post, but I’m pretty stoked right about now.

Paul Stokes just posted a review of Whispers at AudioBookReviewer and it is a WIN!

To say that I’m a bit giddy right now would be an understatement.

It’s hard enough to write a story that people might like to read, but to find the right narrator to bring that story to life? I think I hit a home run when I stumbled upon Aaron Shook. Judging by the reviews, those who opted to try it truly enjoyed the story. But to read the review posted by Audio Book Reviewer? Wow…just…wow.

“Excellently written and vividly described in great details.  Although the rape scenes were not vividly described, there is no doubt how vicious they were.”

“A long listen but one filled with twists and turns, action packed excitement and realistic characters. At one time in my life I was a paranormal researcher.  Stallcup did an excellent job of researching thus making the haunting more real.

Stallcup is an author that knows how to tell a story!”

“A well deserved 5 Star rating.”

“Aaron Shook did an excellent job of narrating.”

Yeah…somebody scrape me off the ceiling!

20/20 Foresight

You know, it’s really strange. Knowing what I know, I often ask myself why anybody would want to go with a big publisher when it’s so much easier (and more profitable) to publish yourself as an indie.

An yet…I’m still finding myself being drawn to ‘agents who are accepting’ or reading about those few publishers who will accept manuscripts without an agent and wondering…Should I?  Knowing what I know, I ask myself…why bother? Is it to prove to myself that my writing can ‘hang with the big boys’? Is it to satisfy some innate desire to be accepted by the establishment? Is it to finally find that avenue to get my paperbacks into bookstores? I know, I know…there are indies who have supposedly found that secret formula for getting their work carried in trade catalogs, but I haven’t discovered the combination. Is it sacrifice a live chicken while dancing naked under a full moon, or sacrifice your full moon while dancing naked under a chicken? It must be something really odd like that because it’s still elusive.

HOWEVER, knowing what I know…that established writers are stepping away from the Big 5 publishers every day and putting their stuff out there as indies…that many indies are making a comfortable living doing what they do…that some indies not only become best sellers, but some have their work made into films.  And yet…that draw is still there. ARE my stories good enough to hang with the big boys? Could I be accepted by the establishment? Could my books end up on the shelves of my local bookstore…along with the works of tens of thousands of other peoples?

The bigger question is, it worth the time spent trying? Is it worth the mental anguish being rejected by faceless agents who know good writing when they see it? Is it worth pinning hopes on possibly hearing back from people who are too busy to tell you to not quit your day job? It’s funny (but true) how many times I’ve heard authors say that it’s harder to find an agent than it is to get picked up by a Big 5 publisher…and yet, you need an agent just to approach most of the large publishers. Catch 22, anyone?

Anyway, I just wanted to air the matter. It’s not like the subject has caused me to lose any sleep at night. I was just sitting here and wondering why the whole idea still seems attractive knowing what I already know. I can’t put my finger on any one reason why… other than maybe bragging rights. Knowing that I was more than ‘just a storyteller’. But, in all honesty, I think I’d rather stay a storyteller. Being an author is too much like work.