Zombies

Sorry it’s been so long since my last post. Finals, work, you know how it is. I’ve found something to share. This is a first draft of a piece I wrote for one of my classes. Probably going to go into more depth with better examples and talk more about how it affects writing. Anyway, here it is.

They’ve graced the silver screen since the age of gas shortages and unpopular international “police actions” (if you can imagine such a time), but zombies have proven themselves to be a most resilient plot device and more than just artifacts from the grindhouse cinema, like flattened gum under your shoe or flaking stains on the back row upholstery. Of all the “classic” movie monsters, zombies seem most like the epitome of schlock - a little Kano syrup and a slight shuffle was all it too to turn an unpaid extra into a child’s nightmare. There was nothing otherworldly about them, no horns or tentacles to graft on. Simplicity. From a writing perspective, zombies were even more spartan. With no dialogue, no back-stories, no character arcs or even any individual identities, no one could have predicted the longevity of these undead, shambling, rotting plot vehicles.

Another Part of My Story

I’ll give you the basic disclaimer here: this is the first draft of a section from a work in progress (you can read the first part here. It doesn’t have as many jokes in it as I’m comfortable with but I wanted to get it out there first and revise it later. I’m trying to start building character and setting, so this is more connective tissue or the novel and muscle. Since my main background is in short story, this is still a bit weird for me to come to terms with.

One thing that’s been bugging me is that I’ve had trouble matching the quality of the first piece. I think the reason for this is because, unlike the first piece, in these other pieces I really don’t know what I want to happen. I think I need to sit down and really map out my story before I make any large additions to it.

Anyway, enjoy and please give me any feedback you think might help!

“Can’t you make the printer talk to the computer?!”

Heph rubbed the bridge of his nose. Technology, he thought, the only thing in the world created by man and yet the most impossible for them to understand. Not that they weren’t barking up the wrong tree on some of their other ‘scientific breakthroughs’, but that’s what made them so adorable. From some vantage, Heph might have seen Headache-From-Account-Services’ technological plight as something endearing and heart-warmingly naïve. But that spot was not in the IT department, waist-deep in The Shit, a Green Beret fighting his way through a hostile jungle of stupidity. It was the singularly most trying experience he could imagine; in shorthand, it was Tuesday.

“Reclaimed Space”

Some of you may have read the first piece I started of the novel I hope to finish as my graduate manuscript. This post is just the beginning of a rough draft for what may be the second chapter.

Heph brushed some sawdust off the corner of his desk. He wasn’t anywhere near the jigsaw, he had set that up in the other room, bit it stood as a testament to the “coziness” the real estate agent had promised him. He considered opening a window to let the air in and the gaseous cedar out but it was a particularly muggy April afternoon and the slightest crack would let in the dampened aroma of goat anus and bok choy wafting into Nolita from Chinatown. Thankfully the sawdust kept the air inside dry and cool, and he intended to work late into the night.

Freewriting Session #1

This is actually from an in-class freewriting exercise. I swear I’m going to get back to writing soon enough!

He was always down by that duck pond. Old Man Maloney was the self-described expert on everything, especially ducks. As soon as he saw you, his eyes would light up as he waddled over to you and talked your ear off about nothing in particular. Sometimes I wondered if he only did it because he liked the sound of his own voice. Every day would be something different, “Hey Lindy, did you know that a duck’s quack can be heard from 3 miles away?” “You know why we don’t eat duck eggs, don’t you?” “A male duck is called a drake. Betcha didn’t know that!” I don’t know why I kept going to that same pond, after all ducks know no boundaries, but somehow I felt compelled to keep him company. Folks said he had never been quite right since his wife passed away a few winters ago, though they also led me to believe he wasn’t all there to begin with if you catch my drift. In my own masochistic sort of way, I felt like I was doing good.

The Joker and Gotham’s Broken Justice System

This is a paper I wrote for a class on the Graphic Novel in college about whether or not the character of The Joker from Batman is truly culpable for his actions. It’s an interesting topic about an even more interesting medium and one that I don’t think has been academically addressed enough.

God From the Machine

This is the finished version of 2 earlier pieces I posted here. I am turning in this story for class and hope to use it as [part of] a first chapter for a novel. I hope you like it!

Zeus - Computer (pt. 2)

UPDATE: The completed story can now be read here.