Zombies taught me how to write

Sechin Tower
@SechinTower

Illustration by Chad Sergesketter
courtesy of Exile Game Studio

Do you want to know the secret of every good zombie movie? Good zombie movies aren’t about the zombies.

Sure, the zombies might be amazingly gross or glow with radioactivity, but you have to admit that watching 90 minutes of nothing but a bunch of moaning, rotting corpse-monsters would be a pretty boring.

The zombies might be what brings you to the theater, but the thing that makes you remember the movie, recommend it to your friends, and watch the DVD over and over is the living, talking people. The characters.

Since George Romero established the genre in his 1968 masterpiece Night of the Living Dead, zombies have served one purpose only: to put pressure on the characters.

When characters are under pressure, they reveal who they really are. Do they stay calm or freak out? Do they have the guts and the brains to succeed, or do they look for the easy way out? Do they sacrifice themselves to save others, or do they trip their comrades to serve as bait for the horde?

We would never know the answers if the characters weren’t forced to deal with the zombies. Or, for those of you considering stories that don’t involve the undead (I suppose such stories are theoretically possible…) the same goes for characters forced to deal with hurricanes, or family arguments, or cultural friction, or whatever.


The bottom line is that it all comes down to the characters. If you're a writer, consider carefully how your zombies (literal or figurative) serve to put your characters into the pressure cooker. If you're a reader.. enjoy the chase! and never stop thinking about what you would do if you were in that tight spot.

Be good, and dream crazy dreams,

Sechin Tower is a teacher, a table-top game designer, and the author of Mad Science Institute. You can read more about him and his books on SechinTower.com and his games on SiegeTowerGames.com

The End

I can remember the last class of my last quarter in grad school. I was done. The major occupation of my previous eighteen years was…over. I had reached the finish line.

And while there was a little seed of excitement, mostly I was scared and more than a little disoriented. What was I going to do without assignments and deadlines? The school calendar had defined my days and now the rest of life was here. I was lucky to have a job, a new marriage, significant friendships, but if I looked in the mirror, who I would see now? I wasn’t quite sure. Whoever gazed back at me wouldn’t have my old familiar identity, student.

 

I was thinking about that last week when I wrote “the end” on a story I’d been working on for the last year. There was that sprint that comes right before the finish, and then I was on the other side of the manuscript wondering what life would be like without my two protagonists waking me up every morning. I was excited, but once again more than a little disoriented. And lonely? How can I miss imaginary people? Oh, sure there will be edits and copy edits, but it won’t be the same, finishing never is. 

I planned to take a few days off, relax, after all, I’d worked hard. Maybe even celebrate. But, by the second day, I was edgy. So I asked Sci-Fi guy who had also just completed a manuscript what he did to celebrate. He looked at me sheepishly. “I gave blood,” he said. “It seemed fitting. And that night we had a bar-b-que. But we probably would have had the bar-b-que anyway.”  So maybe I’m not the only one who isn’t good at celebrating.

So here’s what I want to know. When you accomplish a major goal, how do you celebrate? How do you mark the day? I have to confess that the very next morning I was back at my computer, striking up a conversation with a few new imaginary friends.

Tough decisions are, well, TOUGH

A few months back, I was awarded an opportunity to grow and learn, both as a person and as a writer. After months of interning with a publishing house, I received an offer to join the staff as a copy editor. To say I was thrilled is an understatement. For as long as I can remember, those tiny little errors in books and magazines and (especially) newspaper articles have always jumped out at me (You know the ones: too instead of to; lose instead of loose. Yep.). Like little flashing lights, they've leapt off the page and screamed "Hey! Look at me! I'm wrong!" So to have the opportunity to put my super power (hey, I can call it that) to good use and get paid for it was like a giant bowl of cookies and cream ice cream with all the fat sucked out. 

I jumped into editing manuscripts with a frenzy, sometimes churning out one a day. It got to where editors knew that if they needed a super fast turnaround, they could call on me and I'd get 'em there. I was building confidence in my editing abilities. I was cementing a relationship with an up-and-coming titan in the publishing world. I was making a name for myself as a copy editor. In a nutshell, I was in love.

But just like all loves, our love of intangible things (the craft of writing, meditation, yoga, copy editing, for a few examples) takes work. Sometimes more so than relationship loves, for we are usually carrying said love solo. In a marriage or courtship, love is built by two, with each giving and taking on equal grounds (or that's how it should be, in an ideal relationship). When we fall in love with our jobs or our hobbies, oftentimes there is a lot more give than there is take. And sometimes, we have to know when to make that tough decision to let love die.

Which is the decision I had to make over the weekend. Yes, as much as I adored that job (and believe me, I ADORED it), I simply couldn't do it anymore. With two other jobs, plus writing on contractual deadlines, time--the enemy of us all, if you really give it pause--became as scarce as good storylines on True Blood. And since I couldn't very well sacrifice my human relationships or my paycheck, and I definitely couldn't say "sorry, missed my deadlines" to my publisher, I had to make the painful choice to let a side job I truly loved go. (cue tears)

I know that some may say it was the wrong decision, that I should've sucked it up and found the time. And others will think it was a wise choice, focusing on more important things. To those people, I say...You're Right. Yes, it was the wrong decision. And yes, it was the right one. 

Just like with any decision we make in life, whether it be about changing jobs or moving across the country or skipping dinner with friends to write, there are rights and wrongs. No choice comes without strings dangling precariously from it, just waiting for us to either latch on or let go. Strings we can't wait to sever, and yet want desperately to hold tightly to. Strings we fear are keeping us grounded, but quietly hope will allow us to fly. 

Think of it like a balloon. When tethered, a balloon sways and bounces on the wind, always moving but never going. But the second it's released, it soars without fear, climbing and climbing with unrelenting abandon, seeing things only before imagined, its tied-down state merely a memory. We never know the fate of the balloon before releasing the string, but we always know it will fly. And, every time, we watch with bated breath as it climbs higher and higher, all the while imagining the journey it will make.

Guys, let yourself  be that balloon. Instead of just swaying and bouncing, rather than staying tied down, cut the strings and fly. Make that tough decision and see where the wind carries you. Experience the journey with unrelenting abandon and fearlessness. Climb higher than you ever thought you could. 

Imagine.

Mayhem, Monsters, and Magic! :)

Lexi Brady

@LexiLoopsy


A few nights ago as I am laying in bed with only a sheet to protect me from the rolling chill of an eerie evening I felt my stomach drop. Coming from somewhere in the dark blanket of night that was encompassing my room I heard an echo of footsteps walk across my floor.

The noise escaped from the shadows which were crawling over one another in a frantic slither that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, this is the moment when fear paralyzed me.

I try not to breathe too heavily, hoping that I am invisible to this creature of night I have seemingly conjured up from the corners of my mind. My eyes stay open even though I am telling them to close. they search throughout the shadows, seeing faces and eyes that I attempt to tell myself aren't really there.

Born from this fear, these moments that petrify me are stories that I can tell.  A monster that I had yet to meet (and don't know if I want to), magic that could save me, an mayhem that is just waiting to unfold.

This is one of the things that I find to be enchanting about being a writer. I get to create worlds and creatures and lives that are desperately waiting to be lived. Those nights when I watch one horror movie too  many, or when I hear a noise I couldn't have possibly just heard my mind instantly weaves together a million possibilities that ignite an urge to write about what is going through my head (if I make it through the night that is...;).

This past week has been a crazy one, one of my best friends Sophie and I were almost abducted by aliens (true story bro( life sure likes throwing those curve-balls at me) ), I sent off over eight submissions and I worked at both of my jobs, and through my hectic mess of a life I still found the time to write some how.

And luckily I did otherwise I would have most likely have lost my mind by now.. Or have I already?

I feel like I might be rambling so I will let you all get back to your own crazy hectic lives!

See you all in the future.

:) <3 -Lexi


  Lexi is a seventeen year old girl who is trying to share her written imagination with the rest of the world. A young author with a passion for ensnaring your senses with words that want to connect emotions and thoughts to the paper.